Matthew 8:21

Upon hearing of the park to be constructed behind the new courthouse I became elated at the thoughts of playing kickball in a wide-open space. My youth was full of such fond memories of running and smiling in grassy expanses.

Filled with excitement, I recently trespassed on the site to plan my ensuing Summer-fun. Sadly, there are no open spaces at all. It’s filled with slides and beer gardens. My dreams of running free have been dashed by what appears to be an activity-filled beehive of specific things to do. I trudged through each planned experience from the climbing hill to the stainless-steel hyper slide with repressed joy while all I really wanted to do was play a proper game of running about.

Adjacent to the new park is our town graveyard, which would make a fine open field. I know what you’re thinking- the ground is bumpy from the rotting flesh- we’ll turn our ankles. Not to worry! Our county has more ankle & foot clinics than nail-salons- we won’t suffer at the feet of our dead. Be that as it were, we should probably just exhume the bodies.

After all, cemeteries are an anachronism. Generations of humans would only bury the dead to keep animals away from their villages and camps. Religion got involved because religious leaders were always involving themselves in the community- they were the de facto sheriffs throughout much of our history, but that won’t help us play kickball now. Tibetans have gotten it right. They put the corpse on a high point in the mountains and let vultures complete the cycle. The ground in Tibet is too frozen to dig a hole, and what better way to honor the dead than having the finest of nature’s beasts benefit from it. It’s no wonder the forward-thinking Tibetans created the game of kickball centuries ago.

The last year has taught us that everyone’s terrible- especially those from earlier generations whom we now judge by a completely different set of rules, so you could say these people had it coming.

I propose giving bereaved families sixty days to claim the headstones and exhume the bodies. Otherwise, you’ll only have a general idea where lies the rotting corpse of someone you never got to meet.

Larry Thack’s case of popcorn lung was caused and cured by the same Vape Store

Woe Unto the Rich

Relaxing Poolside

I would’ve really amounted to something if not for all the time I devote to charity work. Very little means more to me than the numerous charities I have founded, funded, and $%#@!9 -up. I had a nice weekend forgetting all about the mayonnaise race and got back to the people I adore- people.

Once a year I work with a group whose mission is to assist the rich in their time of need. You might remember the time I served on the board of a scholarship foundation that assists wealthy children in travelling abroad. Shielding parents from these high costs is the mission of our humble scholarship. This is similar, but I have to show up for this one.

At once I was at the gorgeous lakeside home of a woman in dire need. Apparently, she had let the ivy go and it was encroaching on her swimming pool. Each room in the four-story plantation home was an honorific to the acquisition of possessions. It was hard for me to walk around in the place without knocking some priceless bauble of its platform of dust. I strolled outside to watch some workmen clear brush. I chatted with the neighbors about this fine thing that I was doing. I played pitch and catch with some children who were also not working. After socializing and enjoying a banquet of savory meats and delightful sweets I took a nap in one of my hosts eleven bedrooms. Below me were blue collar workmen painting, tiling, scrubbing, and installing Italian granite counters- they were giving their time and materials pro bono.

The poor workmen returned to their desolate, loving homes- fulfilled. I awoke and returned to my palace where I soaked my hands in a French shea butter as the threat of labor made my skin crackle.

These are truly rewarding endeavors. “Society” urged me for years to help the shoeless, soot-faced children who toiled in the factories but theirs is the life of great fulfillment! The rich feel wholly unwanted, are shamed by their possessions, and lack wholesome relationships. The poor have large, caring families, delight at the smallest gift, and curiously engage in “hugs”. Sometimes it seems only I can see the truly needy.

Larry Thack’s newest back tattoo is a scattering of moles and liver spots

Michael Jackson or Jeffrey Epstein

Now and again, I like to go to the movies. It’s the one place where things are at the proper volume.

In preparation for my big trip, I started reading the movie listings and reviews. Animal Farm seems like the obvious choice, since I finally finished reading the massive tome. But all anyone ever talks about is the new Michael Jackson biopic. I’ve already read two favorable reviews, but they didn’t start out favorably. One called him a “stone cold pedophile” and the other a “horrible human being”. Well now I have to rethink the whole thing. Michael Jackson- a bad guy?

Of course he’s a bad guy! What am I thinking? He would lure children to his “Neverland Ranch” and expose them to Tinker Bell and Captain Hook. This all sounds so familiar and it’s gotten me to thinking- who’s worse Michael Jacskon or Jefferey Epstein?

Epstein doesn’t have any movie reviews by which to judge him, but he does do poorly in the press. I’ve never heard him called a “stone cold pedophile” but plenty of people agree he’s a “horrible human being”.

When I think back to the days of Jackson’s height of popularity, I recollect a society that had a contract with Jackson- there was an understanding not to have a slumber party with Michael Jackson. I think it was an addendum to the pledge of allegiance and “Happy Birthday” for wisecracking kids. Whenever there was a report of Jackson’s molesting, the whole country would shake its head and say, “what kind of an idiot would let his kid go to Michael Jackson’s house for a sleepover?” Between his creepy voice and bizarre appearance, allegations of child molestation seemed appropriate and frankly, deserved. I mean this guy has worked hard, put out numerous “comeback” albums. He deserves a treat from time to time and he has requested young boys. This new movie suggests Americans are supportive of this idea, but I’d better ask around first.

Epstein seems like he’d be worse than Jackson for numerous reasons. Epstein only hangs out with other rich guys and that sounds like something most people could agree to dislike. He also appears smugly in all photos, whereas Jackson looks gentle and kind.

Jackson also possesses the noblesse oblige -he’s rich, famous, and has contributed to our culture- he should be able to do whatever he wants! Epstein’s just rich.

Besides all that- I polled everyone in town and it is universally agreed that Epstein is worse. I can only conclude that Americans agree it is bad to be a child predator, just not as bad if you compel us to dance.

Larry Thack’s Patience is Wearing Fat

Rare photograph of Jackson appearing to be the most normal person in the picture.

Mother’s Day Disaster

Mother Thack turned ninety-two on Mother’s Day this past week. Although quite vibrant and young at heart, Mother Thack is not as young as her age suggests. She does not actually share a birthday with Mother’s day, rather it is suchly that her rural, suburban birth was not recorded due to the pre-enlightenment era so we just began counting once her usefulness could be measured.

I decided to take her to the islands for a nice getaway and that’s where the problems began. Of the more than two hundred rooms in the hotel, only four lacked balconies and we lucked into one of those. Mother Thack smokes the hookah and things didn’t go well the first night. The sprinklers went off, I was charged a room-cleaning fee, and worse- my paperback copy of The Shack was somehow completely dry and still readable.

The morning started out nicely as we took our Penny-Farthings for a ride but soon enough Mother Thack’s pet peeves got her down. After being called “Sir” by the hotel staff for the third time that morning she was knocked from her bike by a Gull, harassed by a crab, and struck by an errant cornhole bag. We tried to relax at the lounge but things only took a worse turn as Mother Thack was served a Sex on the Beach without a mini umbrella and the waitress nervously repeated that she was “very sorry sir”.

Larry Thack was refused service by his barber when he requested the “Ossoff”