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Romance by Rg2®: ‘To Kamala Harris With Love’: A Love Letter: “The Political Letters by Rg2” (1)

 

The Honorable Senator Harris:

My vote is for sale.

It’s only one. However, it may well represent the millions of potential votes of the restless ADOS voters on whom your candidacy’s breakthrough likely hinges.

Willing am I to ink bubble the circle next to your name on the ballot that won’t arrive soon enough for the next election cycle—on one vital condition, however:

That your platform includes both a verbal and written commitment to reparations/recompense for Native Black Americans/ADOS (American Descendants of Slaves).

President Obama secured 95% of the black vote his first term and 93% in 2012, both historic records in the American franchise. He did so, both times, without a clear, unequivocal pledge to redress the economic wrongs, sins, and atrocities perpetrated upon ADOS during 400 years of state-sanctioned bondage and domestic terror (the remnants of which continue to this day), 100 years of Jim Crow, the current state of ADOS mass incarceration, and the ungodly wealth gap that, unaddressed, will only widen in the coming years.

Pres. Obama’s net worth is now $40 million, not counting the $65 million two-book-each Penguin Random House deal both he and Lady Michelle signed in 2016-17, and the recent Netflix production deal they’ve secured, the value of which numbers in the tens of millions of dollars.

That 95% black vote has paid off handsomely for the Obama family—they are set for life, including their grandkids to be.

The Clintons, who also successfully corralled the majority of the black vote, left the White House in debt. Today the Clinton fortune is valued at $250 million—a quarter of a billion dollars. Pres. Clinton’s signature set in motion the largest, most devastating prison industrial complex development in American history, the foundation of which is ADOS men.

The utter discontent and frustration of ADOS voters has now culminated into a sleeping giant now permanently awakened. The political, economic, and criminal justice walls have ADOS pinned on all four sides, squeezing the oxygen with each inch forward.

Politics is now perhaps the most lucrative industry which doesn’t require talent.

Should you ascend the presidency, Senator Harris, your current $2.1 million net worth is guaranteed to balloon thereafter—exponentially.

I’m for the American dream. ADOS certainly are as well; yet, all we’ve known is a nightmare which seemingly refuses to end. We’re willing to withhold our votes for the results we seek. The collective absence of a voting block is as, if not more, powerful than one that does.

Our forefathers and -mothers are angry with their progeny. We, ADOS, hear them, we feel them, we will honor their legacy.

Will you, Senator Harris?

Respectfully,
Rg2

cc: ADOS US of A

_______

***
For Roy Greer Sr. and my great-grands . . . I hear you. -Rg2

Never shall I forget. -Elie Wiesel

© 2019 Romance by Rg2®

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Posted by on February 4, 2019 in Pamper-Her-Friday

 

Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 426: ‘Her Clothes Unremoved’: Art of the Ask, A Love Letter: The Romantic Valentine Collection by Rg2 (41)

 

Dear J.,

Might this be another companionless Pamper-Her-Friday?
Woman, tell me, are you deliberately staying away?
Understand: I’m drama-free, virus-free . . . so anxiously
am I summoning the most artfully precise words to say . . .

To you, such that their most immediate effect
Will be to drastically shorten the distance between us,
It matters little which of us happens to blink first
Someone needs to break the silence of this mutual hush

You’re there, in body only, while I, here, fight the lonely
Do you realize you never wrote to me a love letter,
What’s with the self-censoring the language of your heart?
Have you convinced yourself that muted feelings are better . . .

Than your dead-of-winter vulnerabilities exposed
Lest you somehow become my subject of ridicule,
You’ve self-vowed to give no ordinary man the pleasure
Woman, why is it that I’m willing to play the fool

Curious am I of your Friday night fragrance
And the elements of your Friday evening wind-down,
Hot, moist towels to enrapture your weary feet
Southern Comfort sipped by the fire—how does that sound?

