Chicago's the greatest

Chicago's the greatest

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

And time is a crowd

And time is a crowd
By Jon Slone

Complete were the four
With just six more to tackle.
But the soul will unshackle
As the bard walketh far.

And time is a crowd that grows colder and colder.
And your feet are swept up cause you’re shoulder to shoulder.
And men are like minutes that are trampled like clover.
Cause the merciless mob won’t slow-up or bend over.

And The Crown Prince of Soda lived forty-nine years.
In a trick-or-treat life where he lapped-up the cheers.
Now the prince of pop parries no longer it appears…
And he only got a two page spread in the Star!

And the man high above finds his lungs not improving.
Outside the leaves fall to a fate they don’t wish.
Oh to just tape his seeds down to keep them from moving.
‘Twas a broke lift what laid down Lamar.

And time is a crowd
And the crowd isn’t fair.
And the crowd doesn’t pause.
And the crowd doesn’t care.

Jon Captain LoveWater Slone

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Captain LoveWater

Captain LoveWater
Written by the old man himself

Never eat cheese balls and drink something orange.
Number Twelve at Nine’s not a good place to stop!
Don’t ever sip punch when you’re stuck in Guyana.
And Delilah takes way too much off the top!

And Captain LoveWater has a hair full of head.
And Captain LoveWater just wrote what you read!

Never play drums if your first name is Jim.
Don’t set out to swim the complete Euphrates.
Like, don’t ever eat a ham sandwich in bed.
And don’t take apples from little old ladies!

Never eat hash with a guy named Stew.
Don’t run with a Kenyan save that if he’s gimpy.
Never throw down with a boy named Sue.
And Terry will tell ya that the water gun’s empty!

Never draw dogs with a guy named Charles.
Never watch movies with a guy named Pause-It.
Never eat salad with someone called Karen
Cause she’s just gonna throw it all up in the closet.

Don’t sit in a Cessna with a cat dubbed Otis.
Don’t ever say, “Man, it can’t get any worse!”
Pecan Trees’ll kill ya like James in Paris.
And Captain LoveWater will trill you some verse.

And Captain LoveWater has a hair full of head.
And Captain LoveWater just wrote what you read!

Jon I-Am-Captain-LoveWater Slone

Monday, November 28, 2011

Vitamin D

Vitamin D
By Jon Slone

You can have the whole planet for a piece of Home Plate.
Cause I need more Narrow
And I need more Straight.
And I need more snow and I need more sled.
And I need more rope and I need more Red.

I need less choices
I need less brands.
I need more Father up there in the stands.

I need a vacation on the wings of an Eagle.
And I need more times when chocolate was legal.

I need me a placard that lights up, Applause it.
I need more monsters inside of my closet.

I need more adventures aloft in my stunt tree.
I need more walks to Potato Chip Country.

I need more respite
I need more Bridge.
I need more artwork displayed on the fridge.

And a teacher to take me out for a meal.
And a little more weal and a little more Hill.

And a little less thorn and a little more tree.
And if they don’t have all of those things for me…

Then maybe just get me some Vitamin D.

Jon CanIhavesomemoreplease Slone

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Uber Jen and Mr. Steve

Uber Jen and Mr. Steve
By Jon Slone

The last two times that MacKenzie has had her portraits done, we’ve gone to, J and S Photography, LLC.

Now I know what you’re probably thinking. Yes, my name is Jon Slone. But no, the J and S in J and S Photography, LLC don’t belong to me….this is not my corporation.

Ladies and germs, let me tell ya, these people are absolutely wonderful! Steve (Apart from being the S) is the one who takes the pictures. He welcomes you to be as proactive as you want during the photo shoot or to step back, if you so desire, and chill-lax while nursing one of their tasty and gratuitous potations.

Jennifer (Aside from being the J) is his uber-assistant and co-owns the business along with the aforementioned Mr. S.

Jen is so sweet. The other day, Stacy and I met with her to look at proofs and she treated us like we were long lost family. Literally we felt like the only client in the room (Which was actually not the case). Our time together was drawn-out, detailed, loquacious and down-right pleasurable. The mood went a far cry past “business dealing” to somewhere in the neighborhood of friends what were leisurely sitting about and smiling whilst gawking at adorable and flawlessly rendered pictures.

Oh, and you can even bring your pets.

Come on, really?

Sup with that!

If the proof is in the pudding, let me shut up while you check out the big bowl of pulchritudinous pudding due north of my words here.

Mr. S just captured an Angel am I right?

For those of you who don’t know me real well, that would be my angel thank you very much!

Here is our little Santa’s helper once more, ensnared perfectly by the keen-eyed, quick-fingered, one-and-only Mr. Steve.

For your eye-popping pleasure, here is their web site.

They are also offering free session for the rest of the year. And can shoot both onsite as well as in their studio. Though, I’d go to their studio if I were you….that’s where they keep the real Santa locked in a cookie-filled cage on the underneath side of their living room floor. Here he is (Santa) pictured below.

Santa and two little angels that don’t belong to the writer of this blog.

