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Kenneth Weene

Kenneth Weene

Kenneth Weene has not set their biography yet

Posted by on in Miscellaneous
                                                      In kindness I will call myself eccentric—not in every manner but in some and then defiantly so. I shall share but a few of my idiosyncrasies here and in the process if not inform at least amuse. First there is the matter of tea. I love tea. My wife and I at last count had over forty canisters, small green metal boxes each capable of holding approximately 100 grams of leaves and other ingredients. Some are black teas from China, Africa, and India. Of course there is wonderful chai and rooibos teas from everywhere. There is mint tea—wonderful hot or iced. Fruit teas make wonderful iced beverages. And on hand I keep a few condiments to enhance my drinks—dried orange and lemon peel, lavender, and honeys, yes there are varieties of honey to be considered. To brew a good cup, I use individual bags into which I spoon the...
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Posted by on in Short Stories
There was a man who loved his daughter, and as such loving fathers do, wanted her to be most happy. The problem was a simple one, she wished to marry; and she being very beautiful would surely have no difficulty in finding a husband—no difficulty were it not for the fact that this loving father was a pirate, the captain of a black-flagged ship that sailed the Caribbean preying on merchantmen from every land.   Although the father was himself a buccaneer, he would not accept a scurvied sea dog for a son-in-law.  His daughter, he knew in his heart, deserved more. He wanted her to marry well. And, having his lost his own wife overboard some years before—she having run off with a merchant who was being held for ransom—the pirate knew his daughter too might run away rather than spending a lifetime priming cannon and pining for love....
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Posted by on in Short Stories
  “Hank.”  What’s wrong now? “Yeah.”  “Your sister.”              “Elena? What about her?” “She’s on the phone.”  “What does she want?”  "Ask her yourself.” Yeah, she’s angry.             Hank picked up the phone. “Hi.” “Did you call Mom?” Elena wasn’t one for small talk. Hank could imagine her in one of those gray business suits she seemed to always wear. She probably sleeps in one. He smirked to himself.  “What?”  “Mom. Did you at least call her?”  “Wh…”  “It’s Mother’s Day you moron,” she added.  “Mother’s Day.” Oh shit, I didn’t… What the hell am I gonna do? Judy will be soo pisssssed. Even in his own mind, Hank drew the words out.  “Yeah, Mother’s Day. You know a little consideration wouldn’t kill…”  “You’re right, Sis. You’re absolutely right. Sometimes I just forget. So busy … work … you know how it is.” He stammered out the rationalization knowing that his...
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Posted by on in Short Stories
They walk the shady paths of the park. He pushes the carriage, which holds their sleeping child. “Have you told your secretary we’re going on vacation?” “Don’t worry about it. Just let me run the office.” He remembers a phone call that must be made. Two weeks later, now alone, she understands. Certainly the secretary had known his plans....
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  Cutting taxes as a way to the poorhouse.  A commentary for my fellow Americans No question, government agencies can blow through money. The recent farce at the GSA gives new meaning to the term government waste. And I am surely not the only American who wonders what Secret Service agents’ cavorting with prostitutes has cost taxpayers. Then there are the super-expensive items, those ashtrays, hammers, and toilet seats—mostly purchased by the military—with obscene price tags. Generally they have been defended as meeting special requirements, such as the toilet seat not disintegrating when suffering a direct hit from a bomb. It always seemed to me that the toilet seat disintegrating would be the least of any sailor using the head at such a moment. However, who am I to judge? And, of course, there are the many instances of inter-departmental duplication. While there may be a reason that salmon are considered...
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