Makes Me Wonder: Fictional Story

Hey, man, how’s it going?

I see y’all are getting serious, hope it’s been smooth sailing,

I ain’t here to play dating coach and tell y’all what’s what,

Given how me and her ended I’m underqualified for that,

I’m sure she’s spilled the beans to you, the timeline of our union,

Puppy love turned into coupling before exchanging vows at the altar,

Three kids and a decade later things took an unplanned turn,

Veered off course then crashed and burned, left no survivors,

Went our separate ways, won’t ask how she recounted the tale,

But if she’s keeping it 100 she’d tell you both parties are to blame,

Now I hear y’all are ready for the next level, it’s all good and you’ve got my blessing,

Not to get all preachy or invasive but these are pearls that I’m dispensing,

Treat her right, stay by her side, such advice goes without saying,

You may not believe it but I wish you both a happy ending,

It’s on you both to make it work, takes two to tango, it’s all about cooperation and teamwork,

She chose you, you must be someone special, she always was a good judge of character,

My teeth still bared towards her but subconsciously still got love for her,

Though we ended acrimoniously we’re forever linked through those kids,

So if you do her dirty you’d better be ready to explain your part in it,

Messing with my kids’ mother still gets hackles raisin’,

Hope it won’t come to that, for now I’ll trust you’re a real one,

Now let’s get to matters related to the children,

Raise ‘em right, just as she and I had planned during good times,

Make sure they respect you, but a little something for you to keep in mind,

You better remember, always, that their real daddy is me,

Let’s not forget that she and I share joint custody,

Doesn’t matter if she badmouths me, spite tends to bury facts,

I take care of ‘em as well as any parent, ask ‘em and they’ll tell you all about it,

Long story short, I’m daddy and you’re the step-parent,

If the shoe was on the other foot that’s also how you’d see it,

Be good to one another, take on the world side by side,

But make no mistake, I’m still around, I ain’t going nowhere, don’t let me down.

A New Type Of Cool

It was ’91, yours truly all of six years old,

Kid from the Philippines, fresh off the plane, in a foreign land to call home,

Set off for a whole ‘nother land, there’s no coming back,

The tickets they were one-way, here’s where the rest of life began,

Familiar surroundings in the rear-view, low-key felt bewildered,

Mom and Pops promised a better life, a risk taken sure looked a winner,

Flew to a place called Australia, sure sounded like ‘America’,

Same language spoken, accents couldn’t be less similar,

Newbies to the country shacked up with Auntie and Unc,

‘Til we found our feet and pops could get a job,

People here looked different, lighter complexions and hair colour,

Faintly resembled folks on television, towering over former compatriots,

They drive on the left here like in a mirror, steering on the right seat,

What language are they speaking? To a young FOF’s ears sounded like gibberish,

Then there were the homes, made from various materials previously unfamiliar,

Bricks and wood, solid foundations, more than one vehicle in every garage for good measure,

Green grassy lawns front and back, how do they maintain them?

Found out soon enough, from out the shed emerged a weird contraption,

Watched uncle fuel that little bugger, yanking that starter cord,

Wasn’t long until the purr became a roar,

Eyes fixed on him as he steered that beast, a trail of light green in his wake,

Guiding it through the yard ‘til the tall and unruly grass was tamed,

‘Lawn mower’ they call it, can’t say I’d seen anything like it,

Fan-boying on transport and machinery then, this just added to it,

Back in the motherland lived in an apartment block close to the big smoke,

Take deep breaths at your own risk, your eyes will water as your lungs choke,

A squatters’ village below, no lawn or nature strip, just dust and concrete,

Closest thing to nature flower pots and vases, mowers are useless here,

Would soon watch Pops take on that contraption, the fascination grows stronger,

The smell of cut grass attack the senses, surprisingly refreshing,

Even to this day conjures up memories nothing short of nostalgic,

Spring and summer afternoons, smoothing the grass in your own slice of nature,

Ubiquitous part of suburban living, could call it de rigueur,

Years came and went, the role of grass cutter slowly changing hands,

Where once Pops took care of business junior soon got in on the act,

During teen years was a form of torture, chores outdoors a form of kryptonite,

Slowly but surely embraced the benefits for both body and mind,

Worked the arms, legs and back real good, being among the greenery lifting the mood,

Also the feeling of accomplishment after the yard’s makeover completed,

Rainy weather seems to follow a week or two afterwards,

Green grass getting a taste of it, boosting ‘em damn near skyward,

And so the cycle repeats itself, time to drag that mower from out its slumber,

Once a child admiring Unc and Pops pushing it, now I’m the one guiding it.

You Played Yourself: Dear Jonny

This is it, the moment of truth, a big highlight of your fighting career,

Off to Vegas, the Hall Of Fame awaits, ‘twas a bumpy road for you to get here,

Showed up looking slick, accompanied by fiancé and kids,

Inducted after all these years, took plenty of blood, sweat and tears,

Then you blew it all in such a big way,

Went from hero to zero quicker than a cheetah on a chase,

Went out with your boys, partied the night away,

Returned to your hotel room in a very bad way,

Missus was sleeping, awoke to find you there, asked what was up, like a dutiful partner that cared,

‘Going to the strip club’, said you, naturally she wasn’t having it,

An argument ensued, the culmination of recent couple problems,

One thing led to another, soon she’s at the front desk crying, asking for an extra key,

They noticed blood on her before the kids asked if they can call the police,

Five-O picked you up, you were in real bad shape, still seething from that confrontation with the missus while the booze still got you agitated,

Enough for you to head-butt their shop, smooth move, Bruh, like it’ll help your case,

Before you joked that you could take ‘em on, nah, Bruh, these cops ain’t playing,

Now your fans are leaving in droves, after they’d stuck with you through thick and thin,

Call it the straw that broke that proverbial camel, gonna be mighty tough trying to come back from this,


This is just the latest chapter of your many run-ins with the law,

In and out the UFC, you’ve been here before,

Vowing to change every time, talking ‘bout Jesus and soul searching,

But again and again you’re the boy crying wolf, fucking up, lying and cheating,

Illegal tactics inside the cage, starting fights during press conferences,

Four years in a row where you came up hot in routine drug tests,

Then there’s the ugly stuff, seguing over to the unforgivable,

How you ain’t done hard time sure makes the mind boggle,

Acting the fool under the booze, and assaulting a waitress? What a bitch move,

Then there’s your performance in 2015, that hit-and-run a further stain on your legacy,

Didn’t even bother checking the victim, just a reminder, she was also pregnant,

Rushed back to the scene to collect your cash and drugs, her welfare and that of her kid of little to no consequence,

Quite the rap sheet you’d built up, common denominator being that you were blotto,

Way to give your growing army of detractors with plenty of ammo,

And now domestic violence against the mother of your children,

Well played, Champ,

Now one of your little ones called the cops on Daddy Dearest,

Those sociopath accusations flying around fast,

Way to be the type of man you wouldn’t want for your daughters,

Even Dana can’t bail your ass, simply no coming back from this,

That court date looms for the twenty-sixth,

Congrats on the Hall Of Fame, now get ready to face the music,