Jon Knot J & S Slone

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

It's behooving to know what proficuous means (a stark vocabulary quagmire)

It’s behooving to know what proficuous means
(A Stark Vocabulary quagmire)
By Jon Slone

It’s the best news ever and you haven’t even told it.
Its gawking at the Cave Of Swallows blindfolded.
It’s nothing to pilfer when nabbed in a theft.
It’s a handful of dreams and just one day left.

It’s Jack and the Giant, bereft of some beans.
It’s behooving to know what proficuous means.

It’s like jumping in a creek with rocks in your head.
It’s the gaits to the Palace and they’re locked-up with thread.

It’s the best treats ever and you haven’t even tried’em.
It’s some taped-up boxes with nothing inside’em.

A plain empty salad.
A Woebegone gaze.
A sparse retelling of some hollowed-out days.

It’s some rabbit ears wending through vending machines.
It’s behooving to know what proficuous means.

It’s a tug-o-war match with nothing to tug.
It’s a gun with one slug and twelve people to plug!

It’s like taking you serious when your nickname is Booger.
It’s a kid in a candy store allergic to sugar.

It’s a self-made prison for the squandering poet.
A bard with the key and he doesn’t even know it.

It’s the Grand Canyon field trip, a meal for the masses.
And you were the one guy who misplaced his glasses.

It’s cleaning latrines in your top-dollar jeans.
It’s behooving to know what proficuous means.

Jon wordnerd Slone

By the way, proficuous means behooving.

The power of words people.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Twilight's Breaking Dawn Part 1 (A Sorta-Kinda Movie Review)

Twilight’s Breaking Dawn part 1 (A Sorta-Kinda Movie review)
By Lukewarm Effort

First let me state that I have never read the books.

Okay, so I saw Twilight’s Breaking Dawn Part 1 this weekend and if you’re like me and you’ve attended all of the Twilight movies thus far, then my succinct review of the fourth installment would be as follows: it doesn’t suck as bad as Rotten Tomatoes says that it does.

I will now jump around a bunch. If any of you know me personally, you’re aware that this is normal behavior.

First off, I get tired of watching werewolves (Or wolves) that look about as real as Woody from Toy Story 3.

In four movies thus far, here is the way the defective system has been perpetrated on us: First we see a big fight scene where bunches of Cullen’s are grappling with empty space. Then some Mr. Magoo, who has never laid eyes on a real wolf, sits in his bunker out in Van Nuys where he toils away doing some first rate shoddy CGI work. Upon completion, the editors pair the two images together and six months later we get Jasper beating up Thumper and Alice putting Scooby Doo in a choke-hold.

Come on, really? Somehow they’ve stitched, ‘American Werewolf in London’ with ‘Monster’s Inc.’

And those god-awful transformations where, shirtless boy wonder runs and leaps into the air? And then a wolf appears and CGI shirt fragments trail-off into the cold night mist? Cut my wrist and stuff it with yak hair will ya!


Second off…

For the first half (I repeat, HALF) of the movie, all we get are a big wedding and an even longer snooze of a honeymoon. Are you kiddin’ me…..I looked around the theatre and dudes were passed out everywhere! All around the theatre we were dropping like flies. And the ones who were still awake were slipping into the isles and on their way out to the concession stand. This is the way the ordering went:

Dude: Yeah, give me some Snow-Caps and one of those fluffy pillows there.
Girl: Donut, travel, body, neck or throw?
Dude: What?
Girl: What kind of pillow do you want?
Dude: I don’t care, one that helps me sleep through Breaking Yawn I guess.
Girl: Wool, cotton, feather, Dacron or down?
Dude: Come again?
Girl: Actually, for 50 cents more you could upgrade to a Tempur-pedic.
Dude: Tell ya what, scratch the whole pillow thing….how much is that box of Ambien?
Girl: Thirteen dollars and seventy-five cents.
Dude: Wow, that’s the same price as a large Coke! Alright, give me a box.
Girl: Would you like a pretzel too?
Dude: Why would I want a pretzel?
Girl: I have to ask or I’ll get written up.

Back to the movie…

We men watched in agony as the two lovebirds played chess and hung out with waterfalls. And then Eddie put some bruises on her and then she was like whatever but then he was like no and then she was like yes and then I was like, “Jeez, how long ‘til this Ambien kicks in?!”

Third off…

The other thing that irks the ever-lovin’ fake blood right out of me is that both Jake and Edward are cool enough dudes, interestingly enough characters….but they’re both chasing after this girl that’s as brilliant as a bottle of white-out, as engrossing as being put on hold for tech support and as much fun as going to the dentist.

I’d rather watch Edward fall in love with Telly from Sesame Street.

But back to Belly, or Bella or whatever her name is.

Like in movie two, they would spend the whole film saying stuff like this will never work and I’m no good for you and then Jake would take his shirt off and Edward would run away and she would try to drown herself. Then Vampy would appear to her as a mist and she would ride on a motorcycle with some stranger and Jake would take his shirt off and she would be like I’m so confused and teen wolf would be like is it my line already? And Edward would be like I hope they make a 'Water for Elephants' Part 2.

And this was, and is, the way it always goes……but then, when they finally do get together and Eddie goes in for a smooch, Bella never kisses him like one would think one would kiss their soul mate (and then some). Notice the beginning of every kiss…please.

