I IS FOR "I WANT TO LIVE" & "IDJITS"

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“It gets rid of unwanted facial hair
It gets rid of embarrassing age spots . . .”

GOOD STUFFS
I IS FOR “I WANT TO LIVE” :

The following poem I wrote in June of 1981 when I was 20 years of age. It doesn’t need much introduction as I feel it’s pretty self-explanatory. (Just know, people, that when I’m reduced to posting my own poetry, I’m simply dry of ideas. Have a little pity, will ya? "Say, buddy, can ya spare a dime? How ‘bout an idea?")
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I WANT TO LIVE

I want to live one whole life
By fulfilling my ability
I want to live one whole life
Learning from everything I see

I want to see through Van Gogh’s eyes
To really see and live to tell
I want to feel the darkness in that man’s mind
To know his loveless, mortal hell

I want to know a mother’s joy
When she brings a child to the earth
To feel the infinite power
In that new born baby’s worth

I want to know the determination
In the poor kid growing up on the street
And to spiral down a drain
With the dirt he washes from bare feet

I want to know the rich man’s comfort
To touch the classic art that he can buy
And concern myself with nothing
Except judgment when I die

I want a woman to cry
When she feels the things I’ve left unsaid
I want her to know of the despair I’ve seen
And count the times my heart has bled

I want to love a shy young girl
Like a fortress built of stone
To hold her warm and tight
When she feels so alone

I want to feel all the sadness
When my soul is cold and bare
To hear a shout, turn my head
And find my friends are there

I want to know the void in the author
Who will live but never write
Like a baby bird fallen from the nest
Before it’s known the rush of flight

I want to feel the desperation
That only a supreme artist can survive
To produce work of immortal magnitude
Then scream out, “I’m Alive!”

I want to know all that life has to give
And yet, in God I trust
That still I will be learning
When my body has turned to dust

BAD STUFFS
I IS FOR “IDJITS” :

People, I want to talk to you about-- Wait! Move in a little closer. This may be politically incorrect, so I don’t wanna have to shout it.

-- People, I want to talk to you about . . . you know, those folks in society that have doo-doo for brains; who do stupid, asinine things but think that they’re no dumber than the rest of society. Worst of all, some of ‘em actually think they’re hip and cool an’ all. You know, the sorts of people that Yosemite Sam would loudly call “IDJITS.” But then, of course, Yosemite Sam did everything loudly.

Idjits come in all shapes, sizes and genders. Well, actually, as far as I know there are only two genders – but idjits come in both of ‘em.

Who’re idjits? Well, that guy who cuts you off on the freeway, he’s an idjit. But ya know, you’ll find idjits on both ends of ya: that woman who was tailgating you when the idjit cut you off? Well, she’s an idjit, too. Idjits are those people who blow their noses at the table in a restaurant. "Oh, yeah, that’s why I drove to this establishment and paid these menu prices, so I could hear you blowing snot into a handkerchief one table away while I’m trying to eat this banana pudding."

You know that dude who lets his dog go on barking at nothing hour after hour late at night? He’s not just an idjit, he’s a friggin’ idjit! That woman who parks her SUV in a spot reserved for the handicapped and then bounces out of her vehicle and heads into the sporting goods store to buy a new tennis outfit . . . well, I guess I doesn’t have to say it ‘cause if you ain’t an idjit yerself, you already know what I’m a-goin’ to say about that woman.

You know those people with tattoos all over their bodies like they’re walking billboards selling dragons, Jolly Rogers and Harley-Davidson logos? Well, they’re idjits. And they’re gonna feel like idjits too, when they reach the age of 75: “Hey, Granny! How’s your dragon hangin’?”

Now if you’re a famous Rock group and you and your girlfriends pose nehkid and half nehkid for a photograph to be displayed on the inside of one of your record albums, both you and yer girlfriends are idjits! Pictured below are the Doobie Brothers and their womenfolk in their birthday suits on the inside of their album ‘Toulouse Street’. Is they idjits, or what? “Oh yeah, buddy, that’s just what we all wanted to see – you sittin’ there wearing nuttin’ but a hat over your rooster. Maybe you blokes shoulda been called The Boobie Brothers.”
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Of course, the Red Hot Chili Peppers did something even more embarrassing on their ‘Abbey Road E.P.’ I mean, REALLY! Copying the famous Beatles album cover but doing it nehkid except for white socks hanging over your cock-a-doodle-doos? "Oh, you guys are just sooooo fuuuuunny! I’ll bet every college frat-boy idjit in the country fell down laughing over that one. What cleverness! What creativity! What genius! What a display of Idjitism!"

Well, let’s face it, probably 98.75% of Rock stars are idjits.

The gal who puts her clothes in a dryer at the laundromat and then abandons them for hours; the guy who leaves his macaroni and cheese sauce splattered all over inside the microwave oven at work; the chick who goes to lunch with a friend but spends half of the time yakkin’ on her cell phone with someone else; the dude next-door who revs up his motorcycle at the crack of dawn while you’re trying to sleep . . .
they’re idjits all!

There’s an epidemic of Idjititis sweeping the nation; it's going viral and folks are catching it and then infecting others with it. Good People of America, what we goin’ do ‘bout all these idjits?!

Well, I have an idea: maybe they could all be quarantined in the states of Iowa and Airheadzona where the natives wouldn’t even notice.

Le McQuote Du Jour:
You KNOW L. A. Habra be jammin'!
~ Illiterate Woman
(at a battle-of-the-bands competition in Los Angeles)

~ Stephen T. McCarthy
Doggtor of Semiliterate, Half-Naked Blogological Studies
Stream O’Consciousness University in Idjitville, Iowa

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