Frankenthum👍 or Oh Yeah, There Will be Blood

I was not planning on posting anything……but I had to go to work and that kind of forced the issue.

Halloween, for some, means dressing up and going Trick or Treating. For others, it means staying home and handing out candy.

For me, it means something completely different.

It means it’s time for an ER visit.

A sharp blade and a profusely bleeding appendage are always involved.

It’s not like I did it to save my life like the guy in “127 Hours”

It wasn’t done to complete the riddle of a serial killer like in “Saw”

It happened because, once again, I wasn’t careful and was in a rush.

The blade used to commit the cut that (almost) severed my appendage off was a utility knife used primary for cutting Sheetrock.

The appendage that bled profusely was my left thumb.

Not quite as dramatic as an entire foot or arm…..but the thumb is pretty important.

Ask a spider monkey.


He doesn’t have thumbs….he has at tail….I don’t want a tail, therefore my thumb is important.

I was in a rush to finish hanging Sheetrock at our current job location, a community Church.

I just replaced the dull blade with a new blade in the utility knife so I would get a clean razor cut.

On the Sheetrock….not my thumb.

I placed the blade on the edge of my mark next you straightedge and began yanking the knife toward me.
Apparently, my straight edge was not thick enough and my thumb was way too close to the edge.

The knife dodged left and cut into the straightedge and proceeded to continue through the flesh of my thumb up to the base of the thumbnail.

A clean cut.

Right through the meat and to the bone.

Nice job.

I’m stubborn. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. So I cut a piece off my shirt off and wrapped it around my thumb to slow the bleeding until I could bandage it properly.

Note to self-

it’s hard to hide a profusely gaping wound with scraps from an old shirt when a blood trail follows you everywhere you go.

“What did you do?” My Boss asked

“I cut my hand…but I am not going to the hospital…so don’t ask.”
I replied

“Let me see it.” He proceeded to interrogate.

“Nope…I just need a band aid and I can get back to work.” I pleaded

“Well…let me see it…and then I will get you a band aid.” He says

“Ok,” I begin to reply, ” but it’s a gusher. We should go over to my truck so I can bleed in the bed of it and not any more in the church. I don’t want anyone to think an exorcism needs to happen….”

That statement may have marked my undoing……

20 minutes later I am in the ER on the morning of Halloween.

Halloween an the ER go hand in hand for me.

A few years ago I spent some time in the ER, on Halloween, receiving 27 staples in my skull and a cast for my arm when a tree cutting job went awry.

Today I had endure a massive 4 stitches in my left thumb.

Stupid Halloween.


The Conductor

Staring at the loose leaf
With instrument in hand

Waiting for imagination
To conduct something grand

To settle the orchestra
Of ideas in the pit

A few taps on the table
Quieting the script

The flow begins slowly
The string section serenades

Like a bow crossing the strings
The pen starts to sway

The intensity rises as the
Horns take their cue

Notes dance across the page
A tympani of cymbals crash through

The story reaches its crescendo
Symphony in full swing

Conductor slows back the tempo
Instrument continues to sing

The sonata is reached
Piece is coming to a close

Instrument is placed down
Completed orchestration of prose.


The Slow Churn

The word on the corner of Nutrition Street and start your day off right avenue is that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

I’m not sure if that tasty little notion is true if breakfast is had at dinner.

I feel like an alien is about to pop out of my stomach.

Where’s Sigourney Weaver when I need her?

Maybe it was the day old pancakes that I nuked.

It could have been the butter that I smoothed on top.

Might have been the peanut butter that covered the butter that was smoothed on top of the day old pancakes.

Could have quite possibly have been the marshmallow fluff that coated the peanut butter that covered the butter that was smoothed on top of the day old pancakes.

I have a feeling it that I should be leaning toward the butter flavored maple syrup that glazed over the marshmallow fluff that coated the peanut butter that covered the butter that was smoothed on top of the day old pancakes.

I washed it down with ruby red Hawaiian Fruit Punch.

No possible way it was that.

Must have been the 3 slices of honey glazed ham I had about 10 minutes before.

Yeah…that’s the ticket.

The Transition Of Mr. Wilkes

David Wilkes started his Saturday the same way he always did. He got up out of bed at 6:45 am, went to the bathroom and then headed to the kitchen to brew some fresh joe. While the coffee was perking, he checked in on the kids and returned to his bedroom to put on his jogging clothes. He awoke his wife, to tell her he would be back after his run. Same routine, every Saturday.

He stretched his legs for a few minutes, took in a few deep breathes to clear out the lungs, then opened up the app on his smartphone which tracked his distance and time.

