Hot Chicks That Kick Ass

Copyright 2014  Mark Lee Golden

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Collective Insecurity Hovers Over Flight 370

Copyright 2014 Mark Lee Golden


The Last Tattoo

Mark Lee Golden   ©2012

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    Lance Arm not-so Strong

           Mark Lee Golden  © 2013

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Animal Abuse Gone A Fowl

Mark Lee Golden Copyright 2015

We are told terrible stories when we are but children. Morals are confused. Death is justice. Imaginative creatures rule beneath the waves. Above, in clouds, a Giant frolics. In thrones, kindly, plump, white-haired royalty sit. And standing over steaming, foul-smelling cauldrons, witches cackle and methodically stir. We read or listen as the world of make-believe is basted on to our childish fresh minds.

A duck that lays golden eggs! What a miracle. Or, was it a goose in that one? Oh, let’s stop and consider the players in that tale. Courage and poverty motivate a boy to pursue high danger. For his family he steals, which leads from bad to worse, ending in murder, shame, trickery, pride and hope. For the boy’s crimes he is hailed a hero. In his winnings is a goose, a female goose who has only known misuse.

Why I Wear a Kippa (Part Two)

  Mark Lee Golden   Copyright 2012

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How To Hear the Voice of God

Mark Lee Golden   Copyright 2012

Not only do totally crazy people claim that God speaks to them, totally sane people do too! Read how to save yourself

embarrassment, stay out of the evening news, win friends, and let God influence you!

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Why I Wear a Kippa

Mark Lee Golden   Copyright 2012

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I Honk Therefore I Am

Mark Lee Golden   Copyright 2012

“Tis better to have driven and honked, then to have driven and never honked at all!”

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Criminals in the Midst

Mark Lee Golden  Copyright 2013


Families Burning

Copyright 2014  Mark Lee Golden


To Blog or Not to Blog – That is the Question!

Mark Lee Golden   Copyright 2012   

Blogging is the one of the side lotteries of our age. We have the traditional monetary lottery–one ticket could mean winning millions of dollars. Then we have the YouTube style lottery – post a video and it may go viral. Millions of views, not dollars. And the Blog lottery, like anything posted on the Web, a blog or excerpt from one, can get a person instant fame and or a swarm of embarrassment.

Blogs are what the Romans might have chiseled on marble walls. But we all know, high-speed, electric chisels didn't exist then. Graffiti's digital step-sister is blogging (and she can get ugly).

To blog or not to blog is the equivalent of shouting at the television, heckling the ref in a crowded arena, back-talking parents or a place to take poetry and throw cherished verses at the world.

At its heart, blogging is: an answer by anyone, to anyone, and maybe – just maybe, left unread by everyone!

The motivations of bloggers can be to answer when no one has asked them a question and to question when no one is asking for an answer.

Blogger's opinions are lit on the international stage by the spotlight of self. These are perpetually powered by a connection to the Internet. Otherwise we're back to typing letters on paper, needing envelopes and stamps. Oh, and the innocent mailman, too.

By stepping onto my own virtual center stage, I create problems for myself and others. By posting anything, I will attract fans and enemies. If I write too little, I will be admired and misunderstood. If I write too much, I will be admired and misunderstood further. The anonymity of the Web, allows for good and evil to flourish side by side, born along by mere clicks separating the pages. Public readability of graffiti is no longer limited to exterior walls done in the dark of night.

I blog, therefore I am.

Tomorrow, people can say of me, "He blogged, therefore he was!"

“I giggled all the way down your trail!”  Sally P.

“Original!” Jim V.

“The dog got off the leash!” Paul L.

“Thank you for the laughter.” Deborah C.


What I’m about to write are the collected facts on an unusual date in history—Jewish history. Then I have a short, odd, personal account of my own connection to the day of fasting on Tisha B’Av 2015.

Tisha B’Av means “the ninth (day) of Av.” It’s the saddest day of the Jewish calendar and occurs in July or August on Western calendars.  

