Author Archives: debooker

About debooker

A brief (and somewhat ambiguous) biography. One hundred words, more or less, about David Booker might include the following: though lost in the cosmos without a compass, he has nonetheless managed to find his way into middle age. As to what he will do now that he is there is still a matter of speculation. He often seeks guidance from his youthful daughter as he alternately approaches and retreats from the slow expansion of his waistline and the slow collapse of Western Civilization as he knows it. He hopes the two will reach a libration (or libation) point and he will creep into old age with some dignity and clothes intact.

Monday (morning) writing joke: “Dueling puns, part 11: ‘Alaska'”

Two writers who didn’t like each other met in a bar, as such writers often do. Each claimed it was his favorite bar and each claimed he had found it first. After several months of glowering at each other and bad mouthing each other, they agree to settle the matter with a duel of puns.

Since the tall writer won the tenth round, the short writer was allowed to go first for round eleven. A set of cards was placed on the table between them, face down. On each card was a subject. The short writer flipped the card over and the subject was “Alaska.”

Props were allowed, and for each turn, each writer could make one phone call.

Each writer had to say his pun and the audience would get to pick which one they preferred. The bartender, a waiter, and a waitress would be the judges as to who got the loudest groan.

After thinking a moment, the short writer stood and took off his glasses, then put them back on, and then took them off again. As he did this, he said, “I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian.”

This immediately drew a few laughs, and moan or two, and some applause.

The tall writer waited until things were quiet, then he asked for a match. He lit the match and as it burned, he said, “Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft. Unsurprisingly it sank, proving once again that you can’t have your kayak and heat it too.”

By then the match had burned down to his fingers. He dropped it and quickly stepped on it. A spark flew up from his foot and caught a paper napkin on fire. He then tried to stomp that out, but more sparks flew and soon the entire bar was on fire.

The crowd hesitated, then groaned, and scrambled over each other and out the door.

As the ashes were sprayed one last time to make sure they were no longer hot, the soot covered bartender said both writers lost that round.

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Photo finish Friday: “The Shadow”

Walker_shadow 100dpi_6x8_4c_4472 copy

He came to town to avenge his brother’s death the only way he knew how: one slow, painful scoot at a time.

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Filed under 2018, photo by David E. Booker, Photo Finish Friday

Shrill tears

Guns clatter the ground. /

Clouds bulging with thoughts and prayers. /

Shrill tears from heaven.

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Haiku to you Thursday: “Street trash”

Lottery tickets, /

phone sex ads, cigarette butts: /

fake pleasures turned trash.

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The power of stories to bridge time and mend hearts.

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/john-lithgow-on-the-love-that-was-basis-for-stories-by-heart/

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Haiku to you Thursday: “Spackle”

Stars spackle the night, /

a sky of buttons and tears, /

render of the past. /

 

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Photo finish Friday: “Frost”

Pumpkin_frosty 100dpi_7x9_4c_4232 copy

In a cold, early morning in winter, the pumpkin sparkles with frost.

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Filed under 2018, photo by David E. Booker, Photo Finish Friday