As he reached for the handle on the front door, he felt a sharp pain on his left temple. His vision was emblazoned with a piercing white flash and he went down in a heap.

“It’s a strange feeling looking down at your own body as it lies on the floor beneath me.” He thought as his spirit rose up above him and through the ceiling into the open air.

He drifted up into the blankness before stopping into a sea of white.

He looked around and saw a figure walking toward him.

He couldn’t quite comprehend what he saw. In his bewilderment, he made a single statement….or question, if you will.

“Dad?….Is that you?”

Mrs. Wilkes jumped out of bed when she heard the crash from the other room. She grabbed her robe and put it on as she rushed out to see what had happened. A feeling in her gut feared the worst.

As she rounded the island in the kitchen and headed for the front foyer and entryway to their home she glimpsed the end table turned over by the front door. As she rushed in closer, she found her husband on the floor with a small gash on his forehead, convulsing as if he were having a seizure.

“OH MY GOD! HONEY! HONEY!” She screamed.

Their children, who were awakened by clamor, came out of their rooms scared. The mother yelled at the oldest, who was 12.


Mrs. Wilkes, returned her attention to her husband, who she desperately held in her arms and spoke into his ear,

“Don’t you leave me…you hear me…don’t you dare. HOLD ON!!”

As she repeated those phrases over and over as she rocked him back and forth, she began to hear sirens in the distance, and the smell of fresh coffee.

“I come to you as whatever you desire me to be. You have never gotten over your Father’s passing….to comfort you in these strange surroundings, you see me as you wish to see me.”

“So this is what happens when in death. Hmph. Where’s the pearly gates…or the lakes of fire for that matter?” David asked.

“You…..are not dead…..yet. You are in transition. Here is where your ultimate choice is made.” The being stated.

“Choice? What choice?”

“The choice to grant the wish that you have wished, or, to return to fight for balance.”

“I wish for a lot of things….it’s just talk..”

“So you, as many others have before you and many others will after you, have stated….just talk. Well, we listen and we give the opportunity to grant those wishes, but only one time and only the gravest of wishes. Your wish…time and time again, has been to be taken away from all the stresses of your life. The stresses that you have created by not choosing. You want it all. Sorry. It can’t be. Now you must choose.”

“Wait…wait…wait. I don’t get it.”

“Of course, you don’t. Your kind rarely does. Let me put it plainly. You have a wife and 2 kids….and you have a mistress on the side. You cheat your business to support both. You refuse to choose. Here….in transition, you must choose. You either choose to go back and face your misleadings, thereby, creating personal balance or stay here…die and let them figure it out. Either way, you lose…..but because you make a choice, your soul can be cleansed and life will go on, or…….you take the easy way out and find out what you transition into after death.”

“How much time do I have to choose?”

“Your time left is based upon the amount of time you leave your body unattended. It varies….the longer you stay here the more chance you have of your choice being made for you…..Time is of the essence. CHOOSE!”

The paramedics arrive and immediately check Mr. Wilkes vitals.
He has a weak pulse and his heartbeat is slowing by the second.

“Mrs. Wilkes…we must get him to the hospital as quickly as possible. Time is of the essence!”

They get him onto a gurney and rush him into the ambulance. Just before they shut the doors, Mrs. Wilkes hears a dangerous cry from one of the medics…


As the ambulance is about to speed off she hears one final cry…


Mrs. Wilkes heads back into the house to get the kids to go to the hospital, just in time to miss the slow driving BMW that speeds up to follow the ambulance.

The mistress pulls up the sleeve on her silk robe and checks the time.

7:09 am

He is never late. Always arrives promptly at 7 with that sexy sweat dripping off his brow. His little jog was his warm up for the real workout that she provides.

“Maybe he has finally decided to stop coming…..nah…he has been mine for over 9 years…his getaway from “family”….” She thinks to herself.

She feels a strange knot in her gut that makes her think that something has happened.

“Maybe I should drive by his house…just to be sure he is ok.”

She changes into tight jeans and t shirt and grabs the keys to the Beemer, that Wilkes bought for her, and heads toward his home.

“What of you mean, either way I lose? If I choose to stay.. I don’t have to face either woman or the company…that sounds like a win to me. If I go back….I must confess my sins, to all, to create…..balance? That doesn’t sound like balance to me…it sounds like death either way.”

“So…your choice has been….”
David quickly cut him off.

“Whoa..whoa..I didn’t say that. I love my wife…and my kids. I just got caught up in a little side deal that marred my judgement for a while……I CHOOSE TO GO BACK!”

“Very well. You have chosen. Your time here is essentially….up.”

