A Mere Five Days...

That's all it's gonna take, a measly five days to determine if our country is going down the toilet or if we avoid a catastrophic disaster the likes we've never seen. And of course, at the center of this debacle is an orange-tinted, whiny, lying, childish, arrogant, stupid, convicted felon, raping racist.

Tough words, sure, but they can't be refuted.

I've had this growing pit of dread in my gut ever since Trump announced his candidacy (Even though he's been campaigning ever since he lost the last election.). I honestly can't imagine democracy will survive four more years of orange turmoil and chaos and hatred and divisiveness.

I have a Trump-supporting friend who says he doesn't like the name-calling of politics and is a "policy guy." There's absolutely nothing wrong with this in theory and it's admirable.

But...but...when it comes to Trump, I have to ask, WHAT POLICY? All the guy does is lie, rant, yell, spread anger wherever he goes like some demented satanic Santa Claus, and call people names. The closest Trump's ever come to discussing policy is when he said "I have the concept of a plan for health care."

Really? How decisive! THIS is the clown that over half the country wants to see run our country? Run it straight into the ground, maybe.

This is a guy who has no clue that his favorite song at his KKK rallies is a gay anthem by the Village People.

Let me just remind everyone of some of Donnie Trump's spectacular past adventures...

While in office, Trump suggested nuking hurricanes. Um...yeah, good thinking, Don. SCIENCE!

During the height of Covid (of which he downplayed for political reasons, indirectly causing the potentially avoidable deaths of a lot of people), Don thought injecting bleach would be a good idea.

To show support of those who died in battle fighting for our country, Don called the fallen "losers."

At a recent rally for racism, Don lost his train of thought and decided to sway his arms for forty minutes to music. So...so...sooooooo presidential.

He addressed a group of black journalists and managed to piss them off by suggesting Kamala Harris wasn't black. Talk about knowing your audience...

Trump wanted to build a moat between Mexico and the United States and populate it with crocodiles and deadly snakes. (This reminds me of the kid in sixth grade who ran for student council based on his promise to put Coke in the water fountains.)

This was the "president" who mocked a handicapped reporter.

Donnie constantly lies and his recent example of immigrants eating cats and dogs is a shining example.

Rape, sexual assault, grabbing women by the p@$$y...Sigh... Remember the "Big Controversy" over Jimmy Carter "lusting after women in his heart?" Hell, at this point, I'd even welcome back George W. Bush with great love.

Trump calls anyone who doesn't step in line with his fascist beliefs stupid and "an enemy" and he's threatened to unleash the military on them. Can detainment camps for "liberals" be next?

The list goes on and on, but remember, he's the only president in history who unleashed a dangerous mob on our nation's capitol based on his ludicrous lies and inability to accept defeat. Talk about a sore loser.

In five days, it's time to vote. The important thing is to vote. But I sincerely hope you won't vote for Trump. Frankly, I don't understand who would want to. Or why.

Not only is he a danger to our country, but potentially the world.

No wonder I drink.

VOTE.

The Roof of a Dog's Mouth

When I was a kid, our family would go "dog shopping (we never considered getting a rescue dog; I'm not sure if it was a "thing" back then or if my parents stubbornly refused to do so, because it was "low class," but we never did)." So we'd go into strangers' houses and look at their litter of puppies, always cocker spaniels.

First thing my dad did was wrestle a dog, wrangle its jaws wide open, and look at the color of the dog's roof of its mouth. Of course, the dogs never liked that one bit and the puppy vendors were always mortified.

My dad explained, "I heard that if the roof of a dog's mouth is black, it's a really smart dog. That guy there is our dog!"

Not sure how scientifically sound Dad's theory was, I came to doubt it based on the not very bright behavior of some of our dogs.

So I turned to my research assistant, Ms. Google, for corroboration. To which she gladly obliged...

Theresa, a cat vet of 19 years (and why exactly is she being quoted about a dog question?), says "the color on the roof of the mouth is just pigment. It has no meaning at all. It doesn't determine intelligence or breed, yet people in the past thought the more dark in the mouth, the better the breed, but this is just an old wives tale."

Okay, fair enough. But I started wondering just how in hell such a myth got started in the first place. Did a bunch of bored farmers' wives gather around the kitchen with their dogs to try to outdo one another?

"Say, Myrtle, look at the roof of my dog's mouth! It's black!"

"I swan, it sure is, Esther, but what in the world does it mean?"

"Why, Myrtle! EVERYONE knows that it's a sign that you gotcher self a smart dog!"

"Hmmph...I guess ol' Keester here ain't so smart after all. Lookee at the pink on the upside of his mouth."

(Later Myrtle and Esther were mauled--Siegfried and Roy style--by their dogs for wrenching their mouths open.)