We don’t have to remove our clothes to have a good time
No harm will be done to scrawl yourself over my lap,
And in case I begin to finger-comb your hair
By all means, feel free to succumb to a dreamworthy nap

Sweep you away like a sailoress tossed on a tide
I’m as gifted a rescuer as I am a havoc wreaker,
Finding ourselves smack in the middle of intimacy
Woman, consider me your anti-thrill seeker

A slow, methodical hand is the measure of a man
In whom you can deposit your fragile trust,
You simply haven’t been held at never-end length
Come just a little closer, and let me shake the rust

Off your too-long-neglected, fully clothed body
Nothing about their removal guarantees a good time,
The shortening of distance between us is its own reward
And now the reason for this Pamper-Her-Friday rhyme:

It would be my privilege your Valentine. Will you, J.?

Yours,
Rg2

_______

***
Pamper the woman . . . present to her your heartfelt Ask. -Rg2

© 2019 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

 

 
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Posted by on January 26, 2019 in Pamper-Her-Friday

 

Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 425: ‘Park’s $4.25 Dividend I Want to Share: Art of the Ask’: A Love Letter: The Romantic Valentine Collection by Rg2 (40)

 

Dear Mocha Woman,

Forgive me the open publication of this love letter across the cyberwaves. I realize the internet is written in ink, not pencil; thus, a man must be extremely mindful what he releases into the global public square . . . especially as it regards his current emotional state of affairs.

The words, once released, never go away. So be it. I couldn’t care less what the world thinks of what I’m feeling in this very moment. Because, mocha woman, you are the sum total of everything I feel on this night, Pamper-Her-Friday.

If my thoughts are premature, if this ask meets you while least expected, then color me more proactive than overconfident.

Might you have plans for February 14th? More importantly, is there a reservation in your heart for a man, now and leading up to that date, that simply cannot be altered? If your answer is no on both counts, I suggest you consider me a contender . . . an unalterable contender.

You may not have heard of Park Electrochemical Corp. of Melville, N.Y. (ticker: PKE). The sleepy aerospace company develops and manufactures advanced composite materials for the global aerospace markets, from military to commercial to private-sector applications.

Park doesn’t make much noise amongst the behemoths of the “space-ware” suppliers, but it quietly gets it done for its clients—and its shareholders, of which this contender happens to be.

PKE has decided to reward us with a special dividend (above the regular) for the profitable recent quarters it’s had: $4.25 per share owned, payable on February 26 for stockholders on record by Feb. 5th and the shares purchased before Feb. 4th. I intend to add to an at-present 4,600-share cache next week. The current share count at 4.25 per comes to $19,550.

I figure just under 20 grand is not much good to a single man who has not a special woman with whom to spend it on the 14th of February. I’m curious your thoughts on that notion.

If this ask is a bit premature, forgive me the perceived rush. The contender knows his chances are few. So I stand before you, these words are my presence, and offer my ask, mocha woman:

Will you be mine?

________

***
Pamper the woman . . . present to her your most heartfelt Ask. -Rg2

© 2019 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

 
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Posted by on January 19, 2019 in Pamper-Her-Friday

 

Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 424: ‘Denise is Her Name, Father’: A Love Letter to Roy Sr. (Pt. 1) The Romantic Valentine Collection by Rg2 (39)

 

Dear Father,

Hopeful am I that your rests have been peaceful, there, in Jehovah’s arms. My recent nights have been anything but.

I didn’t realize I was so mistake-prone—being that I carry your very genes. So diligently have I tried to pace my emotional steps in walking alongside a woman, my intentions to handle with care the woman brave enough to inhabit my oxygen zone.

Denise is her name, Father. She hated it when first I called her that. I laughed internally at her reaction . . . not of humor, but because I sensed a momentary unhappiness dwelling within her, having somehow manifested itself in the form of strident displeasure with life.

I wondered if she’d ever been touched tenderly. Had she ever experienced the warmth of another sun in the person of a special mocha man—rare though we are.

Father, the woman found her way into my guarded life. And discovered me. She discovered you. She discovered mother. She discovered a genius, hapless, reluctant, awkward, flawed, unassuming, hard-headed, silly yet driven romance writer . . . like no other in this careless universe.

She somehow, for some reason unbeknownst to your son, believed in me. Denise believed in me. Something in my soul, something in my voice, something, Father, something in my slow hand touched the woman. My pen, my mind, my ceaseless creativity perhaps played a part. My body scent didn’t hurt either, I suspect.

