Her Candy is Gone

Her candy is gone
Now I am screwed.
The Snickers,
Those 3 guys
And the nougat, too.

I did probe.

I did squander.
Her bag I did launder.
My granddaughters pissed
I thought I was stronger.

What was I thinking?

She knew what she had
She counted each morsel
As Paw Paw I’m bad.

The wrappings what got me

Deep in the trash.
She noticed,
She yelled,
“Who took my stash?”

The screams,

The horror,
The pint sized
Disorder,
Was deafening.
Help me,
I'll run for the border.

But wait, she says, “Paw Paw

I think I now could.
You missed one, a Hershey’s,
It tastes, oh so good.”

“I forgive you my Paw Paw,

But don’t be a repeater,
Cause I’ll cut off your hands
If you do it on Easter.”

Oh Crap.

            Today I’ll have a book signing. Well, somewhat. All the Muddy Bayou Press authors will be at Southdown Market Place with their books and latest releases. The event is rather large and close friends, people I haven’t seen in quite some time, and listeners who didn’t know I wrote a book might attend. I’m excited. I’ll have a pen. (Last night I kept dreaming I was late. Obstacles kept keeping me from my destination. You with me here?)

            I’ve made personal appearances thousands of times. Yes, I said that correctly, thousands of times, yet I couldn’t sleep last night because of today. Working in radio puts egos in check. Well, most. I’ve learned this through the years. You make plenty of friends in radio. It won’t make you a star.

            When I go to a grand opening of the new floral department in the latest grocery, no one will attend to see if my petunia is in bloom. They might run into me and find out how the red fern grows, but the rose one seeks will be because of its charm, its grace, its personality.

            A star is a person who attracts people just by being there. Of course, if no one shows, I can blame it on the other authors.

Big and Tall

            The other day I was shopping at Houma’s Big and Tall Men’s Store. I tried on one of their suits. I liked the way it fit but the clerk said, “You’re not tall enough to wear that suit.” I thought, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            It was way too long in the sleeves, and the pants had an extra two inches, but that’s how I roll. That’s how I make my statement. You heard of “Pants on the ground.” I go after “Hems, on the floor.” I also call my look, “Hands up the sleeve.” So I’m suing.

            That clerk had no right to tell me that I can’t buy his merchandise. This is America, last time I checked, a free country. I’m being denied my right as a short person to purchase what that store has to offer.

            That clerk accused me of, “SWTS- Shopping while too, short.” I plan on owning that entire store when I’m done, and my lawyer, he’s a big ass Mo-Fo, and he’s going to be the best dressed fat lawyer in Houma, I mean, round lawyer. Take that, suckers. You pissed off the wrong guy.

60 Seconds Inside a Blonde's Head-Halloween

By:  Larry Hyatt

Wow, it’s Halloween, already? What will I do this year? I already did the sexy policeman, the sexy fireman, and the sexy construction worker…  Maybe, this year I can actually dress up like one of those people… No, none of those guys even called me back… The jerks… I thought they liked my Lady Ga Ga costume…I know, I can go as Miley Cyrus…no, that wouldn’t work…all the sluts will have their tongues hanging out this year…I could go as a pretty princess, that would be different…It could be like when I was a little girl…I loved those days…Trick or treating in the neighborhood with my mom and dad...Dad would hug me, calling me his little princess, mom, smiling really bright…We held hands and walked from house to house…I miss those days…That’s what I’m going to be. I’m going to be a princess…a pretty princess…with a long beautiful flowing dress… cut short to show my thighs…but not too high, because I’ll be a princess…and a top that’s cut low, but not to low, so people won’t think I’m a sleaze…and I’ll wear my thigh high boots, because everybody knows I can rock a sexy pair of thigh high boots…and if I sleep with  a sexy policeman, or fireman, or construction worker…he’ll know I’m a lady…because I’m a princess, and he’ll call. Yes, he will. He’ll call.

I Was a Bad Ass for a Week

         Growing up a short, funny, redhead dude, in desegregated schools, I now and then got my butt kicked. It taught me how not to treat people. It molded me into a mild mannered adult who is a bit cautious. So, for two weeks, being known as a bad ass was a very cool feeling.

          I was working in a night club as an MC/Entertainer, when the owner, and one of the bouncers who everyone said was a “real bad-ass,” came into the office. When they entered, I was standing by the desk, filling out winner's sheets for a Hawaiian Tropic Beauty Contest. (Steve is the owner, Joe is the bad ass, and it’s not their real names.)

