Covet

Covet: (v) to desire wrongfully, inordinately, or without due regard for the rights of others

I don’t think I would ever earn a dollar if I didn’t covet money.

I certainly would never go on a diet if I didn’t covet the physique of someone boldly handsome.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I would never practice my music if I didn’t covet the style, grace and ease of those who have mastered instrument and voice.

I don’t know whether I would be interested in my spiritual life if I didn’t covet something beyond the mundane drivel of thoughts my brain often considers to be adequately enlightening.

I don’t think I would mow my grass if my neighbor didn’t make me covet a manicured lawn.

I’m not so sure I would do much of anything in my life if I didn’t covet a more gleaming path.

We must remember that the removal of evil is certainly a high-minded—and high-handed—pursuit. Because if you take away the lust, the coveting, the curiosity and the yearning of the human being, you might end up with a self-righteous, religious fanatic who is completely intolerant about why anyone would covet anything, since life is so sinful and unfulfilling.

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Counterproposal

Counterproposal: (n) a proposal offered to offset a preceding one.

I would never want to return to the sheer horror, ambiguity, dance of confusion and frustration that was involved in being seventeen years old.

Yet I do fondly remember the wrangling that went on in a car on a Saturday night with a girlfriend you had been with for at least three months.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

The first three months of dating consisted solely of terrorizing one another with the awkwardness of conversation and trying to discover where you fit in with her and she could find common ground with your less-than-diverse tastes.

But after three months—and some sort of little ring, chain or token being offered to confirm that you were committing to one another—then the entire project shifted from “getting to know you” to “getting to know all about you.”

On that Saturday night, after the movie was over, the hamburger was consumed, the French fries were shared (because she was on a diet) and the milk shake melted enough to be sipped to its bottom, it was time for the two of you to nervously head out to an isolated park, backroad or private location, where you could begin the negotiations.

She, being a good, small-town girl, who knew the next morning would have to sit down with her friends in church with a picture of Jesus staring down at her, had already taken inventory and considered what was available for the taking.

On the other hand, you felt it was time to expand the project—open up new horizons and generate some excitement.

So you would make a proposal and she would counter your idea with a suggestion of her own, which was rarely sufficient to your teenage, ravenous lust.

Of course, adding to the craziness was a budding horniness, leaving you (and I believe, her) dizzy from trying to resist. After an hour-and-a-half of proposal and counterproposal, procedures were agreed upon—and pursued in such a vigorous way that the whole deal accelerated so quickly that it was nearly blown.

This process, which we shall call “The Saturday Night Feverless” only worked for a few weeks. For the curiosity to find out what sex was really like was overwhelming. Or maybe it was just a need to discover once and for all if “us” were really going to be any good at it, or become permanent outcasts from the world of pleasure,

Counterproposals are a part of life, but rarely do they give the satisfaction of the original ingenious idea.


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Coquette

Coquette: (n) a woman who flirts lightheartedly with men 

Jill liked men.

Or was it that Jill liked to flirt?

Perhaps Jill liked romance.

But Jill was one of those human beings–who happened to be female—who really embraced the notion of being desired, and raising the lust levels of all the men in the room.

I remember when I first met her, we were on our way to a business meeting and I noticed that a lot of guys waved at her from a distance or stopped to chat for a moment as we eased our way down the road. I thought to myself, Gee, whiz. I’m working with somebody who’s very popular, and that might come in handy funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
later if we need contacts.

What I soon discovered was that Jill was coquettish—or a coquette. She was one of those individuals who loved to be pursued and who pursued to be loved—and was even willing, as I found out later, to follow through on many an offer. I suppose jealous females or very religious people would have horrible names for her, like “whore,” but that’s because we still live in a Victorian age when attractive fellows who yearn for physical contact are called “ladies’ men,” and women who chase the same activities are called “sluts.”

It is not only unfair—it is a misrepresentation of facts. Because Jill was a delightful girl who was even a person of faith.

She just had a much broader definition for “love thy neighbor.”


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Concubine

Concubine: (n) a mistress.

Although we’re often critical of our ancestors and former times which seemed to be plagued by ignorance, you occasionally have to stop and give props to our forefathers, who were able to come up with very intriguing words to describe their iniquity.

Finding “whore, prostitute” and even “mistress” to be somewhat distasteful, one of them decided to start inserting the word “concubine” to funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
describe an extra-marital relationship. It conjures in the mind an image of a porcupine and a large shell from the beach.

How could that be anything but fascinating?

Matter of fact, they may be onto something. I’m musing over some possible words or phrases that could be inserted to cover a multitude of sins.

