OBITUARY

Anthony Moschetti, age 56, went to be with his heavenly father on July 5, 2010. He succumbed following a short illness resulting from a drive-by shooting. A dedicated family man and long-time drug dealer, Mr. Moschetti is survived by his wife, Bernice, of Bogota, Colombia. A civic-minded individual, Tony belonged to the Lions, Kiwanis, and Rotary clubs, and served as a member of the Governor's Advisory Board. He was a patron of the arts, and was fond of saying that his two favorite things were Puccinni and linguini. Tony joined the mob at an early age, starting as a lowly bag man and working his way up until, at one time, he controlled most of the ganja, smack, and nose candy making its way across the border into Arizona. Much of his ill-gotten gain was laundered through several sham corporations, allowing him and his family to live comfortably in their Tucson foothills home. Tony gave freely to many charitable organizations, and he and his wife were quite active socially. If any of their high-brow acquaintances ever suspected what he was really into--they, of course, didn't let on. Tony personally engineered hits on several of his rivals, including Sammy "The Snake" Leonetti, Willie "The Weasel" Minetti, and Ralphie "The Rat" Rosetti. He was preceded in death by his father, Vincent, (drive-by shooting) brother, Joey, ( car bomb) brother, Frank, (pushed from a high-rise) brother, Danny (car bomb) uncle, Carlo, (sleeps with the fishes) nephew, Gary, (car bomb) and grandmother, Edna, (died in prison of natural causes). Services will be held on Tuesday, July 14 at 2 p.m. at St. Augustine Cathedral. In lieu of flowers, what's left of Mr. Moschetti's family requests that donations be made to the Fraternal Order of Police.

Back by popular demand it's...FRIDGE POETRY # 3 !

MAN IN THE BOX

Rush hour finds me back on the road to nowhere--

one of the multitude of morose or comatose

wage slaves blending into the traffic flow,

merging with the stream of semi-consciousness,

farting and belching along,

darting and weaving,

to gain some positional advantage in the race to the BIG HOUSE

where I pay homage to da MASSA,

a man whose fondest sentimental memories

are of raining bombs upon the Italians--

a place where, like a chess player who's maneuvered himself into a corner,

they will keep me in check until quittin' time.

He appears at the stoplight

like a notice for a bill I forgot to pay.

Derelict with a sign that says give me money.

I don't, though I can't think of a good reason

not to--isn't he putting in a day's work,

standing in the sun, trying his level best

to hold that placard straight,

same as the guy on the road construction crew

who pulls his thumb out of his ass

just long enough to shove a sign

in your face that says SLOW DOWN?

A man in a cardboard box

needs only to flip his lid

to observe the stars,

while I, who gave up reaching for them

ages ago, try to comprehend the difference

between his heaven and mine,

knowing that truth is like the sun--

not everyone sees the light at the same time.

And though I pretend not to notice him,

what I really want to do is roll my window down

and say, "HEY, let's you and me--let's hit the turnpike together...

RUN while there's still time--

head north in the summer and south in th-

but by then the light has changed...

and I'm back on my road to nowhere.

I guess it's just as well...

I couldn't live in the shadow of his pain,

nor ever think of a reason to be that free.

TIMOTEO SEZ...

Take Heart!

You are younger at this moment

than you will be at any time

during the rest of your life!

(And it shall always be so...)

TIMOTEO SEZ...

FRIDGE POETRY (part 2)

STILL WAITING

Been sittin round drinkin

and just got to to thinkin

bout what I got and what I ain't

and why I don't just go home

but sure as I do I'll miss it...

cause I'm still waiting for The Revolution

Now I ain't got fifteen hippies

sleepin on my floor

and a couple others tryin to crawl in through the window

and some chick I never seen before

in my shower when I get up to take a leak

all laughin and pokin fun at me

for havin a JOB I go to in the mornings

And I ain't got no sweet young thing

that I call my old lady

but I got an old lady

that I call my old lady

and I ain't got hair

growin down to my ass

but I got some on it...

and I'm still waiting for The Revolution

Ain't got two fingers to flash y'all the peace sign

but I got one in the middle

that seems to work better these days

and I ain't feedin my head

or listenin to The Dead

but I'm livin the high life just the same

thanks to Mr. Miller...

still waiting for The Revolution

And there's no Tricky Dick

to sell me a used car

or that phony war to tug at my gut

There was only Slick Willie

who didn't inhale

still pullin our leg...

still waiting for The Revolution

No Gil Scott-Herron spittin angry words

goin round and round on my turntable

the closest to you-know-what he ever got

and my giant Stokely Carmichael poster

is off the wall

but aren't we all

and I ain't got no Jimi or Janis

or Ten Years After

but now its like FORTY years after

and here I sit...

still waiting for The Revolution

Now I know I had my mojo workin

at one time or another

but I think the batteries went dead

and it's probably just as well

cause nobody wants to make it anymore

at the drop of a hat

but lots of folks are willin to pass theirs around

if I'll just put somethin in it...

still waiting for The Revolution

And maybe I did lose a few billion

brain cells somewhere along the way

and maybe my personality's a little wooden

but I'm no dummy

cause there's somethin in those youthful eyes

I think I recognize

you with the dreadlocks

and your little friend with the nipples

grandstanding beneath her shirt

yeah

it's that look that's more hopeful than wise

cause I can see that you

are waiting for The Revolution too

REFRIGERATOR POETRY

REALITY CHECK

There is no government,

there's no one in charge--

no one to protect you

from threats domestic and foreign...

only a system in place

that tries to save face

when the damage is already done.

No pillar of strength standing tall

like the twin towers--

who ever dreamed they'd fall?

No one to save the beaches

or the birds that can no longer fly,

only those who point fingers

while all the beauty dies.

There is no government,

there's no one in charge--

only a system in place

that can put a man into space

while those who make speeches are livin' large.

I hate to be the one to tell you

'cause we've believed in it so long--

gotta stick together

cuz baby, we're on our own!

There is no government,

there's no one in charge--

(like Alexander Haig)

only a system in place

that tries to save face

when the horse

has already left the barn.

Moon rise at Timoteo's place...

Me and the coyotes begin to howl!