Three Cheers For The Thanks Womb!

With The-Day-We-Eat-Lots-And-Rub-Our-Bellies fast approaching, I thought it high time to give a little perspective on the things for which I am truly thankful. All that boring shit like friends and family is being left out. I hope to find the root of the matter, that special place from which my thanks originates.

Welcome to The Thanks Womb.

The other day, something wicked wafted my way.
Through the front door, up to the counter.
It was a hot, bright, sun-shiny day.
Some kind soul had dumped an enormous pile of dog shit
in the trash can right by the front door.
An even kinder soul had dumped Lysol in to cover the smell.
The resulting elixir was an affront on decency, let me tell you.
So, whoever you are, who neglected to properly bag
your canine waste, your doggie-present, your pooch-parcel,
I had forgotten that I do not have to hold the steaming feces
of another species on a regular basis, a fact that I find to
be simply awesome.
So, thanks.
No, really, thank you!

A few days ago, on a crisp autumn afternoon,
One of the Rockridge Poverty All-stars sat
cole chillin' on the grass of the church.
He usually screams out socio-political prophecies
that would still not be relevant even if he somehow understood
that it is not 1967, but this day was different.
He lay on his back, hands behind his head,
nappy lice-nest afro holding hands with the grass,
humming along and singing with a tune that blasted
from the jukebox by his knee.
What, you ask, was the song?
'Crazy,' by Aerosmith. You know,
the one where Steven Tyler's daughter is for some reason
humping a stripper's pole?
I kid not.
So, you smelly bastard, for making me smile
with your schizophrenic irony,
I give thanks!

I am an arachnophobe.
The other morning, I attempted to wrestle with some of my fear,
by trapping and releasing a disgusting, wretched, twitchy
spider instead of the usual Kleenex-flush method to which
I am strongly attached. He crawled onto the paper towel and I boxed him in.
To the window with you, said I!
I shook him out and watched him fall.
But, persistent fucker that he was, he liked my apartment.
I can't say that I blame him, but
mere minutes later, he had crawled up the side of the building
and back into my abode.
I resorted to what I know best, and squashed that commie flat.
So, for reminding me that stick-to-it-iveness is not always the
best option, and that sometimes changing your game plan mid-stride
is the way to go, you nasty little eight-legged bitch, I give a hearty
round of thanks!

Okay, folks, I'm overflowing with gratitude and it's getting my carpet
moist. Be sure to check back, as I am sure
the Thanks Womb will need some more blood-letting
quite soon.

Mazel Tov