If the inventive comedic movie Groundhog Day had instead focused solely on Jewish tragedies it would have been titled Tisha B’Av Day. What follows here are interesting, though brief accounts of actual events happening on the same date in different centuries, plus religious responses to this mystical truth. If you are a Jew, Jew-friendly or a Jew-lover, you will sorrow. If you are a Jew-hater, you will laugh and shake your head in amusement. If you are simply a curious reader, you will wonder how this could be. Tisha B’Av primarily commemorates a list of catastrophes and what follows is an incomplete list. The fast mainly centers on the destruction of the two ancient and holy Temples in Jerusalem.

The First Temple, (Solomon’s) was destroyed on the ninth of Av, by the Babylonians in 586 B.C.E. Approximately 100,000 Jews were killed during the invasion. The remaining tribes in the southern kingdom were exiled to Babylon and Persia. The Second Temple (Herod’s), was destroyed by the Roman army in 70 C.E. Both on the same date, the ninth of Av, 655 years apart.

Tisha B’Av The Saddest Day on the Jewish Calendar

Mark Lee Golden  Copyright 2015



Blog #3   Mark Lee Golden  Copyright 2016

A King Without Royalty: Why I Pray For Donald Trump


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Home Blog Ring of Torrents Samples NQR News Grumpy Disciple Current Events
Home Blog Ring of Torrents Samples NQR News Grumpy Disciple Current Events

Two Men Walked Into A Bar

Mark Lee Golden  Copyright 2016

Two men walked into a crowded bar. A flurry of snowflakes followed on that December evening. By shuffling steps, each man meandered toward the bar. Heads swiveled at the oddly dressed newcomers. One wore warm winter clothes and a furry hat; the other’s bland summery clothes seemed inadequate. Both had beards, one white, the other dark. Some would’ve called these two men ‘eye-catching.’

READ THE REST IN PDF “Very Enjoyable. You boggle my mind!”  Deborah C. “Many Laughs.”  Robin W. “Hilarious!”  Leah N. “Funny.”  Joe A.

At The Lake

Mark Lee Golden  Copyright 2017

Darkness deepened. Cold winter breezes left before darkness fell. Light speckles of the starscape unfurled in slow motion. A crescent moon grew closer to the forested hills of the horizon. Two companions casually swam in the chilly water; neither had anything to say.

Unlike summer and other fair weather, the expanse of the lake was devoid of watercraft. Thankful for each other’s company, they also enjoyed the silence, without jet skis, speed boats, or trolling fishermen. The turtle, named Myrtle, and her small fish friend, Henry, meandered along close to the surface.

The two mariners drifted near a southern shore. Stately wooden lake cabins, side by side, exhibited large display windows. They suddenly heard happy children and the sounds of firm voiced supervising adults. The mariners’ curiosity caused them to swim and see the commotion. At the dock they stopped, raised their tiny heads, and listened.

A lively family gathered below a lake home. They arranged a variety of snack foods, hot drinks, blankets, and a small tree. A man lit a small movable fire pit. When the blaze started, the mariners backed up for fear of being sighted. Though, in time, the two moved closer as the humans busied themselves. Myrtle and Henry glanced at each other with stumped expressions.

The man and a woman gave instructions to the smaller humans. They opened several small boxes with a variety of glittering objects. Within one box lay two dozen white candles, several inches in height. Another box contained metallic candlestick holding pans with short cylinders to set the candles in. On the undersides were clasps to clamp the pans level onto narrow branches.

The man took hold of a six foot tall spruce tree he’d sawn from their hillside property. He grasped a hatchet. By the light of the fire pit he chopped off the bottommost limbs and twigs. At roughly eighteen inches he stopped, exposing a bare lower trunk. The man tossed the lose brush into the fire. Then he pried off a flat circular metal cap from the dock’s plank surface. He positioned the trunk down into the hole until the branches stopped it, and then he stood up to hold the top of the tree. Next, he pulled the tree out and set it near the holding hole. One of the children knelt down near the trunk.

“Yep! Its wet.”

“How much?”

The child showed the distance using his fingers.

“Good enough. Let’s snug her in.” The father and eldest child used brackets to secure the trunk through the dock and into the lake.

The mother watched until she decided it was vertical. She raised a hand. “That’s good, nice and straight.”

The tree had a new home and plenty of water to drink.

