Two of the selections here, "I Don't Do B and E's", and Laundry Bag, Pipe Bomb", are from the book, "Papa, Did We Break It?"
(Which you should buy:

The rest are stories that I add and change up in no particular order, so check back now and then, and scroll around. Leave a comment, for cryin' out loud.

Besides the poems and the obvious parodies, all the experiences that I relate here happened just as I tell them, as near as I can remember.

My Vacation in Maine

     I sat and watched the tide go out. I marveled that it would recede so far; exposing a long stretch of barnacled rocks and pebbly beach in our little cove. Tiny crabs would scuttle for shelter among the wet desolation of pebbles and stranded seaweed stinking in the sunlight. Then presently, I would watch the tide come back; the incoming swells rolling a little farther up with each surge, until I was aghast, and fearful to see the ominous flood drowning our cove, submerging all but the tops of the rocks, and turning them into inaccessible islands in the bleak ocean sea.
     Then I would watch the tide go out; it was sad to see it go. Dreadful though the flood had been, the receding waters filled me with melancholy. A fog was brewing out over the still water, and in the distance a foghorn began its mournful hooting in the fading light.
     Then, by the glimmer of muted moonlight, I would watch the tide come in...