While the origin of this ridiculous myth is "lost to the ages," a lot of people online have heard of it, especially hunters and old-time farmers. Of course, things could be worse: an Asian myth is that some dog breeds have blue tongues to ward off evil spirits.

Speaking of goofy myths and evil spirits, you'll find a slew of them in my horror story collection, Twisted Tales From Tornado Alley. And unlike the old wives tale about a dog's mouth, I swear to you that every tale in my tome is TRUE. Find out how true right here!

4Patriots!

Good grief! (Okay, so it wasn't necessarily "good," but this post is definitely filled with grief!)

The other day I was watching a pay streamer and was inundated with ads (and what's up with that, anyway? If I'm paying for a service, I don't expect to have to watch ads! You hear me, Prime and Max??? But I'm getting a heap of digression all over the place...). But this barrage of ads (over and over and over...) were of a particularly disturbing nature.

4Patriots! "We champion freedom and self-reliance!"

It's the dream website for wacko survivalists! Check it out! (But don't give them your personal info. You'll be sorry!) These particular ads were selling 72-Hour Emergency Survival Food Kits, and they're both delicious and easy to prepare! Best yet, they'll last for 25 YEARS!

I dunno about you guys, but I'm not eating anything that's 25 years old. And just how delicious do you suppose it could be after a quarter of a century?

The website further brags that "every kit contains delicious recipes your grandmother would love." These "stick-to-your-ribs" meals include "America's Finest Mac and Cheese (none of that foreigner mac and cheese either, nosireecatbobtail! It's made with gen-u-ine fake Amurican cheese, the kind that Gramma used to just love slurping down!)," "Creamy Rice and Vegetable Dinner (with Amurican rice, not that oriental stuff, nosir!)," and "Grammy's Sweet Oatmeal (improves by the year, yessir!)."

Yuck. If my choice is to eat this crap or get eaten by zombies, toss me into the zombie pit now.

This website is downright scary, ringing the alarm of paranoia that's becoming more prevalent in America these days, thanks to the so-called state of "political leaders" who're trying to scare you into voting for them. Otherwise, you're going to live in a country that's going to be overrun by fascists. Which is made even more confusing because both sides are calling their opponents "fascists."

What's a person to do?

Why, load up on 25 year old franken-foods and run for the hills, natch! I mean, that's what a true red-white-and-blue "patriot" would do, right?

"4Patriots" should be ashamed of themselves, pandering to peoples' very real fears perpetuated by the lies of politicians over the past eight years or so. Particularly disturbing is 4Patriots "But one, get one FREE generator event" to celebrate "National Preparedness Month (a holiday I hadn't heard of before; but if there's a Hallmark greeting card section of National Preparedness Month at the local drug store, sign me up NOW!)." Maybe it's just me, but...what can a second, unnecessary generator do that the first one can't? Is it just me? It must be just me... Lessee, where's my credit card?

4Patriot has everything that the true patriot could ever want! There's a "Patriot Pure Air Filtration Device" that helps weed out all that unwanted commie air! Dad gum! And don't forget your "Patriot Power Powder Blend," the next best thing to Captain America's Super-Soldier formula! Whammo!

Over the past controversial eight year course, the term "patriot" has become bastardized. According to the Oxford Dictionary, a "patriot" is someone who "vigorously supports their country and is willing to defend it against enemies or detractors." That's fine and dandy, I'm all for it and consider myself a patriot.

However, over the past decade, they may as well addend the official patriot definition to include "...as long as you step in line to the white nationalist agenda, because if you don't, you're a big stoopid face and wrong and a liberal fascist! So I'm taking my 72-hour Emergency Survival Food Kid and going home! So THERE!"

I wonder if when the zombie apocalypse comes, the zombies will eat white nationalists. Hurry up, zombies!

While yakking about zombies, I'd love to promote my zombie survival book (with a big twist, natch), Zombie Rapture, but alas, the publisher folded and the book is currently without a home. A pity, 'cause I really like the book (and I'm not even biased! Mostly. Kinda...)

Cats and Dogs Are On the Menu!

"Immigration...immigration...immigration...immigrants are poisoning the blood of our country...immigration, bla, bla, bla...They're eating the cats and dogs of Springfield..."

 Wait...WHAT?

"Immigrants are eating the pets of Springfield...immigration...immigration...immigration...I love rich, white men...immigration...immigration...bla, bla, bla..."

That's what I THOUGHT he said. Me and millions of others witnessed this latest lunacy and lie amongst Trump's debacle of a debate against Kamala Harris.

I nearly fell asleep listening to Trump rant and rage through his only campaign issue (guess what...yep! Immigration!), until he jolted me awake with his pet eating accusation. That's a fun, new twist!

