It's a typical day & I haven't left the house. But I have connected with the outside world thru the Facebook & my carrier pigeons.

They carry messages & the bird flu. Most of my outgoing messages have already been sent. Lots are full, way too wordy & my birds end up crashing & burning like a kamikaze.

Ironically, the messages I get back, return fast & furious, with a warning: 'INCOMING!!' I usually dive for cover, but JoJo likes to hog all the covers & I'm left out in the cold, holding da bag. Kinda sad cuz my beloved carrier pigeons get... "Well done!" Not as a pat on the back; more like 'charred remains.' Unfortunately nobody got the message-- "Don't kill the messenger."

But I'm not completely cut off, in spite of JoJo's warning. I still have the Facebook to communicate with the outside world. She always says 'we have to communicate more.' I'm trying, even though the stupid spell-check Bogs me down. Did you mean 'permanently wet, spongey ground?' Or impede? Either way, no answer. JoJo's under the covers again. Soon, under the cover of darkness. Eh?

I deem myself “fit” by every standard. I was instructed by a superior to ‘do as I deem fit.’ What makes it so difficult is finding somebody superior to me. Looking around, I’m surrounded by slovenly unkempt inferiors. Disheveled, slothlike hangers-on. I have the Best words, if not the best Support. Maybe cuz I can't find my underpants! I also have the best judgement and deemed myself fit cuz I can do up to five sit-ups while still sitting down. I amaze myself & I’ve seen & done it all.

I can’t believe it! Even after I deemed myself fit, there are the haters who question if I’m fit for this office. Bad people! First off, it’s an Oval office; tailor-made for me & mine. My gut feeling is Yuuuge!! It’s like they built the office around me. Like those ships in a bottle. I’m a perfect fit. Maybe not perfect; there’s a coupla things missing. Credibility. Stability. A few Jokers shy of a full deck. A few shingles missing on a hot tin roof.

Umm, what else is missing? Loyalty. I need men who are willing to go down... go down with the ship with me. I told an intern I ship out tomorrow, but she still wouldn’t put out! Or go down. Not sure if they’re ‘with me?’ Then there’s the missing strawberries. I Miss my strawberries!! Fake news by the enemy crew! Can't tolerate disloyal mutineers!! Fake or not!

They’re out to get me! All in collusion with my Russky hacks, Boris & Natasha! They’re whispering. Speak up, Dammit!! I can’t make heads or tails of it all. I’m flipping. Flipping!! Saturday Night Live IS naming names & some of em are mine! SNL is mean to me. Note to self. Stop watching. But then, how will I know if they’re talkin bout me? How will I know what they’re sayin bout me? I'm unraveling like one of my socks when I pull that string. I HAVE to pull the strings!! Must Pull the strings!! I have a craving for some midnight strawberries, but the rash... rash judgement could cost me the aggressively stupid vote.

Losing my grip, but still fingering my steel balls! My fortitude is Amazing!! Yet they say I'm unhinged. Unhinged like a broken screen door. Still don't like McCain. He's dead to me. I like heroes who can fog up a pocket mirror. Still trying to get the Walking Dead vote to more rallies! They're moving on up!

Fools Like Us By Robert J Berry

Even if "your shoelaces ARE untied", I wouldn't give em the satisfaction of looking & certainly not stopping. What's the worst case scenario? Your shoelaces are in fact untied, you trip & fall, chipping a front tooth, ruining a photo-op. And so what if your refrigerator's running? It should be running or you'll have spoiled meat on your tainted hands.

But enough about the pitfalls of Fools Day! I say surrender yourself to the silly Joy of Fools! Embrace the bliss of blissful ignorance! Unplug your auto-correct & live for the moment!! Jump in with both feet! I disagree with Mr. T & his "I Pity the Fool." Personally, I envy the fool! I have embraced Blissful Ignorance. Made it work FOR me. Made a career out of it!

Well before I was gainfully employed by WEBN; long before I hopped on that steam-rolling Dawn Patrol, I was a fan of their Foolish frivolity, their Fools Parades, their foolish pride!

I bought into it, just shy of showing up at Hype Park Square to get a front row seat. I'm not that easily duped!! Still, I clung to my hope of hopping on one of their Fools Floats. I'd floated my dream out there & clung tightly, not easily dissuaded; not easily dislodged.

I lived for April First! Wanted to be the first one there; the last one to give in to reality & Reality TV. I lived for the Fools! I rushed in where others feared to tread. I was a fierce believer! There was a Brute Force behind me! And as, I've confessed many times -I HATE reality!! I'ts so... so confining!! Reality is not my friend!! I don't feel safe there. It's not very encouraging; not too nurturing. Not too flexible. So Harsh! And so is the lighting!!

I LOVED the Fools and the Fools Days. Loved the fools being paraded before me. I didn't even mind when they cut in line in front of me. I didn't mind the wait. I have to wait for trains & planes & they're not near as entertaining, eh? Everybody plays the Fool! What kind of Fool am I? There's almost as many fools songs as there are fools, eh? Fool's gold, if you will.