This is what you’ll see:

He leans in aggressively and starts kissing and she’s over there somewhat putting the brakes on as if Eddie needs a Velamint or an Altoid IV. You’d think that she was sucking face with that old Tonto guy in the wheelchair.

I’m serious, Kristen Stewart is dull like dishwater, as enthusiastic as a dead turtle and as good a kisser as one of the Goonies.

Back to Breaking Dawn (If ever we were there to begin with).

Like most anything you watch, if you watch it long enough, the chances are you’re gonna get attached, on some level, to the characters….what makes this new installment watchable is that I, like you casual fans and Twilight hardboots, wanna see what happens to Jake, Edward and Dish Walla the so-so. We’ve taken this journey with them so far, why not see what happens next?

I’ll add this though, if the Twilight franchise had went with more, real instead of green screen overkill and the genius of Boogerboat Tomkins out there in Van Nuys, these movies would have been a lot better!

Jon Effort Slone

Boogerboat Tomkins (aka Mr. Magoo) (aka CGI studmuffin)

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Spaceship Stacy & Jalopy Jon

Spaceship Stacy & Jalopy Jon
By Jon Slone

So my wife and I bought a new car (The writer giggles) Wait, scratch that first sentence.

So my wife has this new car now and boy is it awesome. Seriously, this thing is like driving a high-tech computer on wheels.

Think Luke’s Landspeeder on Tatooine but with bluetooth. Picture an X-Wing Fighter with sub-woofers.

This thing is a frickin’ spaceship with a Toyota emblem slapped on it.

Don’t believe me?

Try this on for size.

You don’t need keys! You just keep this small black rectangle in your pocket (Or Rhet-Tettan as my two year old would say). Then walk up to your spaceship and the door simply beeps and then welcomes you in. No mess, no fuss.
Once inside, you put your foot on the brake and push this, gorgeously illuminated button and the spaceship, pretending to be a car, silently comes to life.

No keys people!

Everything inside is touch-screen and voice command. What’s more, the dashboard controls are synced up with iTunes. With that, all you do is just plug up your iPod and the huge VDS showcases all of your music for super easy navigation.

Speaking of navigation, the Global Positioning System is quite possibly the flagship item within the deluxe and elaborate cockpit. Not only will it locate, for you, a Golden Coral, show you the location and give you the telephone number….it will also inform you if, in fact, the rolls are fresh and whether or not they’ve got popcorn shrimp.

Here comes the James bond portion.

If you want to insert a CD, you first have to push a button. When you do, the entire GPS Screen thrusts to the fore and rotates from a flush and vertical position to a raised and horizontal one. At first, this is where you’re certain that the ejector-seat button is hiding, but alas, ‘tis only the locality for dropping sonic coins into clandestine musical slots.

Are you kidding me?

She (Stacy) has state of the art everything! Seats that heat up to combat the chill of wintry mornings, Satellite radio, Blu Logic, cameras to help you back the car into tight spots…why, she can even simultaneously blow 60 degree frost on one side of the car. And 90 degree desert swelter on the other. Thus cold and hot natured folks alike can once again unite under one fluctuating roof!

Me by comparison, you ask?

I still have an ashtray, a cigarette lighter and a factory tape deck in my car. And nothing rotates but the oil changes.


After you spend any significant amount of time in her car, this is what it feels like you’re driving:

Her goodies!

My cruddies.

Jon My-Hooptie Slone

P.S. Her 2011 Toyota V6 XLE Spaceship is so fast it practically lifts off the ground! Goodwin and St. Mary’s Road become runways more often than not…’s crazy!

Gotta go…..someone pushed in my cigarette lighter again.

“Fricka Sacka Para-Coda Poller Ratin’ Dirty-Shocka Froca freakun…”

Friday, November 18, 2011

How I Lost a $1.89 (When second windows don't work)

How I Lost $1.89 (When second windows don’t work)
By Jon Slone

So I’m out at Brier Creek and I’m dying for a McDonald’s Coke.

To me, at the pinnacle of Soft-Drink Mountain sits Mountain Dew. But a classic Coke from McDonald’s is a close second.

Their signature potation borders on dessert in my opinion. That’s how good it is. And by, Great Zeus’ Beard, last night I was gonna have one. (Light ice of course)

Here’s what happened…

I pay my money at the first window and at the second, I receive my liquid confection in a super-sized container. And there was no orange juice in it so I was safe from droppage if and when my phone rang.

I get to the point where I’m about to turn onto highway 70 when I capriciously decide that now is as good a time as any to enjoy my first swig.

The next thing I know, my mouth is full of Diet Coke.

I calmly turn the space ship around and tool back to the Golden Arches. This time, at the second window, I’m even nicer and more cordial than I was the first time.

Jon: Pardon me, I asked for a Coke, this is Diet Coke. May I please have a real Coke por favor?
The Lady: Here.
Jon: Thank you.

I drove away. This time I let myself get all the way down where Miami Blvd intersects with 70. I took a second gulp, more anticipatory this go-around than the first. I mean, I couldn’t wait for runny righteousness to trickle down my gullet like candy-coated raindrops from a clumpy Coca-Cola cloud!

