Cold. We geezers tend to stay in and stoke the fire on days like this. Ain't as much fun with a gas fueled fireplace.

Just a few more days 'til solstice; Saturday 22nd 1:08 am. You will celebrate... won't you? After all, if not for the pagan holiday rituals of winter solstice, Christmas in December would be very unlikely. Both are a celebration of a new beginning. For Christians it is fulfillment of Old Testament prophecies of the beginning of the final days. For pagans, it ends the old year and begins the new with promise of renewal and lengthening of the number daylight hours. I'll side with the pagans.

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My wife found out today that Joe is married and has a kid on the way. I've got this creepy feeling all over me that says I'm going to be a pappy by proxy. This just keeps getting deeper and more foreboding. Science is beginning to believe in parallel universes; cripes, I'm living in one and I am living proof that such places exist.

Jeremy is ok, I am alone, and my feet hurt. Life is good. Thanks C. and A. for thinking about him, and for your comments.

El Creepo Joe has again flown the roost, and Carlyn is demanding I return HER car to her. Last I looked, both our names were on the title, so I told her to take a flying f~ck at the moon. She hinted that I should visit her! I know what she wants, and I'm the only one who can give it too her. She needs me back at the computer catching up on her business stuff. I passworded some critical files, because I knew sooner or later Joe would push me aside for a while. I'll let her struggle through another payroll, then I may go back and help her out. This motel living is expensive; I hate to think I'll have to move back in with her.

I'm going to have to get a haircut. I'm relearning why I went for years with nerdy, short hair; when the long stuff falls out, it migrates directly to my mouth, or to whatever I'm eating. I grew this fantastic white beard to catch some of the hair before it goes asunder, but it helps very little with fallout into food. The last week has been spent mostly gagging on long, gray hairs tickling my throat and wrapping my tongue, Whoops! Sorry if you were eating while reading this. Heh heh...

The photo was made last summer in happier times...


I'm sitting in a motel room, trying to get something done on a laptop pc that has only a 13" screen. Not quite large enough for old eyes. Fortunately I'm myopic, and able to put my long nose against the glass and see what I've typed. Can't get on Flickr, 'cause I forgot to being my new password with me. Changed all my passwords when I heard Joe was back in town, and they are stored on the desktop at home, or what used to be home. I remember one or two of them, but not for Flickr.

Anyway, I've been evicted by my wife or Joe's wife or whomever the hell's wife she is. Carlyn came in late again last evening, and this time she didn't bother to take a shower. I could smell the bastard all over her when she came to bed, so I raised a ruckus 'til mid-morning, when she told me to get the hell out. I left with the few clothes I could push into an eight gallon trash bag, this laptop, my cell phone, and my camera. Actually the cell phone belongs to Carlyn's company, and I expect it to be disconnected shortly.

I called Carlyn this afternoon to see if she would allow me to get some more stuff and my password list. I don't suppose I have to say who answered the phone?

Finally got a day off and managed to waste it. Didn't get out of bed 'til nearly ten this morning, then I had a hangover from sleeping too long.

Watched the Lady Vols put a big hurt on Old Dominion last evening, but I still don't consider them the best team in the country. That would be the despised University of Connecticut Huskies. Pat Summitt has done a great job over the years, but I believe there are other coaches in women's basketball whom are better. Even with a super-player like Candace Parker, she still allows the team to perform at mediocre levels way too much.

How are things in Philadelphia? Ready for Christmas? Kids excited, or are they at the age where they pretend they aren't.

Haven't heard a peep from good old Joe, unless the fact that Carlyn came home from work two hours late last evening means anything. She came in and took a shower; something she rarely does before retiring. I asked her the obvious, but she was too tired and sleepy to talk about it. Sure! She was in an awful good mood this morning; something else unusual. She still won't say where she was, except "working". Phooey! That is the reason I slept so late today; worrying about this crap.

I guess to her it is perfectly alright; after all, Joe and I are the same person. One thing for sure; Joe and I know differently. Neither one of them has made my short list for Christmas gifts.

Rotten, rotten day with crappy weather to boot. Day began cold, warmed into upper 50s, fell into lower 40s, and is still sliding. Off-and-on cloud cover has turned to threatening gray skies, with snow flurries promised for tonight. Had to get blood work done, run errands, and partook of a scrumptious meal at Burger King. Indigestion for desert. To top it off, some lowlife swiped gas out of the Escape last night.

Worse yet, it is only one day closer to spring.

