‘Merican Idol

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‘Merican Idol
by Chuck Howe

I’m glad I don’t remember being born
Think of it
from the child’s point of view

Child Star
Child of the seventies
Laughing child
Crying child
Child on cue
Cute child
Ugly child
Tiny man
Spoiled child
Heartwarming child
Dying child
All at the same time

Work hard
Get noticed
Move on up the ladder
the good life

I’m a famous actor and I love Coke
not that kind, the other kind
the one that used to have Coke in it
now it’s just caffeine and corn syrup
mmmm gooood

Hi I’m an old famous actor
I have diabetes
Do you have diabetes?
Then do what I am paid to say to do.


Hey man, It’s you man
I saw you on cribs
You’re fridge was full of energy drinks
a TV in the shower
I know you man, You had a hit back then
You were a big star man
what was that hit you had
It was on the radio all the time
don’t worry about it man
we were all somewhere else at some time
You get a half hour for lunch
and two fifteen minute breaks

You’ve pimped out your mom
and you’ve punked your dad
And your starting to think
that the world’s not so bad
and the glamorous life
you’ve seen on TV
makes you proud to live
in the land of the free
Then you lose your job
the kids are both sick
your view of the world
might changed pretty quick
The bills pile up
no cash coming in
you turn to TV
you see greed and sin
all of those things
you were proud of before
leave you feeling like
an old dirty whore
Now you’ve lost your job
your kids, and your home
at least you still have
your prepaid cell phone
Call your Senator, your doctor
your lawyer and scream
but they are all part
of the American Dream

He can’t marry her
She’s not a Catholic
It’s the law
He can’t marry her
He’s Black
It’s the law
He can’t marry her
It’s the law
He can’t marry her
It’s the law
He can marry anyone
It’s the law
He can’t marry him
It’s the law

Proud woman
Told to suck a dick for a job
Sexual harassment suit
Now she’s the slut

And on the seventh day he rested
and the rest of the world toiled
On the Seventh day he goes to church
to ask for forgiveness for the passed week
On the seventh day he comes home from church
and starts a new list
On the eighth day he steals
on the ninth day he kills
on the tenth day he lusts
on the eleventh day he fucks
on the twelve day he lies
on the thirteenth day he does them all
On the fourteenth day he goes back to church

Man in Jail for years and years for a crime he didn’t commit
Man in Jail for years and years because he was forced to submit
Man goes crazy
Man tries to scream
System is Lazy
A system obscene
Man in Jail for years and years and for things he thought he knew
Man in jail for years and years and they ask him if he grew

Come on
It’s cool
I bet Lindsay smokes

Do you care?
Take pills.
Make your caring go away.
Just like Rush Limbaugh

It’s Saturday Night and you’re in at home
Your wife your kid your dog his bone
A weeks worth of anguish with one day to go
To enjoy the things you work so hard for
What if those thing were taken away
Do you think you could survive that day
An unthinkable thought but it has happened before
This time you just have to really make sure
So you live the life that you think that you were meant
At the end of the day it’s all money well spent

the golden years

Hello Jim
You’ve been a good man Jim
You treated your mother well Jim
You were true to your wife Jim
You were good to your children Jim
You were always a kind soul Jim
You were always there to help others Jim
You were a pious man Jim
You went to church every Sunday Jim
You confessed all your sins Jim
You led a perfect and holy life Jim
Too bad you went to the wrong church Jim
Go to hell Jim

the 44th Kisco Fall

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I realized something today, even when I went to college, both Hobart and University of Oregon started late. I was in Bedford Hills for a while, and Pound Ridge for a short while. Neither is very far, but for about 44 years, I have seen the first day of school in Mount Kisco.

Many are not memorable, especially once I was out of school. My last two years of high school were memorable if only because I learned I could skip the first few days and then claim I was transferring into classes. I have pictures of my first day of kindergarten, but I don’t have memories. School was never my favorite. I spent more time trying to get out of class than I think I actually spent in it.