Her fragrance, by the grace of God, her very fragrant essence, Father, I wear like a second skin still. Her candles flame as I write this, Father, but it is her fragrance they emit.

She stormed away as if she had competition. Denise had convinced herself that she had competition. Imagine that.

Little did she know: She has no rival.

My love for the woman is purely uncontested. Little did she know.

Put that one squarely on your son—my fault, my foible, my failure. I’d suspected all along, though in quiet denial alongside, that I’m human after all. But humanness, in all its frailty, is no excuse for letting a love down.

Mother, all these years later, still carries the hurt you caused, man. I know it wasn’t your intention. Ill will wasn’t part of your make-up. You know how I know? Because you live in me, Mocha Man. You are the inspiration, the very birther, of Pamper-Her-Friday as much as my own ever-fertile mind. And you should know: She loves you to this very day. Still. It’s in her eyes.

Love is stronger than pride.

My god, Father, what I would give to simply hold Denise’s hand once again . . . on a rainy winter night, walking, pace for measured pace, on the sidewalk of that holiday-soft-lighted Mainstreet. I’d forgotten my gloves (I never forget my gloves in winter!), the air was crisp and moist-heavy, it was, while the puddles along the path held a storybook romance in their stillness.

I gloved her hand with my own, Father. I really believe it’s not until a man takes a woman’s tender, bare-naked hand into his own that he interprets her spiritual definition. That he begins to grasp his responsibility—to her. If her hand gives way, if it grasps back with a firm yet soft clasp, if she gives her hand without reluctance, then she gives herself to him. And therein lies his responsibility . . . a majestic, romantic, protective, integral responsibility—she.

Chivalry lives in that woman, Father. As it lives so fervently in me.

God, what I would give to open the passenger door for her, without fail, of my motorcar just once more. We both like how that feels. I saw it in her gemstone eyes, Father.

Denise is a romantic. And she recognized that hallowed quality in your son, perhaps long before I took her hand on that rainy winter’s night.

What I would give to romance her once more. Romance her to the edge of winter, throughout the rainy, snowy season. Romance her to and in Cancun’s sandy-beached, warm-breeze allure. Romance her facing the mouth of a flaming-logs fireplace on a cuddle-worthy love sofa. Romance her to China and India and South Africa and Newfoundland, where the natives are reciting verses of Pamper-Her-Friday creatives in both English and their native languages—because it sounds and feels so soothing to the universal soul.

Romance Denise—alas, pamper Denise—with the dividend checks from long-studied investments your son has made with the forethought inherited from you, Father.

Pamper her with, more than all, the unfettered, unadulterated, unconditional love that she knows in her heart your son is capable of.

To pamper her, Father, is this writer’s, your son’s, wish . . . if only once more.

On Pamper-Her-Friday . . . .

I love you, Roy Sr.

Ever your son,
Rg2

_______

***
Pamper the woman . . . before she gets away. -Rg2

© 2019 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

 
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Posted by on January 11, 2019 in Pamper-Her-Friday

 

Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 423: ‘VMware Pays $26.81 Special Dividend Today: One More Gift for You, Girl,’ A Love Letter: ‘Romance for the Holidays’ by Rg2 (35)

 

 

Good Morning, Love,

It’s the final Pamper-Her-Friday of 2018. You’re in my thoughts, so I’d like to mark the special occasion with an extra under-the-tree gift of sorts. Christmas day can be somewhat of a letdown, what with its month-long build-up of advertising and shopping . . . and then, poof, it’s gone, feel?

What do you say we extend the gift-giving just a bit longer? (Yeah, I figure you’d begin smiling at your phone screen or desktop monitor right about now.)

Have you heard of VMware Inc.? The Palo Alto, Calif.-based company is a leading innovator in enterprise software that powers the world’s complex digital infrastructure. VMWare’s (ticker: VMW) compute, cloud, mobility, networking and security offerings provide a dynamic and efficient digital foundation to over 500,000 customers globally, aided by an ecosystem of 75,000 partners. In other words, not much goes on in online digital operations without VMware touching it.