It was Diet Coke.

Post Script:

If I had gone back one more time, the title of this post would have read:

How I lost a Coke but gained a gift card.

Jon No-drink Slone

Thursday, November 17, 2011

My Big Sheaf of Movie Beef!

My Big sheaf of Movie Beef!
By Jon Slone

Beef number 1.

Have you noticed how, in the movies, people almost never eat! And if patrons are dinning out, well then, it’s even worse. Allow me to succinctly paint the picture:

In any given movie we see the man or woman place their Lasagna order; the food arrives in all of its plump and succulent grandeur and then what happens? The famished person is, without exception, suddenly usurped or called away or blown up or rushed out or unexpectedly remembers that for some nonsensical reason he or she must stand up, drop a few presidential flashcards and bolt like Usain.

Beef number 2.

People never lock their doors in the movies.

The story line could be about a blood-thirsty scientist cloning tens of thousands of monsters that look like a cross between Hammerhead from Star Wars and the fang-happy critter from Predator. And, to boot, the only thing this miscreation can eat to sustain itself is little girls. Still, with all of this information unfurled and made painfully clear, the pregnant and single Mother of six (All girls of course) will forge ahead within the murky bowels of her desolate apartment leaving her door slightly cracked and all seven of its strapping locks unemployed. Straightaway the Mom is rendered kaput and the seven wee lasses become a late night meximelt snack. That is until the monster gets a call on his cell, and for no good reason to speak of, abruptly darts away.

You didn’t think he was gonna eat the little girls did you? Don’t you remember; people don’t eat in the movies, cello!

It would seem that some humans or Hammerheads just never touch a lock or Lasagna or a lunch that looks like a wee small lass.

Beef number 3.

In the movies, people drop stuff all the time.

Every time a woman hears bad news over the phone, it just so happens that she’s holding something breakable, namely a glass of orange juice. We first hear the bad news or rather we watch it play out across the woman’s horrified face. And then the slow motion close up takes center stage…and we gawk for ten long seconds as the trembling decanter slips from her weakened grip and proffers a brilliant and mucilaginous demise upon the kitchen floor.

This you’ll never hear:

Bill: Hey Bob, I got really bad news.
Bob: What is it Bill?
Bill: First Bob, I just gotta know, are you holding anything?
Bob: Why yes Bill, you know I always answer the phone barefooted brandishing a glass of orange juice.
Bill: Bob, it’s best if you go on and sit the glass down.
Bob: Will do Bill.
Bill: Bob?
Bob: Bill?
Bill: Bob, the Doobie Brothers just broke up.
(A deafening scream explodes within Bill’s rotary phone receiver.)
Bob: This isn’t right Bill!
Bill: I know Bob, I was a big fan of ‘Black Water’ too.
Bob: No Bill!
Bill: Uh,…'Jesus is just alright?’
Bob: No Bill, it’s not the music or the band at all.
Bill: Then what Bob, what is it?
Bob: I feel like I should let go of something Bill.
Bill: I don’t follow you Bob, you mean like, tears?
Bob: No Bill, I got it! Could we do this again with me holding the orange juice?
Bill: Hold on Bob, I just dropped the receiver.

Get it right people!

Eat your grub, lock your doors and stay off the phone!

Jon empty-plate Slone

Wednesday, November 16, 2011


By Jon Slone

Beyond fun and games
And the same ol’ same.
Down past the compliments
The wealth and the fame.
Down past desires
And climbing the ladder.
Down where the world just doesn’t seem to matter.
Down past life and self and me.
And down where the eyes
Can no longer see.
Down in that area.
Down in that part.
That’s where you’ll find
The bottom of my heart.

That’s where I love JESUS!

Jon bottomed-out Slone

Do you ever do that?

Do you ever do that?
By Jon Slone

I open the bag
And I push and I shove.
And I place my hand in with some delicate love.
And I push to one side and I swim to the core.
And I lose finger-footing on some unstable floor.

And I’m breaking what I touch
And I’m clutching quite much.
And my hand is all greasy with salt specks and such.

And all for my belly, which was down on its knees.
I finally obtain what I wanted to seize.
I was looking for the chip with the most cheese!

Do you ever do that?

Jon the-chip-holder Slone

Tuesday, November 15, 2011


By Jon Slone

This world can have
The shirt off my back.
My shoes and my pants
And the bags that I’ve packed.
For naked I entered this world and believe
That naked’s the way I’ll be taking my leave.
My head and my eyes
Have an upward tilt.
To a wondrous home
That my Father has built.
A place that’s teeming
With beauty unsurpassing.
A life with my Creator
That will be everlasting!
I’ll fly with the angels
I’ll be quite a pistol.
In a world with gold streets
And a sea made of crystal.
I’ll have so much joy
I won’t know what to do.
Plus I’ll know every face
And they’ll all know mine too.
So I live in the spirit
For my Dad and my Boss.
And the things of this world
I count them as loss.
Looking up and looking forward
To heaven with Pops.
Where true life begins
After this one stops!

From a book that I wrote and illustrated called, "Riggleberry Bloke and other silly Whatknots."

