Kung Fool

Tashka' likes to hang out under the deck on the south side of the house. It's a good place to watch traffic and passing cows.

Unfortunately, the south deck is where I used to empty water from the clothes washer (it's an apartment-sized unit, and hooking the outlet to the drain isn practical for a number of reasons).

The buckets I pitched were never close to Tashka', but he was offended nonetheless, as you can see from his expression, having taken refuge by a large dog house.

I'm not in the mood to write about coping with cancer today. I'd rather have fun.

Yes, I am a Chinaman,

and Asians are cool.

When things in life don't follow plan,

I go all Kung Fool,

head-high kicking 'round about,

chopping each direction,

and then I give a mighty shout

with Mandarin inflection.

The canines all look quite perplexed,

and Barb just rolls each eye,

wondering what I will do next,

and asking God on high

just why did He play the trick

of sending her this lunatic.

And, of course, there's music to be had.

If you want some really good recipes, please drop by and visit my friends Pam and Tony, at the Som-Tin-Ta Eat food truck blog.

You can also find them on Facebook.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is PROVE.

A Chinaman has naught to prove

in the fractured warring west,

and I don't care if you approve 

or not, for I have passed the test 

of seeing people of faith passing 

me along the road of life,

and I can now refrain from classing

them, to set in plan a strife.

No, I will just let them live

and travel onward with my prayers.

Each of us has much to give

to a world so full of cares

that even whose beliefs seem odd

may nonetheless be serving God.

Sylvia says that if I pour Kung Pao sauce over her ice cream, I'm in real trouble.