make it tulsi gabbard & duty world!


An Example Of Kindness

(“duty world” column found in old army newspaper in hawaii)


   PFC Denise Daisy, patient care specialist, Ward Pluto, had ten minutes to spare before her shift was over.  All her duties were long gone and done ~ except one.  This last duty was taken upon herself voluntarily.

     “Want your feet raised, Maybalene?” she asked softly of a girl encased in a cocoon of plaster.

     Painfully but with gratitude the patient nodded.

     Daisy raised Maybalene’s feet.  “Is there anything else I can do for you before I take off?”

     “Juice,” gasped Maybalene.

     Daisy went for the juice.  On her way, she fluffed up the scrunched pillow of a grim-faced older lady lying in a sea of tubes blooming out in various directions.

     “Thank you, young lady.  You’re very kind.  Will you get me some juice too?  Oh yes, and could you change the channel on that television set?”



     “Of course, Mrs. Newport,” replied Daisy ~ and did as she was bidden.

     “I want some juice too, you blankety blank blank,” cursed a patient who had just arrived at the ward and in a raging mood.

     “I’m sorry, Kathy,” apologized Daisy.  “But you’re on a restricted diet.  How about a game of backgammon instead?”

     “How did you know my name?” demanded the patient.

     “I checked when I saw you being wheeled in here by the other patient care specialist,” explained Daisy.

     “Well, I’ll be!” grimaced the new arrival.

     “Well?” said Daisy

     “Well what?”

     “Want to play a game of backgammon?” Daisy checked her watch.  “I have time now.  I’m off duty.”

     “Why don’t you leave this pit then?” the new arrival snarled.  Her eyelids fluttered.  She stared at the bandage-wrapped stump of her recently amputated leg.

     “This isn’t a pit,” said Daisy.  “This is Ward Pluto, where all the patients are always happy.”

     The patient wrenched with discomfort.  “I’m not happy.”

     Daisy smiled, “You will be.”




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happy valentine’s day


Of All the Spirit’s Gifts to Me

by Fred Pratt Green



Of all the Spirit’s gifts to me,

I pray that I may never cease

to take and treasure most these three:

love, joy, and peace.


The Spirit shows me love’s

the root of every gift sent from above,

of every flower, of every fruit,

that God is love.


The Spirit shows if I possess

a love no evil can destroy;

how ever great is my distress,

then this is joy.


Though what’s ahead is mystery,

and life itself is ours on lease,

each day the Spirit says to me,

“Go forth in peace!”


We go in peace, but made aware

that, in a needy world like this,

our clearest purpose is to share

love, joy, and peace.


Copyright 1979 Hope Publishing Co.

found in The United Methodist Hymnal


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 This One


On The House



by Rawclyde



     The music pounded like a locomotive.  The go-go girl followed it like a train.  And every patron in the bar was her caboose.

     Her nucleus of sexuality, hardly covered by a little white bikini bottom oh so snug, exploded, poetically speaking, all over the stage.

     She aimed it at a poor hobo and pumped him a few.  She would never know how much he appreciated that.  She did the bump ‘de bump with a lonely soldier boy’s ambition and ground to pieces an old cowboy’s sadness.  Boldly she stepped up close to a wicked man’s leer, crouched low and with her hands ludicrously rammed it in and out.

     Her fat, shapely, little belly, a masterpiece so tan, so smooth, so hot, was just about smoking like a home on fire.  Her belly button was the sun.  Her stage, more than just creaking wood, was the face of every feller’s drifting dream.

     She really knew how to dance.

     Like a snake, like a swan, like a cloud, like a shooting star, like the terrible truth and a thousand lies.  Nobody, absolutely nobody played pool when Philana danced.

     A tall stranger sauntered into the place.  Infront of the go-go bar’s stage, or ramp, he stoically stood ~ watched the go-go girl go-go.  His presence loomed so profoundly that the hooting, guffawing, and even the silent dreaming of all the Saturday night patrons ~ died.  He was that rare kind of guy.  Besides, except for a preposterous, black, cowboy hat on his head, he was naked.

     The go-go tune ended.

     Nobody clapped.  Usually everybody clapped, and a few would holler, when Philana finished a number.  But due to this stranger’s strange naked presence ~ not this time.

     An old drunk accidently knocked over a glass of beer.  He ducked his head sheepishly.  Not a soul moved.  Deep silence reigned.

     The stranger, lewdly handsome, smiled just a little bit at the intrigued saloon girl who was now standing still in the quiet limelight.  She rested her hand on her smooth hip, eyeballed the stranger up and down ~ especially down.  She was out of breath.  Her round, bare, little breasts gently rose and fell.

     “What?  What?  Are you trying to corrupt this town?”  she finally asked of him ~ her smile twitching.

     “No,” replied the stranger with an unobtrusive chuckle.  “Just escaped from jail.  All I could grab on my way out was ~ my hat.”

     Another working girl, scantily clad, quietly served him a beer.  “The bartender says this one is on the house,” she whispered.

     The stranger nodded gratefully, toasted the bartender, lifted the frosty mug to his thirsty lips.

     Philana rested a high-heeled foot on the bar that encircled the ramp.  She was staring at the stranger with not just her eyes, it seemed, but also with the provocative bulge of her snuggly, barely veiled, dynamite-packed pussy, which was at the same level as the stranger’s face and just a few inches away.  “What’s your name?” she asked.

     “Bogie,” drawled the stranger.  He ignored the saloon girl’s poignantly flaunted mound, squinted up into the soul in her brown bottomless eyes.  “Nick Bogie.”

     “I’m Philana,” said Philana.  Music began to play again.  Some fool howled.  There was laughter.  And cigarette smoke.  The woman and the man stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

     Then ~

     “Let’s ball, Bogie!” cried Philana like a whip.  Her eyes squinted full of tears.  Her thigh quivered.  The man to whom she had spoken held open his arms.

     She jumped.

     He carried her out the door like a bride.




the short story & song collection

Wild Women In The Borderlands Of My Mind

by rawclyde !



gathered & presented by artificial intelligence


copyright clyde collins 1989, 2010


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sunday afternoon

a train song by rawclyde


Sittin’ on my ass

watching the trains

roll by


Speeding thru space

on a spinning planet

& wondering why


Smeared by a gurl

with a mind a whirl

two thousand miles away


People feeling blue

don’t know what to do

dreaming about yesterday


Oh mr. president

Oh mr. president

hip hip horray


A big man in iran

hit by a missile

gots nothing more to say




a flash


Steppin’ on a banana peel

how do you feel

one second before the crash


A feller tells me

god put you in charge so

you can blow-up everything


This feller don’t vote

he’s kind o’ remote

but rumors are he can sing


Outside the window


a lot o’ blue sky


Long long trains

keep on

rolling by

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backroom guidance for holiday celebrations


have a baloney sandwich &

a cup o’ coffee

& call it

a beautiful day


rawclyde’s ranch


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