St. Mary's of the Pricy Moo! (Do you guys take plasma?)

St. Mary’s of the Pricy Moo! (Do you guys take plasma?)
By Jon Slone

Wow, you guys eat at Arby’s much?

I didn’t know they made a nine dollar sandwich? It’s called a regular roast beef.

Are you kidding me.

If this keeps up they’re gonna have to add alternative methods for payment.

Maybe at the drive-thru they could add another window where you could hock family air looms or maybe a spacious aperture where some guy with a needle could drain off some of your plasma or blood (That’s if you want two sandwiches of course)

Jeez Louise.

They need to rename Arby’s: St. Mary’s of the Pricy Moo!

These numbers are ludicrous.

Have a listen:

Me: Hi, can I get three regular roast beef sandwiches, a small drink and a kid’s meal.
Arby’s: Would you like to donate a dollar to the “Help-me-leave-Arby’s-and-get-a-real-job fund?
Me: No thanks, I’m pretty sure this outlay is already gonna dip into my house payment.
Arby’s: You’re probably right about that sir (Sinister chuckle) thank you for your patronage…is the screen correct sir?
Me: I don’t know, the screen reads thirty seven dollars!
Arby’s: Yes sir, that is correct.
Me: Uh, yeah…scratch that first order…can I get one roast beef fold-over, a used kid’s toy and a small fry…I’ll take cold fries if that knocks off a few extra coppers.
Arby’s: Sir, we don’t do fold-over’s.
Me: Okay, what about a few roast beef leavings from the end of one of your roast beef slabs? It’s okay if some of said orts have been on the floor.
Arby’s: Sir I work at Arby’s and as such, I am completely in the dark as to the meaning of the words, leavings and orts. But if I may be so bold as to go by the contextual clues then I’m going to suppose you mean scraps?
Me: Yes I do.
Arby’s: (silence)
Me: Okay, how ‘bout this…cold fries, deformed toy, Dixie cup with water and a junior roast beef?
Arby’s: Okay sir, that’ll be 14 dollars and 87 cents.
Me: Do you guys take plasma?
Arby’s: I’m sorry, what?
(The sound of a car with a kid seat in the back screeching off)
Arby’s: Sir?...Hello, sir?
Me: Come on MacKenzie, let’s try the Bennett Point Grill.

Jon I-need-my-plasma Slone

By the by, this is what I look like everytime me and my wallet leave Arby's:

Monday, November 14, 2011


By Jon Slone

One clay pot calling out to the Potter.
I’m starting to crack and I need a little water.
My canteen is empty
There’s a rock in my shoe.
Please soak me in love, Lord, I’m desperate for you.
Rain down Your favor and smiles from Your face.
Let me swim in your river of forgiveness and grace.
Cover me up in Your blood that was shed.
Like a waterfall racing for the top of my head.
I long to be drenched and possibly wetter.
I’d settle for soaked but Soggy sounds better.

Soggy in You, Lord, please keep me Soggy!

Jon soaked-to-the-bone Slone

Mark's Nose

Mark’s Nose
By Jon Slone

Fifth grade was tolerable at best.
The bed wetting problem was wetter than ever.
And insecurities were blooming like poppies in The Wizard of Oz.

Then Mark broke his nose and scrambled his face and I thought, what's the point in living now?

I was fine with my bombardment shortcomings
The T.V in my room had fifty channels and 47 of them were snow.
My Haunted House how-to book was still lost in the mail.
My bottle of Rigid Collodion was almost empty.
My sleep-walking problem was way out of hand.
And the new step-dad was in place and as warm and fuzzy as a paper-cut on a hemorrhoid.

Then Mark broke his nose and scrambled his face and my universe caved like Lebron in the fourth quarter.

I played it off perfectly when I passed out during the afternoon film about open heart surgery.
Falling behind on my drum rudiments, no big deal.
Shirts and skins? Heck yeah, bring it!
“No pizza today? Sure, give me the mixed vegetables…it’s only my life here we’re talking about!”
Mom relocating my bed room to the knotty pine attic, why not. Sure, I was a kid with a vivid imagination and a propensity for horror films….but what-the-heck-ever right?! Throw my terrified eleven year-old butt up there in the dark, cobwebby garret! Lock me in with the pull-down-stairs door (Nice touch). I’ll probably be okay…

No problem!

No sweat!

Then Mark broke his nose and scrambled his face. And now, not only does he not look like Luke anymore but he sorta favors one of those Tauntauns.

Thanks a lot Mark!

You wrecked your face, crushed all of our dreams and indirectly caused me to start sleep-walking! And then you tried to play it off like that big nasty Wampa creature did this to you, but we weren’t buying it. No, we knew that that mangled-up funk-nasty face of yours could’ve only been rendered by a horrific car accident, say, one on January eleventh, 1977. (Just a stab in the dark Mark)

Phone rings

Hold on, I gotta take this call…what’s that honey…they’re all out of Bagel-Bites? (Long disgusted pause) You know what, Mark is a busted-nose, sixty year old Wampa now,…(Pitiful, drawn-out sigh) just get me a bag of Mixed Vegetables.

Thanks a lot Mark!