The vision of his father turned and walked out into the blankness. As he disappeared, David Wilkes began to ascend back down to reality. During that journey he thought to himself,

“I don’t know who that was…but me coming clean is about as likely the Pope going to strip club.”

The ambulance arrives at the ER and David Wilkes is wheeled in. A black BMW screeches into the parking lot. Followed shortly after by a Volvo station wagon.

The woman in tight jeans and Mrs, Wilkes with her 2 kids in tow, both rush into the waiting room and up to reception desk at essentially the same time.

They both say in unison.

The women look at each other, up and down, with quizzical looks.

The receptionist replies,

“Well…isn’t this special. Mr. Wilkes is in ICU. Just follow the signs….”

David drifts back down to where is body is located. He noticed his body laying limp on a hospital bed with multiple machines and tubes hooked up to him. He travels all the way down and back into his life and tries to open his eyes.

The Doctor is hovering over Mr. Wilkes monitoring the machines and his slow progress. He watches as David opens his eyes slowly. The Doctor plus out his mini light and flashes it into his pupils and back and forth between each eye. The pupils show no reaction.

There is a knock on the window. The Doctor looks back at it and notices 2 women anxiously standing there.

He walks out to greet them.

“Hello, ladies. I am going to assume that only 1 of you is the spouse of the man inside. It is that woman that I will speak to.”

Mrs. Wilkes speaks up first.

“I’m his wife and have been for 12 years. I don’t know who this bitch is.”

The mistress chimes in.

“I’m the bitch that has made him happy for 9 years and I’m the one he was about to leave you for.”

“Ladies… Neither I nor the man in that room has time for this. Mrs. Wilkes…you may go in with him and I will brief you on how he is. Ma’am, you may wait here or in the waiting room. Mrs. Wilkes will decide if you need to know anything.”

They enter the room in ICU and leave the mistress by herself.

The Doctor begins to fill her in on her husbands prognosis.

“Mrs. Wilkes, it doesn’t look good. His brain went without oxygen for a significant amount of time. I believe he can hear and see and understand what is going on around him but he won’t be able to respond. Maybe in time, this will change. I can’t be sure without more tests.”

“But..his eyes are open….” She hesitantly said.

“Yes, ma’am. They opened just a few moments ago….although that sounds positive… I believe that it was a nerve reaction that may happen from time to time. If you will notice they show no reaction to the light.”

He flashed his light again in front of his eyes. Nothing.

“Once he gets moved to his own room, you will be able to spend more time with him. For now, I will have ask you to give me some time to run some more tests.” He stated and then paused to look out the window and the mistress who still stood there and then continued…

“It seems you may have other things to deal with besides this. Your husband will be treated to the finest care, during this transitional period of his recovery. Please, time is of the essence at this stage. I will keep you fully informed of his progress.”

Mrs. Wilkes thanked him and ventured out of the room to deal with the other woman.

David Wilkes just stared up at the ceiling. He could do nothing else. He listened to his wife and the Doctor conversing. He knew his Mistress was there as well and immediately began to devise a plan that he would put into motion as soon as he was able to move and speak.

He heard the Doctor ask his wife to leave. He heard her walk out and heard the door slide shut.

He then heard the Doctor clear his throat and walk back over to the bed.

The Doctor leaned over and looked into David’s eyes.

David continued to stare up and saw as the Doctor came into his sight line.

The Doctor looked like his father.

David wanted to scream….but couldn’t. He could only stare and listen to what the Doctor had to say….

“My dear Mr. Wilkes….you may cheat your business…you may cheat your wife…..but when you try to cheat death…..there are consequences.”


The Pane Of Window Shopping

Every day, in every town, in Anywhere, USA it happens.

It happens innocently enough.

Whether it was Dad practicing his “Happy Gilmore” golf shots in the front yard



The neighborhood kids playing tag by throwing rocks at each other



The high school kids re enacting their favorite scene from one of the “Jackass” movies


windows get broken


Blame is pushed around, no one is responsible. It is rare when anyone even claims to have seen the window being broken.

But, it’s broken, none the less.

The keepers of the dwelling, who have the shattered glass, need to repair the damage.

Whether it be-

Mother and Father
Husband and wife
Partner and partner
Dude and baby Momma

The glass just can’t sit there….all broken n stuff.

After the ruckus of the argument of what happened, how it happened and why it happened.

Answers to all being “I don’t know”

A plan is put into action to solve the heating/cooling the neighborhood problem.

Whomever the male figure is in the relationship will inevitably find a tape measure and assess the size of said broken window.

Now that he has the proper size in his possession, he can go to the window store and buy a replacement and replace it in place of the place where the broken window was once placed.