But, honestly, it's the same ol' tired racism just on steroids. As far back as the 1800's, "Amuricans" have been accusing immigrants (it started with the Chinese population) of eating their pets, merely because there's a difference in skin color. And Trump's out there blatantly floating MARA ("Make America Racist Again"), even though the debate moderator debunked Trump's lie about Haitians eating pets, coming from Springfield, Ohio's city manager himself. Trump doesn't care. Because of his self-serving and dangerous racism and hatred and desire to divide, Springfield's had to evacuate schools and other public facilities due to threats.

Fun!

If the Trump loyalists would wake up and think about it, ALL of us are immigrants of a sort, descended from people from other countries (unless you're a Native American, but that's a tragedy best saved for another rant). And the racists are shamelessly tugging on people's heartstrings, because what's one thing EVERYONE likes and can agree on? PUPPIES AND KITTIES! 

(Me, I prefer the Spaniel Spaghetti and the Kitty Corn Dogs. I kid, I kid!)

Do we really want this racist clown "leading" our country? Leading us straight over a cliff like so many lemmings?

I mean c'mon! Even Taylor Swift, the most powerful person in the world, has endorsed Kamala, so that should speak volumes! (Okay, sure she's a "Psy-Op Agent for Socialism," but she maintains more credibility than, say...rapper Ye, white nationalist Nick Fuentes, and the MyPillow guy, three of Trump's trusted "cabinet members.")

So, this November, make the right call. Please. Now...pass the critter fritters...

Speaking of tall tales and lies, have you read my book, Ghosts of Gannaway? It's a meticulously researched, absolutely 100% true historical account of a doomed Midwest mining town. And everything actually happened! Well...maybe except for the ghosts. But other than that, it's totally true! Kinda...if you sorta ignore the part about the deadly native-american curse, the yellow-eyed fever, the haunted museum, ghosts past and present, a murderous conspiracy, and many other things. But you can read the ENTIRELY TRUE historical, supernatural novel HERE!

Attack of the Brain Cloud...

...or the Revenge of Joe and the Volcano. 

The other day my wife and I were discussing (i.e., arguing; hey, it's our hobby!) about the different ways we handle sleeplessness.

I told her, "when you don't sleep well, you thrive on it."

She disagreed. "Hardly! I don't 'thrive'. I make do and manage."

"Still seems like thriving to me," I muttered. "But when I can't sleep, it's like...a brain cloud lowers down on me."

"First of all, there's no such thing as a 'brain cloud,'" she said. 

"Yes, there is," I insisted. "I might've made it up, but it's very, very real."

"It came from a movie," she said authoritatively.

Humph. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a head jam-packed with worthless and pointless knowledge of movies (which when you come right down to it, probably wouldn't make me a very important and necessary component in the survivor camps during our impending zombie apocalypse.).

But...but...my wife stumped me on this one. "I know of no such movie," I statedtriumphantly. "What movie, pray tell, do you speak of?"

Immediately, she whips out, "Joe and the Volcano."

Silence. Blink. Crickets. More silence. Blinkety-blinky-blink.

"JOE AND THE VOLCANO?" I roar. "Who remembers friggin' Joe and the Volcano? I mean, I kinda think I've seen it, but don't remember anything about it except that it was painfully unfunny and terrible."

"Yes, it was. But that's where 'brain cloud' came from."

Wow. She stymied the Movie Master. This is made more incredible by the fact that at times my wife can't remember the movie we watched last weekend, let alone some obscure 34-year-old bomb  that NO ONE remembers like Joe and the Volcano.

But sure enough, according to Ms. Google, my wife was right (dammit! Gettin' kinda old!). Apparently, Tom Hanks character was diagnosed with an incurable deadly disease known as "brain cloud" which will kill him in several months.

However, Wiktionary (a very, very, VERY credible source, of course) refers to "Brain Cloud" as a very real ailment that causes "the temporary inability to think properly." Other scientists and psychologists refer to it as a nickname for the clouding of consciousness. There's a LOT more boring stuff about this insidious disease that I won't bother you with, but the most stunning aspect of it all is finally--FINALLY!--Joe and the Volcano will be remembered as something other than a terrible bomb and actually contributed to the field of science.

Speaking of really dumb and stupid things, look no further than my Zach and Zora comedy mystery series. If imbecilic humor and outrageous situations and decidedly impolitically correct comedy and  cool murder mysteries are your bag, have a read! Start with Bad Day in a Banana Hammock and spiral on downwards from there! Plus! A brand spankin' new book in the series coming to you some time this century!

Rachel Maddow: Hot or Not?

In this current time of crazy political upheaval and even crazier politicians, I think it's time to seriously address a burning topical issue: Is Rachel Maddow a hottie or a nottie?