But the change of scenery, and the appearance of children lining up on the sidewalk always brings a tinge of nostalgia. Neil Young, Simon and Garfunkel, Traffic, and CSN always come to mind as the first cassettes to enter my first car, the Brown Bandit. I used to smoke, not anymore, but I used to. The first taste of that cold weather cigarette was always great. Jack O. Lanterns are cool, but any pumpkin flavored food is horrible to me. And apples. Why is everything apples? It will be Halloween soon, give me candy or go home.

This may be my last fall living in Mt Kisco. I am comforted to believe that this day is the same everywhere. There are different teachers, and even a rebuilt school, where I once went. But the bus stops are the same.  There will be a fist day of school in my new town.

It’s the kids, with the same eager dread on their faces. It’s the crossing guards, and the traffic caused by the lumbering yellow buses. It’s the smile on the housewife’s face as she sits and reads in the coffee shop. It’s the people who used to fill the coffee shops, who are now back to work. Fall may officially be 10 days away, but the noise coming from the school yard at lunch hour tells the truth. Sip your pumpkin spice whatever as much as you want, but the time to drive slower, especially around your version of Marcella’s Pizza, is here.

Pink Balloons

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by Chuck Howe


An opera hall in Moscow

Then a rock show in Paris

Now a pop queen in Manchester

Music is my world

Even far away

It hits too close to home


Music is enchanting

Music is sacred

Music is special

Music is my happy place

Even if I hear

Crazy Les Claypool basslines

While on heavy drugs

I embrace music

I never want to fear it


Once, years ago

I was at a Phish show

during intermission

I got up for a Pretzel

While I was gone

A guy in the upper deck


And landed on my vacant seat

He survived

He acted alone

One person

One insane act

Luckily he only hurt himself

But I was shaken

Many others were shaken

One person

One insane act

Music was my happy spot

My safe spot


A pop princess

Teenage excitement

The biggest show EVER

The greatest night

Of their young lives

Ending with the wrong kind

Of explosion


Now I drift off

With visions in my head

Of thousands of pink balloons

Running for the nearest exit

Blind Fish

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“I’ll have the french toast,” I said. She gave me the look as I folded up my menu.

I had screwed up somehow. It was 2:30 in the morning, but the diner was still pretty packed. Filled mostly with people who knew my name. I didn’t want to make a big scene, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to happen anyway. I had no idea what I had done wrong, or to what degree I had done it wrong, I just knew I was about to be told what was what.

“French toast. Pfff…” Oh good, it was only about my food choice. These fights weren’t too bad.  I knew it all already.  I was just a silly American, stuffing my face with sugar and bread. In Germany everyone was so much smarter. She had gotten angry at me when I had called her beloved “Berliners” jelly donuts. That’s what they were, but according to her, because they were German, they were better our measly Jelly Donuts. To be honest, they were, but I would never have told her that. “We have much better than french toast in Germany. It’s called blind fish.”

“I’ll stick with french toast, I’m not in the mood for fish,” as far as I was concerned, that was the only valid response.

“No blind foish,” she accentuated the i in fish slightly differently, but it still sounded pretty much the same to me. However, she thought that was all the clarification that I needed. “It’s much better.”

“All the same, I know what french toast is and they know what french toast is,” I pointed to the kitchen staff. “If I asked for blind fish, I’d get a fish with it’s eyes poked out.”

“I’ll make it for you tomorrow. You’ll see,” She could cook, so I was sure I was going to like it. Of course it was 2:30 in the morning at the diner, and I had a few drinks in me.

“I don’t see how any fish would taste good with…” She didn’t even let me finish.

“There is no fish in blind fish.”

“Than why do you call it that?”

“Because that’s it’s name.”

“So what is it?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“Bread, with egg and cinnamon and sugar.” She replied confidently.

“So it’s french toast?”

“No, it’s better.”

“How? How is it better,” I asked.

“It’s German.”

