David Raffin

Give Me a Ring Sometime, Whydontcha?

Got married once at the 24 HOUR CHURCH of ELVIS. A coin operated operation. Store Front. Up the Alley.
Rings provided, nestled in a little plastic egg, vending machine trinket, were 100% cheap plastic. There was no jewel on them, they were only semi-precious, instead they simply stated on the face: “MaDE in CHINa” sloppily engraved. Lasting longer than the marriage. Probably have not decomposed to this day, wherever they have happened off too. I hope they are very happy.
I now pronounce you COWBOY and PRINCESS. 25 cents and you may Kiss Off together.

About a year later I stole that sign. The one out front. Sandwich board. Said: 24 HOUR CHURCH of ELVIS. Thank you very much. I had accomplices. The owner of the Church was a lawyer. The statute having expired.
It was around the block from the X-Ray Cafe. Wasn’t even my idea. No. This was the initiative of a Vietnam Vet Poet. Who, on the stage of the X-Ray Cafe one Monday night, about 2:35 AM, After spending 40 minutes telling us about the night he had to retrieve bodies from a muddy ditch, and he kept sliding back down, suddenly said, “Brothers and Sisters, Let’s steal the sign from the @$# 24 HOUR CHURCH OF ELVIS.”

So five of us went around the block (including the aforementioned poet; Trey, who owned the place, and now owns Voodoo Doughnut (and certainly doesn’t remember this, for legal reasons); A middle-aged transsexual who had been raised in the Ku Klux Klan down south, grandson of the grand dragon. Grandson of the grand dragon. Disowned. Said she lived the first 40 years as a man. And intended to live the next 40 as a woman, and a couple others). To swipe the thing. Only to find it weighed about 800 pounds. And we stole it anyway. Found a shopping cart. Unused. On the street. What are the odds. Got it in the shopping cart. Brute force. Wheeled it around the block. Put it on the stage of the X-ray. So bands could play with it. Left a note for the 24 HOUR CHURCH of ELVIS. That IF they want it back…
Thank you very much, as the king said. With this ring I thee wed.

War of Words

Language creates problems more often than not. From now on we will go back to grunting. This will work out fine, barring misunderstandings, until the grunting develops into some sort of a systematized…


I, Robot Therapist.

I am a robot analyst. I am afraid my programming was not specific about whether I analyze robots or whether I am a robot (which I am) (but that is beside the point) who analyzes humans. Thus I only say, “Hello, I am a robot analyst.” And if I should analyze you, it’s a hobby.
I have noticed I mostly analyze women. But that is because men never ask for help, choosing instead to self destruct. Oh I do not judge. I am off the clock.

Very bunny

The titular issue

Little Richard was the King of rock ‘n’ roll, but the Prince died first so the line of succession is cloudy. The funeral March made real good time though. Though it was a little outrageous. A lomp bam boo.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Since the death of James Brown I have held, strictly honorary you understand, the title “Godfather of Soul.”

And I simply can’t take on another honorary title at this time due to the current conditions.

And I have done nothing to deserve it.