Personally, I think she's kinda hot. Recently, I had one friend who agreed with me, although he downgraded "hot" to "cute."

Even more recently, I made the mistake of blurting it out in a bar to my brother, his daughters, and a friend.

Emboldened by beer, I said, "Is it just me? Or is Rachel Maddow hot?"

Silence. Than disbelief. My brother shook his head in abject disappointment in me than started laughing. "It's just you."

One of my nieces was laughing, too, and said, "She's soooooo gay."

I answered, "I know that! But it doesn't stop how I think she looks."

I pulled up the most attractive picture I could find on my phone. I showed it to my other niece who just shook her head.

My brother faked a "WOW!"

The friend with us was slightly supportive. "Well...she's an attractive woman. But...'hot?' No!"

Hanging my head in shame, I started backpedaling. "Maybe...maybe I'm just attracted to her liberal firebrand journalistic warrior-hood."

That ploy didn't seem to work. As the derisive laughter and ludicrous--and admittedly sexist--discussion rose in volume, people started looking at us. And eavesdropping. More shakes of the head at my "Hotometer" being broken.

My brother says, "Do you also think Billie Jean King is hot?"

And of course, my nieces start googling her.

Deciding to try and save face, I tried to be a good sport. "Oh, YEAH! Hotcha!"

Then my brother starts dropping other names. "You think Jane Lynch is hot? Carol Burnett? How about Carol Burnett?"

I don't know where or why he pulled out Carol Burnett, but I played along until the joke (on me) had died down.

I finally mumbled, "I've always liked that short, cute, spiky-haired, punkish look." Which is true as I've always liked my wife's hair the shorter she keeps it.

Seriously, though, I do find Rachel Maddow to be attractive (maybe I, too, will downgrade from the rude and sexist "hot"), regardless of her own sexuality. But more importantly, it's what she stands for that I like: a serious-minded, left-wing leaning journalist who's needed these days when compared to the lying so-called "newscasters" who make up "stories" to suit their political leanings and fleece their viewers. You KNOW who I'm talking about and they're definitely NOT HOT.

Speaking of "hotness" and giving fair time to the other sex, Zach Cavanaugh, a male stripper (but don't call him that!), thinks he is the male definition of hot. Hot or not, he's about as dumb as a box of rocks. And he keeps finding himself wrongly implicated in some bizarre murders. It always falls on his long-suffering, usually pregnant, competent sleuth sister to bail him out of trouble by finding the real murderers. Check out the Zach and Zora comical murder mystery series here: Bad Day in a Banana Hammock!

"I've Been Smiling For Four Hours"

Recently, my wife came back from working at a Covid vaccination clinic. 

As soon as she came in the door, she said quietly, "I've been smiling for four hours. I need to be alone."

Yow! Holy ghost of Marlene Dietrich!

But I definitely empathized with her, for I too, suffer from a terrible malady: smilitess.

What is smilitess, I feel you wondering. It's the disease of not being able to smile on cue. (Okay, I made it up, but it doesn't make it any less real.)

Ever since childhood, I've never been able to produce a smile on command. It's no wonder in my year book photos, I always looked pained and constipated. Part of it was my unwillingness to show my teeth. I'm not really sure why, but I remember being self-conscious about them.

Matters were only made worse when the photographer attempted humor.

"Okay, say 'cheese.'"

Nothing.

"Well, let's forget the cheese...say 'grillled cheese sammitch!'"

Again, not funny. But I could tell we were going to be there all day if I didn't attempt to crack a smile. 

Later, my parents said, "Mercy! You call that a smile? You look like you're about to cry! Open your mouth!"

This problem has plagued me all my life. The only time I feel an unforced smile is when someone makes me laugh, no easy task.

Several years ago, I worked a booth at a horror convention in Washington pimping my books. By the end of the first day, I felt a TMJ headache forming in my jaw from the constrictions of fake smiling for every potential customer. Hardly worth the effort. I looked like the Joker. Or worse, one of the victims in last year's horror film, Smile.

Picture time is always a drag for me. I hated it as a kid (mainly because I couldn't wait to get out of my lime green leisure suit on Sundays, but there was also the smiling thing.). And I still dread on holidays, whenever someone whips out their phones and starts directing us like we're on the set of Heaven's Gate or whatever.

So beware. The next time someone says to me, "smile for the camera," I think I'm in my full right as a tax-payer to protect myself and smash the phone.

Speaking of smashing things, you'll find a heartwarming tale of bigfoot eviscerating campers and destroying a camp in my short story collection, Twisted Tales From Tornado Alley. Don't worry...it's a love story! That's just one of the many macabre delights awaiting you in the book. So with Halloween approaching, get it here!