Author Archives: Scottt

Nasal Passages

Woke up to kind of smell the roses as I went to the ear, nose and throat doc yesterday

to imperfectly hear some of the same options I’ve kinda heard countless times before…

“Yes, your septum is severely deviated and you have less than 25% breathing through your left nostril. Now I could perform ssurgery, but because of your exceedingly small nasal passages, there’s a strong chance your right nostril will then become a problem and well, you’ll be back to square one.”

 Just not a square one that’s equal on all sides

or the same from all angles and made from the image of G-d.

Oh, to have a fully functioning, easy breathy, beautiful under-inflated stated, straight as an arrow schnaz.

‘What are my options?

“Well Scott, you can just deal with it. I too am a mouth breather and know how you feel. You can try breathe-right strips, nightly saline solutions and this here prescription, but none of these will permanently correct your problem. Or  you can get a brand new nose, but it will cost you an arm and a leg.”


Really? One sparkly and smooth new appendage to lose two doesn’t sound fair to me.

My doctor recommends a plastic surgeon who can perform a complete rhinoplasty uncovered by insurance in the realm of 10-20k,

so I deep breathe (through my mouth) and leave.

Click for how my NOSE came to be.

Two Poem Sconnettts Preview

The following poems appear in Sconnettts 51 Shakespearean Sonnets now available to purchase through PayPal and Amazon.

11. Inanimate Intimacy From An Inability To Move
In love with the inanimate object
of my affection, like a C-section
changed to an E-section from an abject
incision of hit and misdirection.
Just like painted mirrors lack reflection
she’s chosen to avoid a position
of transition blindly disrespecting
nearly everything i’m wishing.
Two drawings you saw in teen magazines
of stick figures standing toothpicks apart,
we’re trapped in freeze frames of etch-a-sketch scenes
where the artist is armless and can’t start.
Meanest de Milo, most unable to
shake things up for us to embrace the view.

For Arnold
40a. Schwarzeneggerean Sonnet
My mistress’ eyes are everything like my son.
Clorox far more clear than my head was here,
if Maria comes home early, I’m done.
If beds are made, my dear Mildred is near.
I have seen sheets dirtied then quickly cleaned,
but a housekeeper with dirty secrets,
this Last Action Hero has never seen.
Raw Deal on 80 thread count of regret.
Commando slept around without much thought.
Get down from the washer! Will I be back?
Kindergarten Copped a feel and got caught.
Running Man’s movie career now off track,
while Shriver has been put through the dryer,
even True Lies, still make me a liar.

Embarking Up A New Tree Falling In The Forest

Does “it” make a sound when used grammatically erect inside slip and slides lying to our children. Get up off of the floor routine and olympic roll gold before your flexibull-shit shits on us one last time.

Panic roommates fix the joke alarms and thread the haystacks before Flash Gorton takes the picture of the fish sticks. I can only do this twice, five is dead but the forth times a blow pop, so when fellating father-time suck seeds out the pomegranate.

Pillow fighting hard boiled eggheads only cracks up sidewalk sweepers. Tetanus shooting basket ball players is illegal in this state of mind. I walked right into a bat once. Water Polio vaccines are being administered by ministers inside a nearby Wallgreens.

Gummi Bears can’t complain about porridge temperatures, but three little police officers lost their houses in Big Bad Sandy. Snow White falls bright when visible rays of light wave at black magicians making sound disappear.


Deaf con-artists working for Verizon can’t hear me plow fields of dreams. Blind doctors can’t see certain sections at the baby basketball game. In a fight for more pacifiers, the commissioner issues three-hole punched grenades without bowling pins. Lebron Jameson Whiskey opens hearts to Cavaliers fearing abandonment and wins.

Diphthongs are difficult for Vanna White as well as “ñ.” Oolong tea takes too long to steep and marshmellow peeps are people too! Get over yourself in yoga class and treat your fecal matter better.

Oncologically speaking Spock’s cancer spread quicker on planets further from the sun. Captain Kirk Cameron was left behind in a ditch made for two. Beam me up, future version of myself I have a poem to share with you.

Practice Makes Perfectionists Question Their Perfections (2008)

I have a confession to make:

Heartbreak dancers flake snow globes spinning pins and needles in hay-stacker two by fours. Pour milk in silk spheres clearing curious cats crying over spilled tears of forgotten chores. Clean rooms of dust puppies pounding pave-meant to be spotless 456-7upping perfectionists, while percussionists bang drums slowly and twiddle thumbs boldly going where no composer has gone before. Make a mental note that true trouble is treble clef theft from an unsupervised staff of chimpanzees and accordion players with polka dot lunch boxes and hulk underwear with stretched elastic.

Measure IQ’s with standardized rests hooked to dreamscapes scraping cerebellums with mozzarella moto-photo operatives stuck on cheese and cracker jack boxers in the ring of fireman extinguishing memories of a forgotten fast food diet, but be quiet the sleeping tea bags have no caffeine.