Stealing, for instance. It could be changed to “undeclared investment supply.”

Sloth: a sabbatical (Someone beat me to that one.)

Lust: romanticizing (Sounds like what a novelist does.)

Murder: population control

Bigotry: culture discovery

Arrogance: patriotism

As you can see, the possibilities are nearly endless for creating rational words to disguise our often-irrational behavior.

 

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Clandestine

Clandestine: (adj) done secretively

Although clandestine can refer to any practice or situation we may attempt to hide, normally it harkens to romance or sexuality.

It is difficult to admit that on the issue of faithfulness each one of us is as slippery as a greased hog.

We don’t like to talk about it.

Especially we don’t like to talk about it in front of people to whom we’re committed. After all, we don’t want to hurt their feelings or stir up trouble.

So there’s a certain amount of awareness that has to constantly prod our minds in order for us to make quality choices.

That’s why the Good Book tells us that no one else can tempt us–not people, devil or God. We are drawn away by our own lusts, and even if we try to curtail that aching iniquity by using pornography, we are still dealing with the same problem.

Clandestine ideas just seem more fun.

Strange flesh appears to be better flesh.

And new encounters glisten and gleam instead of just sitting there waiting for us at home.

What can we do about this? Develop an inner candor filled with a nasty bit of personal honesty.

It will keep us on the” strait and narrow” of relationship instead of crashing our ship on the rocky choices of temporary gratification.

 

 

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Cherry

Cherry: (n) a small, round stone fruit that is typically bright or dark red.

Rhonda wanted to impress me.

Traveling on the road, feeling young, my hair down to my shoulders, in a beat-up van, with a few songs I had written and dreams of
greatness, Rhonda had bought into my whole delusion and was along for the ride.

Our relationship was an interesting mingling of respect, lust, spirituality and availability.

One day Rhonda went to the store.

It was rather ironic that she was there because we didn’t really have any money. I had given her just two dollars–one to buy some bologna and one to buy some bread and mustard. (This was back when you could buy bread, mustard and bologna with two dollars.)

About forty minutes later she was back with the entrees, but also with a huge bag of cherries. It seems that she had arrived in the produce section just about the time that the manager was ready to throw away a whole bunch of cherries which he had over-ordered for the appetite of the community.

She saw him heading for the dumpster and she asked if she could have the sweet treats. I guess he must have looked at her bell-bottom jeans, hemp blouse and long, stringy hair and felt sorry for her.

He gave her the whole bag.

There were probably three hundred and twenty-eight cherries in there (not that I counted.)

We ate bologna sandwiches and cherries until we could eat no more. Some of the cherries were old and grumpy and others were soft and too mushy, but most of them were deliciously ripe and ready for consumption.

About an hour later, after eating all these cherries, a volcanic rumble began low in my belly, and crept its way up to my chest. Rhonda too.

We both were in horrific pain from a cherry juice hangover.

We needed to go to the bathroom, but there was no real indication that anything would happen.

So we rolled on our bellies all afternoon with a mixture of pain and gratitude over such a cherry experience.

 

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Chaperone

Chaperone: (n) a person who accompanies and looks after another person

Back in the day before phones told us where the hell to go, there was a yearly event called the hayride.

It was a rather simple principle–young people who were somewhat infatuated with one another, with raging hormones, were placed at
dusk–nearly dark–onto the back of a wagon covered with hay and driven around for a while to supposedly conjure the memory of former days.

Matter of fact, even now I can remember the odor of the mingling of hay, sweat, apple cider and teenage urges filling my nostrils.

Here was the goal: it would be a fun time for the kids–and a chaperone, or maybe two, would ride on the hay to make sure things didn’t get out of hand.

The one time I went on such an excursion, I had no young lady with me (similar to going to a chili cook-off without your jalapeno).

Also, the minister who planed this particular hayride selected chaperones who happened to be recently married. So rather than watching to see what the kids did, they started making out in the front of the wagon, hiding themselves by covering up with hay.

This opened the door to a Biblical orgy. People were kissing and touching as I was…

Well, I was watching.

Little did I know that I would become the chaperone by default. Except, of course, I had no authority to stop anything, but instead, sat there and lusted in silence.

After the hayride, we arrived back–all the boys, girls and chaperones–with flushed faces and watery eyes.

When the minister asked if everybody enjoyed the hayride he received the enthusiastic “amen” that he rarely heard on a Sunday morning.

Later on, when it was revealed that our hayride was just a makeout buggy, the minister was reproved by the congregation, and as far as I know, no hayrides were ever held again.

The moral of my story is, chaperones should not be horny.

 

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