Luke in 1976

Some stranger dressed as the guy who plays Luke in 1978

Jon all-in-good-fun Slone

Friday, November 11, 2011

Sorry-Looking Red Thing (Jeez, thanks Mom)

Seeing how we’re talking about lunches of yore…these were the lunch boxes that my ultra cool friends were toting back in the day:

This, sorry-lookin' red thing in the middle is what my Mom sent me off with everyday…

Jeez, thanks Mom!

Hey don’t worry about the fact that I’m 15 pounds overweight and I sniff toilet paper at night…sure, I’ll rock this pansy-lookin’ mommy’s boy lunch box!

Hey, I got an idea….why don’t you just shoot me in the head right now!

Creamy-Bland Blood Broth

Creamy-Bland Blood Broth
By Jon Slone

Back in elementary, do you remember lunch menus? Each home room teacher would get one at the first of the month and you could like not only see the food planned out for the week ahead, but for the entire month! Here are a few actual offerings as they appeared on a 1974 lunch menu:

Harvest Salad
Your choice of fruit cup or Cowboy Bread
Ranger Cookie

Seafood patty
Whipped Potatoes
Chuck wagon beans
Hot roll
Thanksgiving cake

Where do I even begin?

Everything had to have some fancy name remember? Harvest salad? Perfection salad? Ranger cookie? Are you kidding me with the Chuck Wagon Beans?

Thank God the roll was hot right?

If they hadn’t mentioned that I don’t know what I would’ve done!

And for the life of me, what in the Sam Hill was Cowboy Bread?

Hold that thought.

Hamburger day might very well have been the best. This is what it looked like:

Oven French fries
Lettuce, Pickle,
Onion slice
Tonto cookie


Lettuce and Pickle seriously?

Onion Slice got its own line?

Was this some covert and elaborate way to try and teach us the love of words. Could this have been our second English class hidden behind a Ranger cookie?

Back to the menu.

The first thing I did was search out all the Pizza days and hastened to make mental notes! (This of course was very important you see) Remember how there was always one meal that you dreaded like portly kids and backward roll day in gym class! For me, that one repugnant repast was…..Grilled cheese/tomato soup day.

First off, why tomato soup? I mean, yes, the grilled cheese sandwich was no walk in the park, but I absolutely detested (And still do) tomato soup…and they would always put those damn things together….”Here guys have some fat back on Marble Rye and some balmy sweat in a bowl! Eat up you fargin stinky bastages!”

You never saw anything like this:

Grilled cheese
Your choice of Crab Bisque or Jambalaya soup.

Grilled cheese
Your choice of Spicy Sausage & Lintel or Potato and cabbage soup.

Heck frickin’ naw

This is the way it read to me:

Partially grilled (Stiff, stinky and mostly moldy) cheese and a hard plastic bowl of creamy-bland blood broth.

On those days I would always opt for an alternative meal:

Jon: Yes, how fresh are your onion slices?
Cafeteria lady: (Growl)
Jon: Uh, give me four Ranger cookies please.

Check this out!

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Andrew Peterson Sighting Number one

Hey everybody, this amazing artist just checked out my newest post here at Big HE little me. The insanely talented, word-nerd-extraordinaire known as Andrew Peterson (AP for short) just tarried about the ole' BHLM Lounge, sure it was probably for a total of 3 minutes but what the who-cares right, maybe he reads fast.

If, by some crazy chance, you've never heard his music, then you're that one kid at the Grand Canyon who forgot his other words, you're missing out big time!

Dart quickly to your nearest store made of bricks and bulbs or rather finger speed and space and snatch up all of his promethean music, you won't regret it!

Thanks AP.
Thanks dear, Big HE little me readers!

Same Old Song

Same Old Song
By Jon Slone

Dad tells the son,
Oh the dreck that did tempt me!
The lot of it boy, was quite
Feckless and empty!

God had a plan
For me and I knew it.
And maybe down the road
I’d see my way to it.

Sure I got saved
As a boy back in Blairmore.

I guess it was the timing I just didn’t care for.

For my way of thinking,
Though now misbegotten.
Was before being top-shelf
I’d have to be rotten!

You see, after all
There were upcoming years.

To mouth-off to parents
And puke with my peers.

A time to get high,
A time for a buzz.

A time to act older
Then I actually was!

For parents and Pedagogues…
See the word, bail!

For rules and schools were dreadfully stale!

No matter how wrong,
If I shouldn’t or should.

I danced and I pranced
While I still looked good!

And that’s how I felt,
So that’s what I did.

Backsliding from God.
Two decades, I slid!

His Word and His Will were morsels untasted.
All of those years for my Savior, I wasted!

Says Dad to his son,
Those days weren’t fun.
So whatever you do
Don’t do what I’ve done!

Those famous last words went the way of the curse.
For the boy grew up and he stumbled much worse!

A tired turn-table
Spinning the same warped and monotonous song as always.
And nobody likes the music at all.
And nobody gets up to change it!

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Sometimes I feel like we're just babysitting some Angel's Kid

Sometimes I feel like we’re just babysitting some Angel’s Kid.
By Jon Slone

So my daughter wants Mickey and then she wants Minnie
And then she wants none only then to want any!
One week it’s all Elmo
The next week it’s Winnie.
And she counts really well from one up to twenty.