Cold cuts hurt more than warm butts of cigarettes sinking slowly into flesh.
Turkey’s give thanks for being spared one more year and confess of killing appetites while in flight and fight with penguins unarmed but for grins and grappling hooks stuck on fish flailing to mail postmen messages of the deli closing for renovations.

Popsicle sticks and stones break wishbones phoning homework answers to kids clueless as to why train A and train B arrived at the same time last year. Wiffle ball bats are made out of waffles eggoing on hungry pitchers to throw strikes only to bowler batters confused of which sports-man-ship the gods sailed on when immortality failed them.

Detectives discover meat markets to be a great place to meet criminals holding sausage parties and arrest insomniacs keeping Sherlock up at night on whether he was sure to lock his car door, for the more watts on, the deader the battery will become once Watson arrives the next morning to drive to the scene of the roast beef.

Hieroglyphics clear up pimples and cheer up dimples disappearing from smiles gone awry inside pyramids perverting librarians stuck in bookmarks. Sweaty pogo stick users make me sick to my esophagus and racist confetti should not be thrown out, because I hate cleaning up the message.

Pinatas made of diamonds broke my engagement to the one woman I still valued. On bended knee I sucked her finger and swallowed her ring, I digested it all three weeks later and checked the toilet only to find her current boyfriend floating helplessly in a sea of my shit, I flushed my three pairs of queens along with a straight jacket and him. It didn’t all go down as smoothly as I would have liked.

My to do list for my next sixteen to–do lists ended up in my washing machine, and when I put them both in the dryer I felt a renewed sense of accomplishment comparable to the time I circumcised my brother when he was being a dickhead to my father.


The fact that I will sit here for a good portion of my day and write this
scares me more than most people. I fear I may have lost all sense of sense.

Cigars, milk shakes and honey nut Cheerios.

Perhaps not.

Perhaps knots tied before careers comply will end in frenzy.

Do not pass go. Do not pass gas. Do not pass notes in my class.
Put your hands over your head and lean to the right then left,
Flex, this is the home stretch.

Mail your presents to your friends and family exactly one year before their actual birthday date, its never too early to wrap this up.
Jockey’s listen to me especially-
Hold your horses I think I’m about to end.

Be profound with me and get lost.

Where is Everybody?

Have you ever been partying heartily with a few of your besties,
A big ta-do with some cashews and way too many testies.
Me and the guy’s are thinking they’re gods gift to clever,
while the girl’s are arriving fashionably never.
The only super models coming though the door
are giant-sized dioramas of unrequited love
from some less than less than civil war.

And here I am
sipping some wine, never minding my own mind
when some douche-bag of wind shits on my good time,
exclaiming within earshot to the host, a most inconsiderate boast-
It’s ballsy, uncouth, even a little nutty,
when this Elmer Fuddy Duddy has to ask, Uh, uh, where is everybody?”

And suddenly
I’m stuck in an existential episode
of a solipsistic sitcom that’s clearly
starring me.

If “everyone” is not “here,” I guess that makes “me” chopped liver,
as antimatter of fact, to you I’m less than less than dirt
at the bottom of some river.
A hop and skip from the nacho cheese dip and three rungs below
being anyone you’d really ever care to know.

According to you,
Russel Brand, P Diddy, Charlie Sheen, God have to show up today.
Bonus points if the messiah comes through along with the cast of Ben-Hur
Ghandi and Gerard Depardieu.
Man, that guy can drink!

I mean really, am I no one? Am I that uninteresting and bland?
the wilting wall flower disguised as the invisible visible man.
Just give me a chance, I’ll talk your “ear” off
about politics, movies, major world religions
more interesting than watching Van Gogh paint my kitchen as
Mike Tyson pontificates pigeons.

Moreover, given the choice do you really want “everybody” at this party?
I think it’s safe to say we could all do without a few serial killers,
the date rapist from apartment 3G
and well, most magicians.

I mean is there even a proper response to that? Where is everybody?
Everybody is here in that everybody is everywhere.
All at once.
The only time no one is here or rather was here
was billions of years ago and it pretty much sucked
It was impossibly hard to party
with little to no big-bang for your buck.

The only appropriate time to ask this stupid and moronic question is
I don’t know–following some genocidal alien spaceship landing?
Or sometime after apocalypse if your worthless ass is still standing?
Or maybe to yourself, sitting at home
in the mirror…
Where is everybody?

Everybody is where they’re supposed to be
which is anywhere and everywhere, but where you happen to be.
Yeah, I’m sure what you actually meant to say was,
Where are the rest of the guests?
Well, by your logic if everybody hasn’t arrived–yet,
that is to say you haven’t arrived yet either.

So go home before you ever get here, you’ve been uninvited.
Shut your mouth and let the door hit ya on the way out.
It’s a little sad how what was said you must regret
That’s too bad, because nobody
just left.