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!"

Following Piece Reviews

“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

I do pray.

My track record for answered prayers is less than some folks and more than others. Saying that a prayer was “answered” is tricky business. People get in trouble for that: embarrassment, skepticism and jokes. A few people saying “Amen” does wonders. Proof seems to be in the eyes of the believer, or the doctor’s test results.

I want my prayers for candidate Donald Trump answered.

My inclinations for that man indicate that there are enough decent building materials for a firm, livable structure. In many ways that’s true of all the presidential candidates. But Trump (how did he end up with that name?) has a kingly stance which none of the others have. America needs a king―an honorable, feisty, self-controlled, patriotic, powerful person, who understands royalty. Trump fails at this, of course. That’s why if prayer can change people he is my number one candidate to pray for.

What about God, you ask? You bet, in His time He’s seen better and worse king-making material. Strangely, in Bible stories of Israel’s kings this was also the case. God stood up for bad guys and slam-dunked good ones. (Don’t try and figure it out.) My point is that whether Trump is a candidate or not, God’s will for that man is still the same. This is true of all of us. Yet, none of us comes close to that man’s position, authority and wealth―okay, and his mouth.


Choose honesty over partial truths, refuse to lie

Choose integrity, humility, care,

Apologize. Admit mistakes without an agenda                                                                                       READ THE REST IN PDF

Reduced use of antics, sarcasm and condemnation.

Refuse to resort to theatrics

Repugnance for haughtiness, bullying others, and low blows which only dishonor himself

Reject shallow misleading answers

Not pick on people for things they were born with and cannot change

See where criticism is not wise and will back-fire

Recognize childish behavior and choose mature responses

Stop domineering or seeking to break someone’s spirit

Choose polite replies when he disagrees

Not flaunt or be comfortable with arrogance.

Stop inflating his ego

Stop put-downs which alienate

Choose goodness

Identify and respect wisdom even when he is the subject

Improve his manliness in order for both genders of voters to chose him,

Acknowledge previous irresponsible decisions

Acknowledge underhanded methods―with remorse

Recognize and avoid manipulation

If religious―act morally so

Know that a poor person can be better liked than he

Know that a street person can have good sense which he lacks

Be vulnerable when the time is right

Envy the innocence of children

Pray for those who hate him

Want the presidency for the right reasons and in the right ways

Understand what love is in the areas which he doesn’t

Finally, make his own children proud of him because of his generous, respectful, kind character.

So, you can see why prayer comes in. God has changed many a man for the better―and we need better than the man we see. I like the significant comment of one ex-alcoholic, “I don’t know if Jesus changed water into wine. But, at my house he changed liquor into furniture.” Is Trump drunk―on himself?

Trump has an empire. All reasons aside, he is like a small king with a monetary worth in the billions. Indeed, as he’s said, he is “…businessman―now politician.” But, he lacks the class and honor to which royalty is held.

Honestly, there are things I like about Trump. But, I don’t want to have to vote for Trump as he is―do you? My prayers are for a miraculous intervention (obviously). If a statue of Mary can weep, so can Trump.

*            *            *

I have a challenge for this man. Yes, it’s a different miracle, one of proof and not manipulation, not barking, but one of generosity. I want Donald Trump to have his workers locate from all 50 states, 25,000 needy, hard-working families or persons―preferably those who have entered into financial trouble due to our mismanaged governmental bureaucracy. Then I want him to donate one billion dollars of his money equally split $40,000 for each home (if they have one).

He does not need this $1,000,000,000. Want it? Yes. Understand me, this is not to buy votes or bribing. This is honest sacrifice if he really wants the power to lead this country. An outrageous benevolent act. I say to the Donald, “Put a billion where your mouth is.”

The Crime: wrong campaign tactics. The Criminals: words and antics in speeches, debates and interviews.

BTW I am investigating setting in motion an online petition for Donald Trump to distribute that financial help.


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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.’

They parked themselves at a spot along the wide polished wood bar. Elbows anchored their weight. Feet found the brass railing near the floor; one boot and one sandal see-sawed. Each man glanced at the other with amusement and chuckled. Then at the same moment they said, “You’re really dressed like that!” This wasn’t a question. Grins shifted, curiosity took over their expressions. Yet, no other words accompanied the raised eyebrows.

The bartender asked what they wanted to drink. One finger rose. “A pint.” A glass, dark with Guinness, soon met his hand.

The other fellow caught the bartender’s eye and pointed to the Guinness. “Same!” That got a nod, and a glass slid his way. Lips plunged through the tan foamy head, and each took a strong sip. Both said, “Ahh, now that’s good.”

The light-clothed man unwound a narrow leather band to undo his ponytail and then shook his icy, wet hair free.

The white-bearded man turned to take in the noisy drinkers and tried to tune out the bleating Christmas music overhead. “I just got off work.”

“What do you do…dressed like that?”

The man’s hand went to the bottom of his large white beard and like a magic trick he pulled it down and let it spring back. Tilting his head, he winked, “Get it, chum? Holidays-schmol-ee-daze! I’m already sick of the non-stop holiday tunes―fah-lah-lah-lah and blah-blah-blah. North Pole, my ass. Employers and snowmen. Somebody stop this glittering tinsel insanity, please!” The little bell on the end of his cone-shaped, floppy cap, jingled as Santa’s agitation rose.

Amused, his impromptu companion lightly tugged on the white beard once or twice. “Fun. So, you wear a fake beard; part of your job? What of these bright red clothes, black belt and dangling cap? You’re hired to bring laughter and festivities to celebrations. If so, that’s really fine work, I’d say, hard, but fine indeed. You’re a special man, my friend.”

Santa asked his companion, looking him in the eye, “And you? Your robe? Sandals? No coat, hat, or gloves in this weather! Not even socks! I like the scarf, though. I bet you need somethin’ hot to slurp down and warm you up? Did yah just get off the bus? Where yah from, down south where it’s warm?”

The grin left the robed man and a serious face took hold. He peered down, squaring up his scarf making the white and blue fringes even―like he’d done countless times before. “Yes. Yes, where do I come from? Hmm.”

His new pal interrupted, “By the way, I got this round―you buy the next.” He clinked the other’s glass. “That time of year again, y’know. Love your neighbor. Do unto others and all that crap. Who dreamed all that up?” He shook his head.

The robed man stared. “Crap? That word has a certain finite solidity. Crap. A good word when rightly used.”

Santa replied, “Yeah. There’s too much crap in our little world. This season of the year is supposed to usher in a temporary blissful kinda spirit―which abruptly ends on January One. We are to forgive, forget, and go out of our way for all the slobs n’ idiots. Any ol’ idiot, whatever way, shape, or form.” He sipped his beer. “Tell me, my stranger, isn’t this just a wrong marriage of religion and credit cards? A romance that was never meant to be?” He groaned. “Oh! Wait! Wait! I’m doing my annual griping too soon. I haven’t even finished off one brewski. I can and do go on; let me tell yah. Sorry man. Maybe you’re into all of this holiday cheer stuff.”

The companion sipped and spoke. “You asked what I do and where I’m from. Fair ‘nough.”

Just then, a man slammed between the two of them into the bar, jostling them and their glasses. The man was gripping a longneck and his breath was a head turner. He spread his arms wide to embrace his two victims. In an obnoxious, expressive voice he sputtered, “Hey Santa, am I glad to see you! Hot damn. I got only one thing on my Good Boy wish list, and it’s a humdinger.”