My New Cover

Current project is miserably failing
Can’t figure out what happens now.
I don’t know to whom it should happen
And I haven’t a clue as to how.
Romantic sub-plot is a problem
Cuz I just killed off the guy’s lover.
It’s a failure as lit
But I don’t give a shit
BECAUSE I JUST SAW MY NEW COVER

The money I owe is astounding
I pay bills only under duress.
My car, it will go to the bank
And my income: The IRS.
A pit opens up right before me,
And a Damoclean sword, it does hover
I laugh like it’s funny.
Who cares about money?
BECAUSE I JUST SAW MY NEW COVER!

Bridge:

    The artist must be a genius, the designer: Leonardo reborn.
It will apeal to those who love SF, historical, non-fiction, and porn.
I want to hold it and hug it and wave it from a forty-foot banner unfurled.
Life, do your damndest, cuz I got the best COVER IN ALL OF THE WORLD!

The cat has just eaten the goldfish
Then it got hit by a truck
My girlfriend said she’d rather be dead
Then to give me a last goodbye—hug.
But fine then, farewell, and so what?
Right out the door I will shove her.
She’s welcome to go
While I bask in the glow
BECAUSE I JUST SAW MY NEW COVER!

 

No, there’s no setting. Anyone who wants to is welcome to write one. You’re also free to put it on Youtube, if you want–just don’t bitch to me about the scansion.

 

My Valentine’s Day Poem

I don’t know if I ever told this story and published this on LJ, and I’m too lazy to look, and I don’t care.  About twenty *cough* years ago I was dating The Girl Who Broke My Heart, and we went into an Italian restaurant called Ceatti’s for Valentine’s Day (this was before she Broke My Heart, y’know).  Turns out they were having a poetry contest.  You had to write a poem that started, “Roses are red, violets are blue.”  I don’t remember what first prize was, but third prize was dinner for two, and second prize was a silver bracelet.  I won the bracelet; I never got to see the poem that beat me.

Anyway, in celebration of Valentine’s Day, here it is:

Roses are red, violets are blue

How peculiar if the reverse were true.

If roses were blue and violets were red

Would violets have the thorns instead?

Would lips be violet in poem or prose?

Would Liz Taylor’s eyes be compared to a rose?

Wine-lists would be only to smile at:

“Would you care for white, or red, or vio-lat?”

What odd confusion would ensue

If violets were red, and roses were blue.

 

I NEED to Know

Here is what’s been occupying my mind to the point where I can’t sleep, eat, or work.  Except that I can still sleep, eat, and work, but the rest is true.  Anyway, this:

A “zero-sum game” refers to a situation where for player A to win, player B must lose.  In other words, if each has 5 wigets, conditions that will give A 6 wigets will give B 4 wigets.

A “non-zero-sum game” refers to a situation where both player A and player B can win.  In other words, if each has 5 wigets, there are conditions that will permit each of them to go to 6 wigets.

So, my question is: Is there a term for a semi-zero-sum game?  In other words, suppose there are conditions under which A can get 7 wigets leaving B with 4 wigets?  I know this can happen, but is there a term for it?

This question has been tormenting me.

Okay, now I go roast the turkey.

 

What Christmas Means to Me

Sometimes, around Christmas, I recall a Slan Shack I lived in in the mid 80’s called Finagle’s Freehold, where, around this time of the year, we would bring the motorcycle in the living room, decorate it with tinsel and lights, and sing carols to it.  I’ve posted these before, so if this is old news to you, just skip it.  The rest of you, enjoy.

 

Jingle bike, jingle bike, sliding to a spill
Oh what fun it is to ride on a Triumph Bonneville,
Jingle bike, jingle bike, sliding to a spill.
Oh what fun it is to ride on a Triumph Bonneville!

..  Through the house we go, laughing at our ease
..  Bouncing down the stairs, with 750 CCs.
.. Lights on signals blink, making Christmas zoom
.. Oh what fun is wiping out, in the living room!

Jingle bike…

 

Oh Christmas bike, oh, Christmas bike, you’re leaking so much oil.
Oh Christmas bike, oh Christmas bike, my hardwood floors are spoiled.
From gleaming pipes, to handle bars
You’re here cuz there’s no room for cars.
Oh Christmas bike, oh, Christmas bike, you’re leaking so much oil.

 

Silent bike, holy bike, kickstand holding it upright.
Round yon Triumph with no room to ride.
House filling up with carbon monoxide.
Sleep in heavenly fu-umes,   Sleep in heavenly fumes.

 

Turn off the TV and computer, fa la la la la, la la la la!
See our happy Christmas scooter, fa la la la la, la la la la!
Lights and candles, green and red gear, fa la la la la, la la la la!
Don’t forget protective headgear, fa la la la la, la la la la!