That creep clone of mine hasn't shown his face or called all day, and it worries me. I know for a fact that his mind is most devious and at least slightly warped. Sooner or later he'll show up, and I hope I'm here to greet him before Carlyn does. If he gets to her first...

I wanted to spend a few minutes at the park today, taking photos and checking out babes on the walking trails. Hell, I'm afraid to leave home without Carlyn. I tell her to stay away from him and she tells me Joe is my baby and I'll have to live with the situation or get rid of him myself.

My Christmas spirits are at an all time low.

Thanks Robin, for allowing me to visit Paris with you. I do have some the spirit of the of the city now that I've read your descriptions and most of all, your feelings.

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Another busy day, and I'm supposed to be retired. I'm just tired. Time sheets are finished by the bookkeeper, and payroll is ready to go to the accountant, both of whom happen to be me. Tomorrow I will print paychecks and send them to the CFO for approval and signing. I am not the CFO. Then it will be errands 'til about 4:00 pm, at which time I may be able to relax. I haven't had time or opportunity to get out and do any serious picture taking for more than two weeks, nor have I had time to comment on a lot of contact's photos, but I have been on their photo streams to look and admire.

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Joe/Ken is definitely back in town. He called this morning and asked to speak with Carolyn; the nerve of that home wrecker! It's bad enough he is perfectly like me in so many ways, but the s.o.b. has the gall to be a better lover than I. And with my wife. Just can't figure that one out. She won't even tell in what ways he is better; she just gets a dreamy, far away look, smiles, and shrugs me off. I've got to think of something to keep that turd away form my life; especially my wife.

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I hope you all are enjoying your Holiday season. Most people do, I think. I'm sitting here sucking on a candy cane and for some reason, it tastes like a margarita, and that ain't bad. I may get some Christmas spirit after all.

Today has been the busiest day for me in weeks; seems all the bad karma I've built over the past year has thrown a flying whoopee at me. Children to deal with (my grown delinquents), bills to pay, paperwork out the bazooka, prepare a bid for a job, run to the bank, and finally have a TV dinner for my day's repast. Ugh; yuck; and phooey. No wonder folks say I'm a cynic.

I understand through the grapevine ol' Joe/Ken is going to make a visit. You remember Joe, the perfect clone I had made of myself back in March? I hope that turkey stays away. Never in my life have I wanted kill anyone, at least not until Joe came on the scene. I've changed all my passwords on the computer, so maybe he can't screw around with that. I'm afraid what he can screw around with is my wife, just like he did before I bought him a one way bus ticket to Los Angeles. What a sorry piece of work he is. Christmas is bad enough, and he can only make it unbearable.

Oh Woe; Oh Woe

Okay; okay! Go ahead and rub it in. Y'all saw it coming, didn't you? Well, why didn't you tell me. At the bottom of each of my posts, there is a little icon labeled comments that can be clicked on to leave me a comment. Did any of you bother to warn me? Hell no.

You knew that Joe the clone was going to end up in the sack with my wife, didn't you? Last night, I had to sleep on the recliner in the den. Go ahead; get your chuckles; I didn't get anything but a sore back. Not much sleep, either. Lying awake trying to hear what the hell was going on in my bedroom, fearing that the worst was happening, and I didn't have to wait very long. About 12:30 am it did happen! I don't hear very well, but I heard that. I'll bet that most of the neighborhood heard it. That wasn't the worst of it; like clockwork, it happened about every hour afterwards until after daylight.

It began about 11:00 pm when we were getting ready for bed. My wife decided that she wanted some ice cream and asked me if I would tell Joe to go to the store. Conveniently, Joe wasn't to be found, so I, being a caring and loving husband, drove the two miles to the all-night market to get my bride a quart of butter-pecan. I made my purchase, decided to drink a cola and talk a little trash with the cute blonde-haired girl that was working the counter.

On arriving back at the house, I noticed that the bedroom light was off. Well, she got sleepy and went on to bed, I reckoned. I put the ice cream into the freezer and went to my bedroom. But guess what. The door was locked, and I heard my wife giggling! She doesn't giggle! I gently tapped on the door and asked her to let me in.

Well, surprise surprise. My voice came from behind the locked door, informing me to get lost. That conniving horse's butt had gone into our love nest and told my darling that he'd sent JOE to the store.

I hollered for the s.o.b. to open the door and get away from my wife. She told me to get away from the door and leave them alone. I tried to tell her that it was Joe in there instead of me, her true love, and that he was deceiving her. She wasn't buying it, telling me to get the hell away or she would phone 911. I kept pleading with her and threatening him. All I got back was more threats from the love of my life, and cursing from good ol' Joe.

