not my doom

Greetings, 'ku believers. Yeah it's me, The Haiku Master, and do I ever have a bone to pick with the makers of that so-called Fantastic Four movie... for they've done a grave disservice to the world's greatest comic book super-villain, Dr. Victor Von Doom!

After Viewing The Fantastic Four "Movie," The Haiku Master Thinks The Real Doctor Doom Has An Extremely Strong Libel Case Against 20th Century Fox And Marvel Studios

That's right! See, with Baltimore buried under a blanket of snow thanks to Old Man Winter's latest bender (We only got four inches, if that!--ed.), the Haiku-Bot and I declared it a movie day here at Castle Haiku. Well, that and a whiskey day. Hoagies and cigars were involved, too. At any rate, H.B. selected I, Robot -- again -- while I made the mistake of choosing the FF flick. Right off the bat I knew there were going to be problems when some middle-aged doofus with a flattop tried to pass himself off as teenaged hero Johnny Storm, and The Thing wound up looking like a burn victim. But all that paled in comparison to what they did to Doom!

The Haiku-Bot (Left) And The Haiku Master (Right) Pay A Visit To The Local Video Store

I mean, Sweet Jesus! Doom isn't the dandified, metrosexual owner of some two-bit electronics firm! He's the iron-fisted dictator of a little-known Eastern European nation called Latveria! And he doesn't have metal skin! He wears a highly advanced suit of armor packed to the gills with one technological wonder after another, any one of which could fry the skin right off your face!! Or worse! And last but not least, he wears a cloak with big gold buttons -- not a frikkin' trenchcoat with big silver buttons!!!

Fake Movie Doom Should Stick To What He Does Best, E.G. Sucking Ass

Oh well, at least I didn't pay to see that turkey at the theater; if you haven't watched it yet, avoid it at all costs!

Best,

world of the dogs, pt. I

Click For Larger Image

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CHAPTER I

Greetings, 'ku believers. It's me, The Haiku Master...but I'm not sure where I am or if this message will even reach you!

Last night, after helping local police take down a west-Baltimore clown smuggling operation, I decided to celebrate at my favorite tavern, The Ritz Cabaret, with a nice, stiff glass of George Dickel: The Official Whisky of The Haiku Master.

George Dickel No's. 8 & 12: The Only Whisky Endorsed By The Haiku Master

As fate would have it, Old Man Winter was also at the Ritz, and rushed over after I took my usual spot at the bar.

"Haiku Master!" he shouted, waving his Manhattan glass wildly. "Hey Haiku Master! It's me, Old Man Winter!"

As longtime fans will recall, O.M.W. is somewhat of a reformed criminal, having recently gone back on his "meds" after months of threatening the good people of Baltimore with his bipolar behavior. Luckily, it appeared he was still beating his disability instead of letting it beat him.

"Hey," he said, "lemme buy you a drink. C'mon, I wanna buy you a drink. C'mon, huh? Drinky-poo? C'mon, whaddya say?"

Naturally, I said "yes," and we proceeded to have a swell time. Mass quantities of sweet, sweet liquor were consumed, my friends, without a drop being wasted. My dearly departed sensei, former Haiku Master Charles Bukowski, would have been proud.

Front Row, From Left: Old Man Winter And The Haiku Master Had A Great Time At Baltimore's Ritz Cabaret

Unfortunately, the carousing caused me to enter my infamous Drunken Haiku Master state of being, and reality became a blur. When I finally came to, I was stumbling back to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs.

I unlocked the front door, and heard the distinct sound of voices coming from my parlor.

"All right, Schmitty," one of them said. "I'll see your bones and raise you two more."

"That's five to you, Rover," said another.

"I know, I know," said a third. "Grrrr...forget it. I'm out."

"Cat," sneered a fourth.

What in the hell? What kind of strange action was taking place in the Pharaoh of 5-7-5's sanctum sanctorum without his consent? Lunging forward, I burst into the parlor...only to walk right into the mind of master painter C.M. Coolidge! For there, sitting 'round my poker table, were seven dogs -- and with Dickel as my witness, they were playing cards, drinking whiskey, and smoking cigars!