How Bout We Fight

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by Chuck Howe


How bout we fight

a war against addiction

instead of a war against addicts


How bout we fight

a war against homelessness

instead of a war against the homeless


How about we fight

a war against the causes of terrorism

instead of a war against the results of terrorism


How bout we fight

a war for the environment

instead of a war against the environment


How about we fight

for the best interest of our children

rather than our own selfish needs


How about we fight

for peace

instead of war


How about we fight

to put an end

to the fighting

Super Gay Sex: With Jesus and Mohammed

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According to my stats, more people have found this blog through search engines than any of my other blogs.. I wonder why.

Czuch's Blog

by Chuck Howe

I had a great idea
I want to make a movie
A porno
A gay porno
Starring a Jewish man
and a Muslim man
I will call it
“Super Gay Sex:
With Jesus and Mohammed”
Of course God
Or Allah as some call him
will be watching it all
And touching himself
I can’t see that
Causing any problems at all

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The Night ‘fore Four Twenty


The Night Before Four Twenty
by Chuck Howe

It was April 19th
and all through the pad,
Was coughing as we finished
all the weed that we had,
Hippies passed out,
on my couch and my chair,
From lighting a roach,
the smell of burned facial hair,
Midnight passed and
soon it was late night,
When bearded man in a cardigan
entered my sight,
“Hey man, if you guys are
as stoned as I think,
I guess you won’t mind if
I pour myself a drink,”
He was quite blunt,
but was not very rude,
We knew right away,
that this was the Dude,
With vodka and milk,
a White Russian he made
He laughed when I asked
if I should be afraid
A big fat joint he handed me,
as he walked out the door
“Today is 420
for the whole Twenty-four!”


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by Chuck Howe



If I could meet future me

I would not ask

Any of the questions

That you might think

I would just ask me to play me

My favorite song from the future



I don’t want to know about my future

It would be useless to find out

I might try to make things better

But I know me

I’m too stubborn to change


And if things go great

I want to be surprised

By my success

Because no one would be

More surprised

Than me


Ho Ho Huh?

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Merry whatever….

Czuch's Blog

by Chuck Howe

It was the Christmas after the discover of the truth about Santa, but before jaded teenage years took hold of me. My brother was already there.

“Christmas is so lame. Christmas specials are lame. Toys are lame. Egg nog is … OK Egg nog is still good.” All December long, that was what he would say if anyone brought up Christmas.

I was still pretty excited about video games and candy canes and nerf footballs. I thought he was lame for thinking Christmas was lame. Finally Christmas eve came. We made our way to the Candle light sermon at Church. “Church is lame!” When we got home we were each allowed to open one gift. We both got stuffed bears that were pretty much the softest most cuddly stuffed animals. “Stuffed animals are lame.” Said Jacky. “Hey Chuck, go upstairs and get a board game we can…

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Burning the Flag

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by Chuck Howe

I went to a small liberal arts college in Western New York, that actually seemed anything but liberal. Most students arrived there after four years in boarding school. Most had lived very sheltered lives.

This was in 1991. The big debate was about a recent court ruling, that found flag burning to be a perfectly allowable form of protest.  George Bush sr had declared that he would create a constitutional amendment that outlawed flag burning, and Travis, my neighbor, praised him left and right for saying so. Of course, no amendment was ever passed, but Travis kept saying the he would “Beat the shit out of anyone who disgraced a flag.

When Veteran’s Day came around, the school had a cookout on campus. Travis and I both went.  Free hamburgers. The paper plates that the gave us, as well as the napkins, were all adorned with the stars and stripes, because nothing says patriotism like wiping ketchup off of your lip with an American Flag.

Of course Travis was proud to be eating a hot dog and his chips off of an American flag plate. As he was talking about how great the American flag was, I pulled my lighter out, and, without him seeing me do it,  lit his plate that was resting on his lap, on fire. He jumped up, threw the plate down, and started stamping on it. Of course, his napkin was still on the chair he had just vacated, so, without him noticing, I lit that too. Once again, he threw the napkin on the ground and stamped on it to put it out.

I then farted, loudly.  “Hey Travis, I am wearing American Flag boxer shorts. What is more patriotic, you stamping on the American flag, or me farting on it?”

Travis was a big dude.  He kicked my ass, but it was totally worth it.

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