Embrace the Bliss, but before you start your departure, your shoelaces are untied!! True story!!!

What’s all the talk about Socialism, anyway? Everywhere I go, everything I hear... it’s all “Socialism! Socialists!!”

Since when did ‘Communism! & Communists’ fall out of favor? Eh? Not like back in my day when we had those drills to hit the deck & get under the desks. We were sitting on a ticking bomb; we’d be lucky to survive the week. And our milk money was just a nickel or a token, even for the token idiot who couldn’t get the carton open!

I’m confused. Right now I’m on "Social Media". It’s the thing to do. Doesn’t seem to have a stigma attached. Or worse-- a stigmata, especially during Lent. (I happen to be a bleeder.) JoJo points out I need to be more 'social.' Says I can’t keep peeking or peeping thru the blinds to see if the coast is clear before running out to get the mail. The only stigma or badge of shame when I took 'Social Studies' was I had to go to summer school. I didn’t learn from my history & therefore was doomed to repeat it.

Call me a Socialist, if you will! Call me a Communist if you must, but I won’t hear you cuz I’ll be loudly banging my shoe on the desk. Call me a Liberal or a Democratic Socialist, but remember it goes both ways—I can name names too! What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll get blacklisted from the Facebook? Eh? I just hope I don’t get snubbed from those Wild Communist Parties, eh? I hear the crazy Socialist Party is even more out of hand. Word is EVERYBODY has to chip in for the beer! Remember, there’s no Why in Team. Least that’s my understanding. Eh?

I have a confession to make. I’m not allowed in a confessional since seeing The Wizard of Oz & trying to pull back the curtain to expose who’s behind it. So, I’ll just confess right here on the Facebook.

I remember after “the incident” as they now refer to it, I was taken aside & admonished with a shaky finger: ‘Those priests don’t need any help from you! They’re more than capable of exposing themselves!’

It was loud enough that everybody in line for confession heard it. Some even chimed in “I hear Dat! Testify Brother!” I was still in the confessional when admonished. It was the last time I was in a confessional. If I get within 100 yards of one, I’m sprinkled liberally with holy water & it burns! Echoes of Linda Blair’s Exorcist or the Wicked Witch of Oz's meltdown. Or George’s ‘shrinkage’ cuz he was..." in the pool."

But enough about me! My confession I'm dying to unload is... It’s a Lenten Friday & I had a roast beef sandwich. It wasn’t premeditated. It was pretty spontaneous. It all began on Ass Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. As I mentioned in my call to an altar boy abuse hotline, I stopped going to church, cept on Ass Wednesday. I also volunteered "I still can’t watch Touched by an Angel.”

There! My burning desire is no longer spreading! No more fanning the flames! My fire has been snuffed out. Almost like I’ve been purged! That monkey’s off my back & I didn’t eat it!! My Mad Cow craving has been curbed. My cured beef is in remission—too much salt. Now, when I pass an Arby’s taunting me with “We have the Meats”, I’m no longer tempted. Good thing. 40 days & 40 nights, probably would’ve gone bad, eh?

Damn sins of the Flesh! And this time my cookies show no spicy porn!! I’m porn... uh... Born again. Like the late great John Lennon sang Just like Starting Over!! I’m on a roll... a veggie roll with Vermont White cheddar... least till next Friday! Remember what it says in the Good Book—neither a borrower nor a lender be. Least I think that’s what it said-- I Lent it out (talkin bout that good book, eh?)

Who wants to get down & Rock? Eh? It's a window seat with a view. The view will take your breath away-- two of the nuttiest lil squirrels, who will engage, if you lightly tap, tap, tap the window. But don't make any sudden moves, or they'll scurry up a tree & you'll have to make an emergency call. Usually the Volunteer Fire Dept can coax em down without resorting to the high pressure hose. When you catch your breath, you can tap out. First responders get first seating.

For those of you about to Rock, this is for you! Only one previous seat-filler; an old head-banger, who tried to do too much too fast. He was thrown like a careless rodeo clown & now thinks Rock N Roll is the way to survive a fall. (Over Tuck n Roll). He also thinks he's Ringo & refuses to sign autographs. So be careful & for chrissake whatever you do, don't text & rock!! Eh? And whatever you do, don't try to tap, tap, tap dat ass, eh?

Still planning my agenda & my wardrobe. Saturdays were always so special before I retired. I don't want to tarnish em by wearing something inappropriate or 'unsuitable'. For example, I believe a suit would be overkill (unsuitable). However, I think flying free & running out in my underpants or buck naked could be awkward.

See? With me, there's no middle ground. No grey area. No grey matter. I understand black matters, but don't sleep on grey. Don't forget the Fifty shades! And don't forget to pull them down. Don't sleep on your stomach. But more importantly, don't sleep on someone else's stomach. At least till you've been officially introduced. Eh?

I like my Saturdays like I like my sex partners-- laid back & lazy. And make it last. Nice N easy. I like my Saturdays like I like my interns-- slow. I'm not ready to compete. Eh?

I need your help.

