I’ve Got One

Her husband was eaten by a lion. Does it matter where? Their honeymoon. Part of a skull. Dragged from his tent — not a peep. Who says that? who? Then explain the yellow shower curtain across the bay window. The sodden mound of paper on the front stoop, the shattered porch light and rotten soffits. Never met. I suppose. In this world? This world? You’re the genius. You tell me.

Originally published in Linea, volume one, Spring, 2019

For Your Consideration: The Strange Unbreakable Handmaiden on the Orange Throne in the White Castle.

I hope you enjoyed this latest AmazingFlix streaming series!  And by “you” I don’t mean the voting members of the Television “Academy”, who either did not receive their screeners or simply can’t appreciate a show about Depression era Tulsa as occupied by General Francisco Franco’s Army.  As for the critics, I don’t even know what algorithm means, so fuck you. 

No, I am speaking to my real audience, the viewers, like the woman I met at that estate sale last week. We had a friendly tussle over a vintage clock radio. After I brought some ice for her eye,  she said, “You mean they PAY you to buy things for TV shows? That must be a really fun job.” And I was like, “Right?”

In June, when the nominations were announced, my mother called to say, “So I see your friend Amy was nominated again.” To which I replied, “Mom, please. You think I’ve spent the last 25 years of my life as a set decorator just to chase a beautiful shiny gold statue? I don’t need a hood ornament to validate my career or compensate for two failed marriages and court ordered rehab.  Also, WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT AMY?!”   Continue reading

The Story of the Legend of Our Syrup

The iconic moose shaped bottle you are holding in your hands contains the finest maple syrup in North America — perhaps even South America. When you taste it (you’ll have to run the bottle under hot water and maybe smack the top against the counter. If that fails, use pliers) you are tasting the pure essence of the Northeast Kingdom, a cold and misty land of maple covered mountains, clear flowing spring water, and St. Johnsbury. 

In 1793, Jebidebah Flintlock, a famous veteran of the Revolutionary War, was tracking a moose deep into the forest. It was near the end of a terribly cold and harsh winter. Like, really cold. No global warming yet. Jeb had settled on this frontier to raise a family. With 87 mouths to feed, he desperately needed to kill this moose. But Jeb had a problem. He had only one good eye. Legend has it, the other eye was damaged in a tavern scuffle with a young lawyer from Yale. Oh wait — he had another problem. He also had only one musket ball left. And his feet were cold. So that’s two more, and three because his hands, they must have been freezing as well. No L.L. Bean then, although Jeb might have known Lucius Bean, who owned a gumshoe farm over yonder hills.  Nevertheless, sighting his quarry, he raised his musket and fired. His shot struck the moose right between the antlers, richocheted off, and grazed a nearby maple tree. Thrifty Yankee that he was, he inspected the tree to reclaim his musket ball, discovering the clear sweet sap flowing out like Ambrosia. And in that moment, Jebedebah’s Lost Moose Maple Syrup was born. Also, recycling. 

Also Just In. Damn!

When it rains, it pours. And the rain in Maine is driving us insane.

Wondering what to do with all those mice, rats, and guinea pigs now that the family Burmese Python has escaped into the wild? Fret no more. Just contact Chelcea  (hey — her spelling, not ours) and she’ll take them off your hands. If Chelcea is not available,  ask for Igor.

Forever Home

This Just In

Attention! The city never sleeps and neither does the city desk. Your overseas investments may be taking a beating, but we might have found a silver lining in this trade war mess. Of course, if this doesn’t pan out, don’t blame us. You can always try working for a living.

Seeking Investor

Correspondence

My Dearest Hollingsworth,

What can I say? Congratulations old fellow on a capstone to a brilliant career. A thousand apologies for missing your publication party last month at the Faculty Club. Helen had a dreadfully aching molar that night that needed attending to, thus we found ourselves scrambling for a dentist at the last minute, the dismal results which of course were preordained by virtue of our location in a small Amish hamlet named Curdsburg, Pennsylvania. The Amish it seems have no urgent care clinics as they rely on folk remedies and the power of prayer. In the end a kindly doctor was found and the offending molar was plucked as if by a magician. As there were no ATM’s nearby, it took a bit of searching to locate a farmer willing to barter one of Helen’s almost finished Faroe Island cable knit sweaters for the several dozen eggs needed to pay his fee. By then we realized we would never make your party. I look forward to reading your book, and I do hope you will forgive me for being a Kindle unlimited subscriber. I know we authors make a lot of noise about that demon empire still a penny is a penny you know. My best to William as always.

Yours,

Applethorp

Dear Applethorp,

It’s a shame you missed the party. Your absence was never noticed, if that makes you feel any better. Bill decorated in a Great Gatsby theme— the Baz Luhrman version — and even managed to twist Leo’s arm into making a surprise appearance. I hardly see Bill this summer as he spends most of his time running parties for A-listers in the Hamptons, styling photo shoots for Conde Nast, and surfing off Montauk. Anyway, the book is a great success, no thanks to your review, by the way. Of course we have not always seen eye to eye but really, “the Artful Codger?” Harsh. I’m okay with a little shade but why throw the entire forest? Continue reading