She cries about stuff like naps around noontime
Every single day to her oughta be balloon time
She slurps really weird.
And she drinks like a Hummer.
And she glows like her innards were made out of summer!
She’s amusing and brilliant and never a ho-hummer.
And thanks to her Dad she might be a drummer.

Sometimes I feel like we’re just babysitting some Angel’s Kid.

She never gets tired when she climbs up the drapes.

And she eats all her grapes.
And she knows all her shapes.

When I reach for her coat,
The scene becomes dire.

As she jets like those Joe’s from Chariots’ of Fire.

Her skills with the big girl potty are lame.
She speaks five languages that all sound the same.
Her eyes do stuff that you wouldn’t deem groovy.
Like that sweet little girl in the Exorcist movie!

She sings about Jesus and row, row your boats.
(Have I said that she hasn’t really warmed up to coats?)

Sometimes I feel like we’re just babysitting some Angel’s Kid.

And one day that Angel will come back and knock on our door and say, “Gotta have the kid dude.”
And I’ll say, “Could you just take our Magic Bullet and our Ronco Record Vacuum instead?”

“And the Angel will retort, “I don’t know, that is a pretty sweet Record Vacuum…”

Hope this put a smile on your face.


Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Rants from a South-Paw

Rants from a South-Paw
By Jon Slone

I am left handed.
My wife is left handed.
My daughter, MacKenzie, is left handed.

Okay, so, I buy one of these Fisher-Price Doodle Boards…and, well…

Look at the picture above and pretend that you are left handed.

Houston, we have a problem!

The holder, the string and the pen are parked on the right side…to boot, the frickin’ string doesn’t reach to the left side!!

Mind you, it’s plenty long for right handed children to be happy all the live-long right-handed-day. Meanwhile, the left handed step-children are going mental trying to draw a damn hexagon with a string, and a pen and a pen holder and a toy company and a world that’s all conveniently bent toward right-handers.

What am I suppose to do, cut the righty-rope and try to keep up with the plastic pen?


In the words of Yo Samity Sam…

"I think not you, Fricka Sacka para-coda poller ratin’ dirty-shocka froca freakun…"

Monday, November 7, 2011

Mr. Dead-Centered, an old BarNone and plenty of, IF (I love music part 2)

Mr. Dead-Centered, an old BarNone and plenty of, IF (I love music part 2)
By Jon Slone

Easy question time…you ready?

Here we go.

Look at the picture above, which one do you think is the lead singer?


The dude dead-center rockin’ the paisley shirt with the jean collar right?

That’s what I thought too…

Like, for twenty years!

Guess what?

I was wrong.

As a music-loving kid in the 1970’s, I, like every other inquisitive scavenger my age, stumbled upon this invaluable cache in my parents vast album collection. By cache, I mean the wonder band called, Bread. Within the four slices, what comprise this loaf of awesomeness is the chief song writer and lead singer, a man by the name of David Gates.

Hear me people who still rock a lunch box or a meal ticket…..this David Gates has the best falsetto voice on the planet bar none (Hey that was a yummy candy bar wasn’t it!)

Just how good is Bread you ask?

The band, Fleetwood Mac garnered 17 top 20 hits inside of thirty years. Bread nabbed a whopping 10 in a career that spanned only 31 months. Imagine if Bread had stayed fresh for thirty or forty years?

If for some outlandish reason you are not familiar with their body of work, by all means, partake of these sumptuous bites straightaway:

Baby I’m A Want You
It don’t matter to me
Everything I own
Make it with you


Wait for it…


You knew that was coming, didn’t you?


Just two little letters and a paltry two minutes and thirty-six seconds long and yet still, its unadulterated brilliance with regards to its overall angelic sound and ocean-deep lyrical content. (It’s pure poetry people)

Check out these words:

And when, my love, for life is running dry…
You’ll come, and pour, yourself, on me.


Are you frickin’ kiddin’ me?! This is the substance of baby’s farting in church and tiny tea-set parties and forlorn little puppies.

Jane Austin has this song on her iPod for cryin’ out loud!

This is what butterflies and rainbows and Amish people neck to!

A Krispy Kreme Buffet and a Coca Cola IV ain’t got nothin’ on this song!

If your first kiss or your first grass stain or your first Stretch Armstrong were magically pooled with all the glory days of recess’ gone by and millenniums’ spent trick-or-treating….if you could melt all of that down into a song and then sprinkle it atop your doughnut heart like it was snowy droplets of powdered sugar………those syrupy flakes of ear toffee would be the song, IF.

Put it to you this way, between the years of 11 and 22, I serenaded roughly 10 women with this buttery gem.

I closed the deal on all 10.

By closed, I mean we either dated or became boyfriend/girlfriend.

Little known fact: Women dig men who dig Bread enough to sing Bread to said women…..wait, what?

Let’s review:

David Gates = Angel
David’s voice = Angelic
The sound of the song, IF (instrumentation and all) = Heavenly
The words = Poetry

The mentioning of DG brings me back to the beginning of this post.

