There're only 2 types of women out there: the fuckables & the unfuckables.
I've been gnashing my teeth over this one: over the past 8 months, readers have contacted me letting me know how much they enjoy my first novel, Five-Star FLEECING. I begged them to put their positive comments on the site where they purchased it, namely, amazon.com. Not much ensued.
My friend sent me the following email. I love conspiracy theories as much as anyone else. So, this entire Obama birth certificate controversy warms the cockles of my soul. Imagine the books and films this'll create for the upcoming decade or MORE! Manchurian Candidate + Illuminati with a little Communism tossed in for effect. Perhaps one with a space alien.
Integrity's way overrated. It definitely doesn't pay the mortgage. And, it leaves you penniless, in bad health.
I love reading articles about my unremarkable my generation, The Baby Boomers. About how we fucked everything up for the following generations. How we didn't produce a brilliant gleaming light of intellectualism and cure cancer, extend longevity, heal the economy and, basically, how corrupt we are.
Wa wa wa wa. Wail away.
Wa wa wa wa. Wail away.
Besides a quirky deafness, I've a quirky memory. An even quirkier way of holding onto things for a long time, drop them for decades because I forgot all about them and pick them right back up again when something stirs the tendrils of my mind. I guess that's called, "revisiting an issue" or "having an epiphany." I think it's because at that moment there's nothing better to do. Or focusing on a dead topic will get me through whatever dire circumstances await me that I can't deal with.
It was summer of 1969 and that Thursday night it took my father nearly 6 hours to drive up to the house located in the town of Bethel as opposed to the 2 1/2 hours from suburban NY.
"You wouldn't believe the traffic!" he said.
Mom said, "What's going on? We heard helicopters all day and 17B's flooded with cars."
Us kids knew better. There was a rock concert going on at Max Yasgur's farm up the street, a few miles away.
That summer was a definitive time for me. Bittersweet, in retrospect. And here's the short story I wrote and performed in front of a live audience in January 2012:
I participated with a local story-telling group where we write and perform our short stories in front of live audiences in different venues throughout western New York State.
This venue requested that we write stories from our pet's point of view. Sadly, due to my bad back, I'm unable to perform this story. Instead, I'll leave it up to your imagination.
The last time I read a newspaper, unemployment hit a new high record, stores are closing down, homes repossessed. Now, more than ever, I thank the people who work in stores for forcing me to save my money, what little I do have.