Well, today, yes, Pamper-Her-Friday of all days, VMW pays a special dividend of $26.81 per share of the stock owned by shareholders. I know you’re familiar with Microsoft, Google, Apple, Amazon and the other obvious tech players; however, VMware has quietly operated below your radar, no?

Not today, love.

When I sold most of my Amazon shares a few weeks ago, I scooped up, among other equities, just over 1,000 shares of VMW, especially when I read that Carl Icahn is a holder. One thousand shares times $26.81 sums to just shy of $27,000—not a bad little incentive for simply holding the shares, eh? I’ll keep the shares into the new year, watching closely the market in light of recent turbulence. I wanted to hold onto Amazon into infinity, but a wise man must know when to hold and when to fold. Besides, I’ll get back in at a lower entry price.

But today I wanna get into you . . . your inner sanctum, into your holiday heart and soul—if only for the duration of this Pamper-Her-Friday, the last of 2018.

At your doorstep today will arrive a package that will feel essentially like an empty, small postal box. By all means, unseal the contents and behold the blank cheque featuring only my signature, along with an enclosed writing pen. I’ve owned that pen for several years, its significance heightened by the fact it was the pen I used to sign the official contracts that certified me as the innovator and owner of the trademarks Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® and Romance by Rg2®.

Cradle the pen with your tender fingers and fill in the cheque an amount to your liking: Not to exceed $26,810. Trust me, however. That limit is purely superficial. Should more be needed, it’s accessible to you on one firm condition:

You let me know this love letter made you smile in this very moment and that I’ll be in your thoughts for the remainder of this day. Until we see one another again. Tonight perhaps? Lol.

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

Romance and prosperity in the new year,

Rg2

____________

***

Pamper the woman . . . into the new year. -Rg2

© 2018 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

 

 

 
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Posted by on December 28, 2018 in Pamper-Her-Friday

 

Romance by Rg2®: ‘An Eve with You’: A Poem for Babygirl by Rg2: ‘Romance for the Holidays’ by Rg2 (34)

 

It was the night before Christmas
Teeming within his creative mind,
Yuletide reindeer and lovely angels
But, oh, there’s one particular kind . . .

Her majestic eyes like diamond sparkles
That enthralling smile remains aglow,
Her fragrance lingers from that winter
Her enchantment he simply can’t let go

As the window mists from falling rain…
He rubs the pane to clear the dew,
Sleigh bells jingle in the distance
Behold, her silhouette comes into view

Seated next to ol’ St. Nick . . .
Rudolph gleefully leading the way,
Could it be: that starry-eyed angel?!
Such beautiful cargo aboard Santa’s sleigh

“A special delivery,” St. Nicholas bellows,
“But remember to handle with exquisite care”;
“Absolutely!” says the creative writer . . .
“Less than an angel? I wouldn’t dare”

He extends his hand to help her down . . .
Invites her into his warm embrace,
She lingers there like a fireplace refuge
His hands cradle her tender face

Even more lovely, she, than before
He takes her hand, escorts her inside,
Yule logs ablaze capture her gaze
Memories surface when once denied

Words escape them—they’re without need
While Nat King Cole begins to play,
She rests her head upon his shoulder
A wish come true…this gift of Bae

Silent night, this moonlit night
The hearth aflame, the tree lights aglow,
Breathes on her is his intimacy
A forehead kiss beneath the mistletoe

And since there’s no other place they’d rather go…
Let it snow, let it snow, let it flow….

Merry Christmas, babygirl,
Rg2

_______

***

Romance for the holidays. -Rg2

© 2018 Romance by Rg2®

 
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Posted by on December 25, 2018 in Pamper-Her-Friday

 

Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®: A Gift for Arkay by Rg2: Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® Gift Giveaway (3)

 

 

Arkay Evans, you’ve just been pampered . . . for the holidays.

Your gift will arrive soon.

Thank you for supporting Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2.

Tenderly gifted,

-Rg2

________

***

Pamper the woman . . . for the holidays. -Rg2

© 2018 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

 

 
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Posted by on December 15, 2018 in Pamper-Her-Friday

 
 
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