It was and still is a weird feeling to love and listen to a band for as long as I have and to furthermore, gape at the most famous picture of that band and to suppose you’ve locked in on the lead singer, only to find out, a buh-jillion years later, that you have instead been looking at the disgruntled and green-eyed guitar player, one by the name of Mr. James Griffin, the late Mr. Griffin I should add (Actually, for that matter, all but the lead singer have passed away now).

But getting back to the famous photo and my innocent blunder…..

Come on people, really?!

To those, ‘horrible, position-the-band-for-a-famous-album-cover-picture-people’ I offer this quote:

Don’t fall victim to classic blunders. The two most famous are, ‘never get involved in a land war in Asia’ and ‘never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line’….but only slightly less known is this, ‘never stick the lead singer behind a weird looking guitarist in a paisley shirt with a jean collar.’

Now go have fun storming the castle. And take your Bread with ya!


By the way, David Gates, for those that don’t know, is the one with the shortest haircut.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Pickles, ketchup, the works! (I love music part 1)

Pickles, ketchup, the works! (I love music part 1)
By Jon Slone

I love music.
I like music.
I dig music.
I’m down with music.

If music was a pet, I would hug it and squeeze it and stroke its bill and rub its pretty feathers and call it George.

Music courses through my body like blood and unanswered prayer requests.

I thank My Dad for the gift of music all the time. I love all genres of music…psychedelic, reggae, rustic, acoustic, folk, pop, acid jazz, smooth jazz, accapella, country, bluegrass, blues, delta blues, R&B, soul, swamp, gospel, punk, alternative, instrumental, grunge and lastly, that style where the artist has no aptitude or creative bent whatsoever and could no more trill his way out of a paper bag than he or she could fly to the moon. These melodic fakers force studio execs to decamp to their billion dollar recording bunkers and manufacture a counterfeit sound and a bogus skill-set just so the aforementioned mock-artisans can appear both, dope and fly. I think they call that genre, Bieber. But I’m not entirely sure…It may be, Milli something.

I love how music gives my soul goose-bumps, how it heals me at times, inspires me at others, ushers forth an occasional tear parade, teaches and guides me and much, much more.

Heck, forget Skippy and Lassie, I’m thinking that man’s real best friends are an iTunes account and an iPod with everything on it…..pickles, ketchup, the works!

Hear me plainly on this; the closest we’ll ever come to a time machine, this side of heaven, is music. Music has that uncanny capacity to transport us back, heart, head and soul, to the time where we first heard a particular song. Spectacular memories, both blissful and cheerless, cling to songs like dew surmounting an aureate pasture at daybreak. Thus, when we, many years removed, hear a certain tune, it literally and inexplicably unlocks that vivid recollection and we get violently driven back to chapter three of the story of our lives. One moment, you’re forty and your left knee hurts, the next, its 1982 and you’re twelve and your listening to your Mom’s records and drinking Tab.

And who was to blame for it all?

Well, I thought you would never ask……the guilty party was, Men at Work and a catchy number called, ‘Down Under.’

Music is crazy-incredible that way!

I hear, ‘Love will keep us together’ and all of the sudden, I’m five years old, standing in a kiddy pool at Kentucky Damn Village. I hear, ‘Love Shack’ and I’m eighteen and three quarters, working at Lexington Country Club on Old Paris Pike, cutting lemons into wedges and wagon wheels. Peradventure I was to happen upon a radio playing, ‘Lessons in Love,’ the next thing you know I’m carried off to the year 1987 and Don Lane’s Basketball camp. And every time Color me Badd’s, ‘I Adore Mi Amore’ clanks against the ear drums all at once I’m back in my 1984 Dodge Omni and headed to Natural Bridge in Slade Kentucky near the Red River Gorge. That was where I celebrated my twenty-first birthday. And Color Me Badd forces me, whether I like it or not, to relive that four day weekend every time I hear a specific four minute and forty-five second song of theirs.

Music is prevailing like I don’t know what, even to the point where it can save lives.

Almost all of us have been in church at least once where God inhabited the music portion of the service and something so remarkable happened that the impending sermon was totally redundant and unnecessary.

I could go on and on and continue to paint with broad strokes but I’d rather pack it in and talk about music on a much slighter scale. In other words, what it means to one person, me.

I love to dance to it, jog to it, chill to it, unwind to it, be stirred by it, be taught by it, purchase it, play it, collect it, quote it, converse about it, jump into it, be swept away by it, study it, jam it, rock it, memorize it and be in awe of it.

Something about music is a mystery…it shows us only part of its hand.

Just a thought: There is no marriage or copulating in heaven but there is choir rehearsal, all night jam sessions and drum sets sitting around……I’m just sayin.’

For now, I must proffer you a fond farewell, too much, ROYAL SCAM and not enough time.

P.S. In the next little bit (Upcoming posts) I’ll be talking about the five qualities that I look for in a song, my top twenty-five bands or solo artists of all time and new music that I’ve discovered in the last year or so. Also, I’ll be doing album reviews.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta locate our dog, Scooter and try to explain to him why I’m more partial to, Men at Work. (It’s because they don’t pee on our Berber carpet yo!)