Practice swing, a bio flash from Nash prompts for July26th, 2013 in July 26th, 2013 Flash Friday

Shameless, hammer, spoon, Alcibiades, mom --- Nash Prompts.

I call her the seahag. My kids call her mom. One of her political opponents called her Alcibiades. She bowed out of that race; a volunteer position on a community board. She didn’t ask me who Alcibiades was, is, or tastes like, and why would she? The last time we spoke I suggested she take a psyche eval and my future second ex-wife offered to piss in her birkenstocks. For that matter why would I even know shit like that? My father wrote his dissertation on ancient Greek civilization; over the past year I’ve been putting text books from the seventies into steel strength hefty bags and using them as insulation.

A minor politician in a culture that flamed out before Christ was born, not completely, but it was on fire. Here in the two thousand AD’s, the Euro community and the US sat back and watched Greece go bankrupt. It’s a long way from here to there. I don’t remember much about the guy, I think he was wishy washy though, his stance always pandering to public opinion. At least that’s what I think the opponent for the committee of volunteers to make useless recommendations to a city that has no money and whose priority would not have been a borderline shabby residential neighborhood.

Her sin is not wishy washiness, it might, in fact, be the polar opposite, her opinions are made of marble, not the fine polished marble, sculpted into eyeless bust of who-the-fuck-cares like Alcibiades, but the heavy, coarse, mineral crusted marble, immovable and misshapen. If you suggested she might better pound in a nail with a hammer than the spoon she is using she is likely as not to tell you that a spoon is more environmentally sound or isn’t that just like a heterosexual to bring out the heavy arsenal for a simple nail.

Yes, this is more of an entry than a flash, and, maybe I’ll do a flash to these prompts come Friday, and, no, I am not overstating my case, if anything I am understating. To sum up that last sentence; yes, no, maybe. Shameless is too obvious a word to use regarding the seahag. She aspires to shamelessness, but is dripping in the stuff, sweats shame, and if being a far left wing nut with a bad case of white woman’s guilt and, how do I say this, a lesbian who doesn’t actually have sex, she is also dipped in the quick drying cement of recovering Catholic. So much so that she did not go to her mom’s funeral, which wouldn’t mean dick except that she didn’t tell me or her children, two of which might have wanted to pay their respects, and one of which, that’d be me, would have been there to comfort the widower. This is pretty passive aggressive for the seahag, a step up from just aggressive, I mean, at least she didn’t kill her mom, though, you really do need to show up for the wet work.

Speaking of shameless exs who uses hammers and spoons, have a mom and like Greeks; I received an email from Sunny. Freaked me out. I wrote a long letter to my attorney about it. The email itself was a link to a Portland Craig’s list ad. The ad wanted charming, witty people with great writing skills. I may not be as charming as I think I am, I’m definitely not as witty as I think I am, and, I’m thinking, on the bell curve of people applying for the gig I probably am exactly as great a writer as I think I am. They want someone to write personal ads and/or respond to personal ads for guys who suck at doing that. A few years ago I would have laughed my ass off and applied. Today? First I am not looking a Trojan horse gift in its belly and secondly, it seems unwholesome; the gig is getting chicks to fall for me so some illiterate oaf wholly lacking in charm or wit can show up with a rose at the taco stand. I would tutor people for free on how to write a personal ad, and I’d also explain at great length why I won’t write it for em. For one thing my charm, wit and writing skills really attract women like the crazy ass bitch who sent me the link. She will eat you alive; spit out the jewelry and metal plate in your head and go pawn them.

What scares the living and dead bejesus right the fuck out of my charming witty ass is that the simple act of sending the link, surfacing if you will, will put one more kink into the knotted hose of this already fucked up beyond reason long distance divorce. Is it really taking the lord’s name in vain if;

1. You add a Be.

2. It’s not the lord so much as his kid.

3. It’s a natural born fact that the living bejesus is scared right the fuck out (you know, like it isn’t liable to call someone a rat fucker if you’ve got a series of polaroid’s that culminate in dude and rat lying naked side by side smoking a cigarette and staring at the ceiling. Imagine how the poor rat is going to explain it)