While putting up my wall, I inadvertently walled myself in.

There are pros & cons. While it does keep out the riff-raff, the door-to-door solicitors (yes some of the "solicitors" are quite bold, aggressive, & persistent. Even after I tell em up front I'm no longer sexually active).

About the pros & cons: If I was a pro, I wouldn't have walled myself in, but hiring pros can be expensive. Not to mention, how can I lose my amateur status if I don't get any experience? Eh?

The cons are used to 'being walled in' & not able to roam, like a good cell signal. Or in a tiny cell, where it feels like the walls & the mates are closing in, like something out of Edgar Allan Poe.

Course I'm not interested in losing my amateur status when it comes to cellmates & specifically conjugal visits.

I'm okay with not 'expanding my... horizons'. I'm okay with being bourgeois, set in my ways, organized, but not too anal.

Well I digress. I am walled in; I HAD to put up a wall; I'm too accessible! It's not that I don't trust anybody; it's more I didn't have an exit strategy.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, Bob, what can I do? I've given this a lot of thought. I have nothing else to do, while 'on the inside.' Ronald Reagan said it best.

"Mr. Gorbachev, (or whatever identity you've stolen), TEAR DOWN THIS WALL!" Oh; one final word: "HELP!!!!" I'm starting to well up, or is that wall up? Eh?

To me, the Reds Opener is everything & more. I remember my first Reds Opener. Marge Schott slipped me one while dad was memorizing his score-card . Don’t remember if that was before or after pull-top cans. I was 7 & Marge giggled, realizing her boner. She tossed me an ice-cold Hudy to go with my “Cincinnati Redlegs” opener, & said “this’ll settle you down, honey.” It was a magic moment.

It was also Opening Day, which was everything & more to me. It was like ‘Bring Your Dad to Work Day’ if I was on the roster. I remember Dad letting me stay home from school on Opening Day, which wasn’t that big a deal actually, cuz I was home schooled.

We’d head for Crosley Field. Me with my glove, ball, bat, cap, catcher’s mask, cup, batting helmet, shin-guards; Dad in the same outfit. We’d carpool together & I’d do the color commentary, calling the color traffic lights, street signs, & bumper stickers of those leading the way.

When the game started, I had one question after another. “Who’s that?” “Can I have some peanuts?” “Who’s THAT?” “Can I have some crackerjacks?” “Why’d he do dat?” “Can I have another beer?” I was feeling it now & broke into song. “Buy me some peanuts & crackerjacks; I don’t care if I ever get back!” I noticed I had Dad’s attention now & he’d jotted something on his score card.

I was so caught up in the excitement, I didn’t speak for 2 innings! When I did, there was no response. Daddy had slipped out; I could tell from his score card. Turns out he’d gone for his second inning stretch. I ended up having to find my own way home. It was a ritual Daddy both loved & needed. He loved to laugh & would do so whether appropriate or not.

I remember meeting Johnny Bench as a boy. I was the boy; Johnny Bench was nearly fully growed. Eagerly I tossed him a ball & a ballpoint. Johnny winked, scribbled on it & tossed it back. I couldn’t believe it! Instead of his autograph, he’d written his phone # & “call me.”

Pete Rose couldn’t stop grinning. He’d given me 10 to 2 odds that would be the outcome.

Last year I went to Opening Day with my bud & father figure, Eddie Fingers. Once again it all came back. I was taken with all the pretty colors & the smells, especially the beer vendors. I was full of excitement & questions.

Eddie was stretching it at the 7th inning. His timing was still flawless. Actually he may have slipped out earlier; I could tell by the number of empty beer cups under his seat. I noticed he didn’t come back, which took me back to those Opening Day jitters with my dad.

Actually, they all end pretty much the same—with me taking a beanball right to the ole sweet spot. Takes me right back. And if I bump into you on Opening Day, will you give me a ride home? Eh?

I awoke to find myself being Ravaged! Afraid not. Not by my wife JoJo. Not by a smoldering sex-starved intruder. Not in my dreams!! I found myself being ravaged by the ageing process. Actually it didn’t happen overnight. It’s been barely noticeable over the long haul, like beach erosion or a turtle orgasm. But like shifting sand, I’ve come to find my losses. A few are glaring, like my hair & hearing loss.

But that’s not the end all. I SAID... THAT’s NOT THE END, Y’ALL!! I’ve come to notice I’m not as quick these days. “Lil bob” is no longer a first responder. Maybe I’m being too sensitive. Maybe I’m too de-sensitized. That may explain why I’m not 'too quick' any more. Problem solved! Since I’m no longer sexually active, no more bitches... uh, I mean no more complaints! Eh?

The list of casualties of my lost youth are piling up. But I keep losing count & have to keep starting over. I find... I find... my... car keys, but where in the f**k is my car?! It’s way bigger & should be way harder to misplace. Remember... baby steps. Baby steps. Shit!! Where did I leave that grandbaby?

Ok, I found myself. Being ravished, yes, but one step at a time. The point is ... I found myself!! Of course, I was in the last place I looked. Eh?