You know that Murphy is knocking on your door when nothing wants to go right. I just had three weeks of Murphy visitations ( Read more... )

On a rocky beach, curled into a fetal ball around a bottle of whiskey, a drunk woke screaming in a desolation of the soul more deep than death. He had found himself this small corner, little more than a wedge of large stones last night when he realized the drink was close to overcoming him, rather than trying to make it home. Josh often did that ( Read more... )

A comment at Rusty led me to discover that Dearest Mike Philbin has simply updated an old blog post in which he accuses me of being a pedophile. Many of you will remember strikeout 2007. That was responsible, in part, for my continued exploration of Age of Consent ( Read more... )

I am certain that everyone is familiar with my temper. The only thing that comes close to matching me is a half-starved junkyard dog ( Read more... )