Night falls on Honolulu: a woman in a hotel room binds her hair into a bun and smears dark paint under her eyes.  She is nearly ready.

The device at her hip buzzes.  She answers.

“Yes.”

“I’m just calling one more time, honey -” Her husband.

“Yosef!  Nothing you say will stop me from doing this.”

“I’m just saying we’re worried.  I mean, the boys and I ( Read more... )

            “Hell with Bill Kristol.”  Hank took a drag on his cigarette.  “That clown hasn’t got the sense God gave a duck.”

“Did you just quote Molly Ivins?  In my fucking presence?  Kristol has his shit down,” said Grace.  “He knows what’s up.”

“Oh, yeah, he knew what was up with the Thrilla from Wasilla.  He took complete ( Read more... )

          They heaved.

“You are a crazy person,” said Lois.  “Like, an actual crazy person.”

“Am I?” said Franny.  “A wing is a drumette is a lil’ baby leg-looking thing.  This is merely taking the thought to its -”

“-thunderously extreme -“

“I was gonna say ‘logical’ -”

“I am aware.”

“-conclusion.”

Three pounds of flour.  Two gallons of hot sauce.  ( Read more... )

From the writings of Abdul Al'Canhazred:

I am not one to wax readily on the pleasures of the flesh - not since the Adventure of the Steel Poltroon, anyway - but in the recounting of this, the tale of the LOL of Catthulhu, a food metaphor is in order.  In Paris, in the summer of 1873, just before the Revenants overtook the 14ème Arrondissement, I ( Read more... )

From the writings of Abdul Al’Canhazred

It is with significant trepidation that I inscribe these words into the public record.  What I have witnessed with these two eyes is not within the realm of the sane, and I urge those that are purehearted to avoid these pages from the uttermost regions of my being.  Go in grace; I commend your souls to ( Read more... )

I decided to do this as a movie trailer - much like my musical entry from March, there isn't much of an effect if you don't hear it.  Anyway, enjoy!
-D

(Listen to the finished product, linked HERE)

Melvin Johanssen was a perfectly normal accountant.  He lived a comfortable existence, in his little apartment, with his cat, Virginia, and his stamp ( Read more... )

She’d told me about the Wakin’ Bacon that morning at breakfast.

“Wait,” I had said, “is it shaped like a pig?”

“It doesn’t have to be!” she said.  “I’m not sure the original is.  But you put the slice bacon in the slot the night before, and the next morning, the little lightbulb cooks it and you… you wake to the smell!”

“Mm,” I said noncommittally ( Read more... )

Last night, I purchased a ukulele on the Internet.  It’s not like this is the sort of thing I do often; I’m not really an impulse-purchase sort of person, and I also didn’t think I’d ever buy a musical instrument without touching it first.  But it’s a uke.  And it was 25 bucks, plus shipping on eBay, and I figured - hell.   Why not?  I have just ( Read more... )

The Night Market in Siem Reap is wreathed with snakes in jars.  They seem to wriggle as Wally runs past the stalls.  The vendors call out, but he scarcely hears them.

“Hey-mister-hey-mister, get your cobra wine!  Get your cobra wine and please your lady tonight!”

“Fresh caw, mister!  Fall-apart pork!  Creamy egg!  Luscious broth!  The finest in ( Read more... )

Hannibal McCrae, the finest magician this side of the Mississippi (the bad side) gives me a long, slow, disapproving look.

“Sugarcube,” he says, “How do you ever expect to convince anybody that the apricot is gone?”  I’m trying to palm small fruits while we sit on his front porch.  His front porch in East St. Louis, on the Illinois side of ( Read more... )