A Motley Scene Similar To This One Awaited The Haiku Master At What He Thought Was His Top Secret Base Of Operations

"What in the catland?" one of them barked in surprise. "How'd that hairless ape get in here? And why does it have cabbage for hair?"

"For that matter," said another, "what's with the strange fur it's got on?"

"Bad ape!" shouted a third, rising from the table. "Get!"

Needless to say, someone had a lot of explaining to do.

---CLICK HERE FOR 'WORLD OF THE DOGS' PT. II---

o brother who art thou?

Hi there, loyal readers! It's me, The Haiku Master, and in the words of my dearly departed Uncle Castor... "Holy Shit!"

Want to know the source of my excitement? Look no further than this picture, which my Minister of Information says he found at a German fetish site. Whatever that means (question marks added by Shelton...who's still on thin ice!):

Who Is This Cabbage-Headed Man And What Relation Does He Bear To The Haiku Master?

I mean, look! Look!! That man has cabbage for hair -- just like me, The Haiku Master!!! Sweet baby Jesus on an atom-powered pogo stick, don't you know what this means?!?

It means I, the Pharaoh of 5-7-5, am not alone in this crazy, mixed-up world! There are other cabbage-headed people amongst us! Well, amongst you...'cause I'm one of them! Homo Cabbagien uber alles!

Plus, given that he's wearing a smoking jacket and puffing a stogie -- two of my favorite pastimes -- he and I may very well be related!

Whew! All right, I've got to start working the phones to see what I can track down on this character. I just hope he's not a dick!

Best,

maybe old man winter's not so bad after all

Welcome back, loyal readers! If I seem particularly cheery, it's because I -- The Haiku Master -- had my tenuous faith in humanity somewhat reaffirmed today...and it was Old Man Winter who did the reaffirming, if you can believe that!

Old Man Winter Showered The Haiku Master With Gifts To Make Up For His Earlier Misdeeds

As those of you with adequate reading comprehension skills will recall, O.M.W. and I had quite the nasty scuffle last week. And considering how much trouble he's caused me in recent years, I'd begun to ponder a more permanent solution to his antics, if you get my drift.*

Then, early this morning, it was like that French term for a sense of having been there before all over again: Old Man Winter woke me up with another of his god-awful ruckuses! At least he didn't break into my top secret base of operations this time; instead, he parked outside in his snowmobile, repeatedly laying on that tacky "Jingle Bells" horn of his.

"Haiku Master! Hey, Haiku Master!" he shouted. "Hey, it's me -- Old Man Winter!

I reached for my trusty megaphone and clicked it on. "Get out of here, you freon-sucking freak!" I bellowed. "It's not even noon yet! I'll come look for you in a few hours, and we can fight then!"

"No, no, you got me all wrong! Hey look, I'm real sorry about the other day, see? I wanna make it up to you. C'mon, lemme make it up to you!"

Peeking out my bedroom window, I saw there might be some truth to the villain's words. Perched on his lap were a number of princely gifts: an overstuffed hoagie, a bushel of fine Cubans, and a case of my favorite beer, Pabst Blue Ribbon: The Official Beer of The Haiku Master! Might as well see if he was on the up and up.

Pabst Blue Ribbon: The Only Beer Endorsed By The Haiku Master

As it turned out, he was, and we spent a swell afternoon eating sandwiches, getting drunk, and smoking cigars. Turns out he's bipolar and had been off his medication for awhile, but now he's bravely beating his disability instead of letting it beat him. Which is Dr. Phil speak for "taking a lot of pills," from what I can tell. But don't quote me on that.

Needless to say, I was still compelled to seek out some small token of revenge for his earlier churlishness -- one's street cred must be maintained, after all. So when O.M.W. asked to use the restroom, I instead directed him to the storm cellar and locked the door behind him. He's been down there two hours so far; three more should balance the karmic checkbook nicely.

I guess the lesson here is, not everyone who's a dick is a dick all the time, and everyone's a dick sometimes. Take it to heart, 'ku believers!

Best,


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* If you don't get my drift, I'm saying I wanted to kill him.