Stevieslaw: President Shithead

Stevieslaw: President Scheisskopf

Readers of Catch 22 will certainly recall Scheisskopf, who rose to Lieutenant General (chapter 37) from Lieutenant (Chapter 8) on the strength of his incompetence. Scheisskopf was a single minded imbecile whose sole interest was parades. While in the combat zone, he wasn’t allowed to schedule or have parades, but he could cancel them—

“Due to circumstances beyond my control, there will be no big parade this Sunday afternoon.” Colonel Scheisskopf.

Scheisskopf loved this memo, as it implied that some Sunday soon, there might be a parade.

Oh, I should mention that Scheisskopf translates from the German to “shithead.”

It’s like Joseph Heller knew what was coming:

“Due to circumstances beyond my control, there will be no big parade this year.” President Shithead.

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Stevieslaw: Trump tweets support

Stevieslaw: Trump Tweets Support after damning Grand Jury Report

From the of course it could happen here department.

Trump tweeted his support of the Catholic Church today, saying they were very fine people that got all the important things right. “Right on against abortion and gay marriage—if I weren’t an Evangelical I would be a devout Catholic. I wonder if you can be both?”

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Stevieslaw: Coming soon on your box of Fruit Loops

Stevieslaw: Coming soon on your box of Fruit Loops

As part of our ongoing “Can’t Happen Here,”series…

Trump tweeted today that it would be great fun and great for the country to revive bounty hunting. He suggested posters with photos of CNN reporters emblazoned with the words “Wanted dead or alive,” should go up all over America. “Enemies of the people,” he wrote. “They’re gonna start a war,” he clarified.

The Republican response was swift and clear. Mitch McConnell “distanced” himself from the president by stating, “The tweets were really about job creation,” while Paul Ryan agreed saying, “Bounty hunting was once an honorable profession—lots of good paying American jobs there for hard-working American gunmen.”

And remember—It Can’t Happen Here.

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Stevieslaw: Monkey Bars—a poem

My poem, Monkey Bars, in up on The Drabble today.  Here is the poem and the link:

By stevieslaw

The old playground.
was fenced off years ago.
The rusted frames
of sliding pond
and see-saw
stand silhouetted in the setting sun.
The swing set—seatless now
where young mothers
took their toddlers
on weekday afternoons—
and where we,
barely teen-age,
first made acquaintance with longing.

We fought on the monkey bars
for world domination,
screeched like chimpanzees,
pounded our chests,
and beat each other silly.
We ranked each other out
in words we hardly understood
and screamed
“I”ll murder ya”
“I’ll break ya neck”
at the top of our lungs
until one day we did. Continue reading

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Stevieslaw: My poem, Taxi, in Locust Magazine

My poem about my dad, just appeared in Locust Magazine.  Here is the poem and the link:

~ A Poem by Steven Deutsch ~

My dad drove a taxi
on the night shift
through the tired streets of Manhattan,
his nights filled
with swampy coffee
and drunks
ejected from the local bars.
He’d tell the story
of the drunk that paid
his tab twelve times
in crisp twenties
thinking each time his ride has just ended
or of the ride he gave
to Marilyn Monroe
who kissed him on the cheek
because she didn’t have a dime.
But, most days he slept.
We tiptoed past him–
dead to the world
on the fold-out couch
in the living room of our tiny apartment
and tried to be so quiet.

When he had one Saturday free
he took me to Ebetts Field.
He loved the Brooklyn Dodgers.
Campanella, Hodges, Pee Wee Reese
and most of all Duke Snyder.
We sat in the bleachers
In the blazing sun
and watched Sal Maggie
and Hoyt Wilhelm
take it to the seventh,
nothing nothing.
Dad went for hot dogs at the stretch
and came back with two for me
just after the Duke homered in the ninth
to win the game one to nothing.

We didn’t speak on the train going home.
But on Sunday around the bagels and lox.
He told that story with a smile and a laugh.
It was my only trip to Ebbets Field
and his last.

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Stevieslaw: My poem—Pyre

My poem Pyre was just published by Third Wednesday.  Here it is:


The Image is of a man,
thirtyish I suppose,
dressed in the discomfort
of his day—hat, tie, jacket.
His is one of the photos
my mother saved
in a cardboard box—
each labeled cleanly
on the back,
with only a date.
This one reads,
September 4th, 1934.
There is no name.

I am intrigued
by its absence—
An uncle?
A friend?
He looks like a heavy
in an Edward G. Robinson movie.
I imagine he wandered
the grand boulevard
of Brownsville,
Pennsylvania Avenue—
a slum then and now,
up by the elevated train.
His fists clenched
as if looking ahead to trouble.
His temper awry.
The smoke
from his Lucky Strike
worrying his eyes.

On this quiet evening
in November
I add his to the stack
of photos I take
to the living room fireplace.
I burn them one by one—
it seems somehow fitting.

The gangster puts up
little resistance.
He silently browns
and burns.
Yet a plump woman
in a squirrel coat
with my mother’s
wide set eyes
with fierce blue flames
and nerve-shattering pops.

The last photo,
that of an infant
in a knitted cap—
pink or blue?
must be coaxed into flame
for by now, the fire
has burned low in the hearth,
and through the unshaded window
I watch as night comes on too quickly.


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Stevieslaw: Trump denies trip to Europe

Stevieslaw: Trump denies trip to Europe

In a series of tweets this afternoon, President Trump denied ever visiting Europe and meeting with foreign leaders. “Don’t you think I would remember meeting with NATO, May and Putin—more fake news!”

Republicans leaders were relieved to find that the trip never happened.

“Now we may move on to governing the country,” said Mitch McConnell. “We need to get Brett Kavanaugh confirmed.”

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