Simple. Easy. Done.

Whomever the female is in the relationship will inevitable have a different…more complex solution to the problem.

She will not only want to get the right size, but also one that will match the rest of the windows in the house.

She will go from window store to window store shopping for the ideal pane of glass that will enhance the look, shape and reflective vision that she believes will enhance the value of the rest of the dwelling.

The male will follow in shame, letting her do the talking, and be there just to carry any pamphlets, samples, or information gathered from any and all glassmakers within a 10 county radius.

Starting with “Andy’s Windowpalooza Warehouse” and ending with “Zachary’s Pane Free Window Replacement Shoppe”.


Returning to the dwelling with no window. Just information.

By the time this process is finished. The female of the relationship will have devised a plan to have every window in the house replaced to match the one pane in the one window that was initially needing to be replaced.

In the end, after another argument, about time, money, contractors and the soon be coming argument about redecorating the house to match the new windows…..

The same solution is always reached.

Cardboard and duct tape.

Versatile. Easy. Done.

All pics accessed from Google.

Problem solving the pain of the pane from the mind of


Chasing The Beam

On a remote farm
In central USA

A beam broke
Through the clouds

And changed
Dusk into day.

Pure white
Light ascended

From the billowing
Grey to the ground

The glare
Was immense

But it didn’t
Make a sound.

It hit the
Earth softly

A single beam
From above

It scanned over
The landscape

It’s purpose no
Human knows of.

Graphing the land
One acre at a time

Comes and goes
As it pleases

With no reason
Or rhyme.

The Hanging 4

My hands are dirty.

They aren’t supposed to be.

They have been clean from crime and pilfering for over 7 years now.


Except for that take a penny, leave a penny tray at the convenience store. Sometimes, I take more than a penny.

It’s been said time and time again.

Crime doesn’t pay.

And the grime, that may be unnoticeable to the naked eye, glares up at me as if it were blood on my hands.

My Sunday started as usual.

Get up. Make coffee. Have cup of said coffee. Start laundry.

It’s a routine.

I have been known to call it Cinderfella’s Sunday Funday.

I would be Cinderfella.

Only now, instead of being fitted for a glass Converse All Star hi top, it will be for a steel shackles in the castle of steel on steel.

I start with the denim load first. It’s starts off the “road to clean” routine.

When load 1 is finished, I transfer it to the dryer and proceed to the dark colors.

It was in between the loads when I realized my revert to my criminal past.

Always in between. Never before. Never after.

Freaking in between.

As I began to transfer the contents to the awaiting drying stage of the process, I bore witness to my crime.

And without thinking, I did what anyone with a criminal past would have done.

Hung it out to dry.


Money laundering……

Not what I intended when thinking of ways to teach the kids about the value of a dollar….much less 4.

There is a lesson to be learned here.

The grime
Of crime
Never lessons
Over time.

To clean
The scene
Hang up
The green.

Or something like that.

The Sides

I am a carnivore.

Just in case you are unsure of what that means….here is the definition-

1-an animal that feeds on flesh.

I never got into the zombie flesh eating frenzy. I don’t feed on human flesh.

I like big, juicy, medium rare steaks.


On the medium rare occasion when my wife and I go out to eat, at a restaurant type establishment, I always order the big steak.

Usually a ribeye. Sometimes a NY strip, but always a steak.

I’m always asked,

“And what sides would you like with your steak, sir. The choices are listed below.”

The conversation is usually one sided.

“No sides. Just bring me a big plate of meat.”

Usually I hear forks drop and gasps from snoopy onlookers. Then the whispers from the other tables begin,

“Did you hear that…he said no sides…honey cover the children’s ears!”

As the waitress tries to regain her composure and power of suggestion stance she asks again.

“Ummmm, sir. It comes with 2 sides. Your choice of potato and a vegetable. Please choose accordingly.”

I again reply,

No sides….just meat…medium rare. If I must choose 2 sides then I will choose baked meat and steamed meat……no potato….no vegetable….just meat. Got it.”

Before a manager gets called over and things get out of hand, my wife usually chimes in.

“Just bring him fries and okra…on a separate plate…and place it in front of me. Sorry….meat makes him crazy.”

Our order will shortly be brought out and I will devour the steak and nothing else. I’m happy and the restaurant just wasted food for no apparent reason, therefore, proving the statement

The customer is always right.

I go through all of that to get to this.

My wife is out of town on a speaking engagement.

I am home making myself dinner.

What am I having?


Just steak.

No one telling me I have to have sides.

No one suggesting sides.

That’s my side of the story.

And I’m sticking to it.