Immediately, one by one, the mother carefully handed the children items out of the boxes. In the flickering light work had begun. The two watery spectators glanced at each other and shook their heads in wonder. Each thought the same, “What are these humans doing?”

On the branches, children attached glittering orbs, sparkling figurines, and plastic candy canes. They argued over who could choose which ornaments, whose was theirs, and where to place them. The parents let them squabble while they secured the candlestick holders around the tree on the ends of sturdy branches. When done, they smiled.

The man reached out a hand. “I need candles!”

His wife handed him one candle after another. She then decided to add some herself.

The adults walked around the tree checking the ornaments. After nodding, the father announced, “And now to light our tree!” The children clapped and jumped. Even the unseen viewers swished their tails in anticipation.

A metal canister filled with long-reach fireplace matches was opened. Each child picked one and poked it into the fire pit until the head blazed. The parents gave simple instructions, explaining “Do it just like last year.” One child added, “Like every year.” A magical silence overtook the lighting activity. The father lit a taller, twisted candle secured at the top of the tree. When all of the candles glowed, each face reflected the wavering yellowish points engulfing a black wick. Bright-eyed, the family carefully stepped back and walked around the tree. They took photos of the wonderful, private, scene. One of the girls, with a face of glee pronounced, “Our family Christmas tradition!” The youngest child squealed, “For the special Jewish baby!”

 Myrtle and Henry looked up the nearby hillside to the home. In one of the broad triangular windows they noticed a similar, but taller tree. This tree seemed to revolve and displayed lights of various colors. A fancy dressed doll of a woman with wings and flowing white hair repeatedly waved one hand to no one.

“Who wants hot chocolate?” The kids crowded around their mom. Each received a cup. She handed a mug to her husband. In silence, the eyes of the two creatures glimmered.

After the drinks, the family sang a song. Smiling, each reached out for another’s hands until the little group ringed around the tree. The turtle and fish looked at each other pondering what this new activity meant.

When the song ended, silence followed. Before long, laughter and giggles filled the air. Eyes gleamed in the winterscape.

In time, the family walked up the wooden stairs and went indoors. Candles melted; the yielding wicks eventually stood above tiny, hot clear, puddles. Intrigued, the two creatures stared, and in their own way, grinned. They chose a new direction, dipped underwater and swam.

Darkness regained the dock.


Super Bowl Half-Time

Half-Full or Half-Empty

Mark Lee Golden Copyright 2018

Call me Scrooge.

I’m not a sports fan. In fact, when asked if I caught such-and-such game, my generic jokingly reply will be, “I never watch hockey.” Why I’m not a good ol’ American sports fan is somehow lost in the recesses of my early childhood no doubt. With both of my parents dead, it’s out of the question to sue them for this irreparable neutrality.

The Super Bowl is a phenomena. A golden, glittering, highlight of our culture. If you didn’t know, it’s a football game. The best against the best, is what they tell me; athletes doing athletic stuff.

Why then, when Half-Time arrives do the pricey powers that-be, present an ultra-expensive entertainment show which has nothing to do with sports?!? The traditional musicians of brass bands of normal or local games are pouting in their homes and cars taking aspirin and making counseling appointments.

If the A-List of entertainers sang or performed football related songs or dance moves…I’d see the c-o-n-n-e-c-t-i-o-n. Even if the brief entertainment had actors dressed as hot dogs and beers, that would make sense. I won’t go into the history or finances involved of the Half-Time show. I just think that those stallions of muscle and agility (football players) must feel second class when they are in their respective locker rooms hearing the crowds roar.

No, I’m not going to comment or ridicule the now famed Super Bowl commercials (also extremely expensive).

My gripe comes down to this: Are the Half-Time shows half-empty or half-full?


I see no reason to take a Vegas act or top concert-circuit performer and place them as a bookmark in the most watched (?) American sporting event. People should go urinate, get a dog n’ a brew, and discuss the game without the distraction of unrelated entertainment. I mean the sacred field, grid thingy, is trod upon by the performer fans. Then they are ushered away, the field cleaned and sterilized, stage deconstructed, and sports heroes return.

Will I watch the game today? I don’t watch hockey…..