After awhile, I kicked on the door and then I heard my wife dialing and talking to the 911 operator. I told her okay, that I would go away, but that she was wrecking our marriage. I heard that louse of a clone laughing as my dearest told the operator to never mind. I knew that I was whipped, as I had no way of proving to her that it wasn't me cuddling with her in our bed.

Now, I'm in one hell of a quandary. I've got to get rid of that wife-theiving monster before he does away with me. Damn, I've never been able to give it a go that many times in one night; probably not in a week.

No, I don't want you leaving me any advice, although constructive comments will be appreciated. I'll figure it out myself, but when I do get my lover back, how am I going to perform like Joe?

Joe on the Line

7:00 pm- First time I ever talked to myself on the telephone. Joe spoke so articulately and was very fluent. I am neither one. They must be making him watch MTV or Fox News or C-SPAN. I believe that he is going to be hard to handle when I bring him home.

Feelling GOOD!

4:00 pm- Wow! How wonderful a nap made me feel. The lousy feelings of this morning are gone. It must have been that shot of some kind of narcotic they gave me just before the cloning. I wonder how good old Joe is getting along. Whoops, maybe I am good old Joe. It don't make any difference does it?

Yesterday I wrote that I would emancipate Joe as soon as tax season is over, but I've given it more thought. He will be a perfect organ donor for me in case I get something busted in an accident, or catch some disease that'll threaten my life. I am talking immortality here. If Joe, or Ken, whomever or whatever is still at the clinic, dies from donating organs to me, that's okay. I'll have them freeze what's left of his good stuff for my future needs.

But, if that is Ken at the clinic, will I be causing a murder by getting him killed through organ donating? Doesn't make any difference, as I am now Ken. That which was cloned from me is nothing more than a 260 pound piece of walking, talking, myopic protoplasm. Has no legal rights, whatsoever!

I know. What about my/his/our soul? I can't answer that, at least not in a way that won't offend a lot of people. You'll have to get one of those highly educated Theologians or at least a Philosopher to grapple with that enigma.

Whatever. I still intend for Joe to take over here when he is able. Just for a few days.

I'm going to phone the clinic now, and find out if I can speak with good old Joe. Ought to be interesting.

Aftershock

12:40 pm- I'm back home after having the cloning procedure. It went okay, I guess, although there is a weird feeling around me, as if I no longer know who or what I am. Somehow I feel as if I'm outside looking in at whatever it is that makes me me, and at the same time, the outer world that I sense from inside me is surreal, and I feel disconnected from it. Have I done the right thing? Is this me or am I still at the clinic? Am I a clone or am I the original? I don't know, and it scares me. The mirror tells me that I am as I was before leaving home this morning. Maybe I'm dreaming. I hope I'm dreaming. Maybe I should have given it more thought before making the decision to be cloned. I'm going to lie down for a while.

Cloning for the Betterment of Mankind

With so many addicts of my prose out there needing a daily fix, and in the name of expediency, I've decided to have myself cloned. It's income tax time, and I always go into seclusion about this time of year. I get depressed because I have to do the tax thing without cheating, and then I get more depressed because I have to pay, seeing as how I'm a Patriot and man of high moral fiber. Why torture myself by doing our taxes instead of allowing a professional to figure them? I'm a Sadistic idiot.

Tomorrow, I go to E.T.S.U.'s medical school and have the cloning procedure performed. I will be back in action immediately, but my clone will need a few days for adjustment. At the moment he is created, he will be just as I was, but afterwards, he will have a separate personal life and identity except for one thing; I will own him. His name will be Joseph. I hope Joe doesn't eat much . . .; my candy stash will be secreted.

To keep this blog going at full fury while I meditate and prepare to render unto Caesar, Joe will take over in a about a week from now, maybe sooner. I don't expect that there will be many changes, though.

I thought about having the clone produced from my inner feminine side, but I believe that it would make people around her ill at ease, although it is something to consider. Just think; having a mate of the opposite sex (or same sex, if that is your preference) that looks like your twin, knows you as well as you know yourself, and knows how you like to have your back scratched. And other stuff, too. I would name her Sally, and oh how tongues would wag!

When the taxes are done for this year, and after we've had a few beers and a laugh or two, I will emancipate Joe. I'm sure he will be fine.

I realize that there are moral questions involved in this affair, but they pale in comparison to some ethical questions concerning the tax laws of our country.

What do you think?