          “Look, Joe. I don’t care. It’s no one’s fault.”

          “But, Steve, I didn’t hit the customer. It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. I was just trying to help.”

          “It doesn’t matter, Joe. Things like that happen, but your job is fine."

          “But, Steve, I didn’t do anything. I was trying to help.”

          “It’s, okay, Joe. Just leave it alone.”

          Things were getting heated and making me uncomfortable. I pretended to ignore the commotion, looking down at the desk and writing.

          Joe went on, “Steve, I didn’t do it!”

          “It’s, okay Joe. I have too much to do right now and it doesn’t really matter!”

          “Well, I didn’t do anything! That’s bullshit, Steve!”

          “Damn it, Joe!”

          The next thing I know, Steve and Joe have each other by the throat, pushing each other around the room and into walls. Things in the office are being knocked around and falling to the floor, so I drop my pen and tried to calm the situation.  
          Before I could, Steve punches the tough guy Joe in the face, and Joe storms out with a big whelp on his eye. Steve and I, who are very good friends, started to wonder, “How the hell did that just happen?”

          I finish the winner’s sheets, announce the winners, and a lovely lady in a bikini got a trip to Hawaii to be a beauty queen.

          When I left the stage, this is the story that got back to me.

          Joe, after being punched in the face, went toward the front door and ran into another bouncer. He said, “Steve and Larry are assholes, they just jumped me in the office.”

          “Larry?”

          “Yeah, Steve and Larry.”

          “Larry Hyatt?”

          “Yeah, Steve and Larry.”

          “No shit? Really, Larry Hyatt?"

          “Yeah”

          Joe then went further on to the doorman and told him, “Steve and Larry just jumped me in the office.”

          “No shit, Larry?”

          “Yeah.”

          “Larry Hyatt?”

          “Yeah.”

          “Wow, Larry Hyatt.”

          Joe then went to the parking lot and told the head valet, with a slight twist in the story. “Steve, just jumped me in the office,” that, the valet believed.

          I was now a bad ass in the eyes of my peers, but wait there’s more. The next weekend I was off of work and a bunch of the employees went to another club in the next town. It was the first time I didn’t have a show in months, so I was having a great time watching other people on stage.

          I was standing in the audience, listening to the live music, when Steve leans over and asks if I have a problem with the Thibodaux Police. Screaming over the music I say, “Not in Thibodaux, but I am wanted in ten states for unnatural sex acts.” Steve laughs and says, “I figured that, but there’s a cop staring at you.” I turn around and the police officer leans into me and says. “Excuse, me, can you please step outside a moment?” I was confused.

          I followed the cop toward the door and with all of my friends following, wondered, “What the hell did I do now.”

          Outside, the cop says, “I’m really sorry, but we’ve been told you people from “Illusions” are known to carry guns. Do you have a weapon on you?” My jaw drops and the group cracks up laughing. The cop, thinks me, the actor/entertainer, who couldn’t beat himself out of a wet paper bag, carries a gun. I said, “No man, I don’t have a gun,” and I went back inside, a few inches taller, being one bad ass mother.

          For two weeks after that, I brandished a banana that I carried in my sport coat. For the first time I had a “rep” and it felt good.

          Until, you’ve been beaten really bad for the color of your skin, or the way you talk, or maybe you cooked dinner with too much salt, or you found yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time, or you’re a defenseless child, or any number of reasons people get hit, you might not understand the allure of being a bad ass. For the real bad asses in the world, be careful, you may run into a guy who’ll brandish his banana.

 

Now available in paperback or download on Amazon.com

Thanks for Inspiration.

 

 

Since the age of five I've been a performer. I've written radio comedy, sketch comedy and plays, produced television and radio, worked as a creative director for an arts and entertainment magazine, and published numerous humorous articles and essays. Add appearing in operas, musicals, and a movie, and one would wonder how someone who has entertained so much, has so little. Well, I'll tell you...but wait, that would be stupid, because I wrote the book on having what it takes, and now want you to buy my book on knowing what it doesn't.
I didn't want to write the worn out story of a drug induced rise and fall. This is a comedic "never risen," written to inspire, teach, and explain that the paths of dreamers make many turns, go winding through many roads, but then ultimately detour, to the highway of your heart.

 

Thank you followers. Thank you very, very, much.

 

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October 1st.