I started a tumblr blog because I have soooooo much free time on my hands.

Labels: news

Here's a piece I wrote for eat!drink!snack! about the one thing I can't stand when it comes to President Obama.

when my wife called last week to tell me that the presidential entourage was staging a block from our apartment my first response was, "please don’t tell me he’s eating at pho 75. i don’t want to imagine my life without some eye-of-round and brisket pho." my response would have been different five months ago. i would have dropped whatever i was doing and headed home as fast as possible for a mere glimpse of the man who’s nothing short of a hero to me. but that was when obama’s movements about the district were exciting and didn’t necessarily infer that one of my favorite eateries was about to be bogged down by a weird brand of people who chose their restaurants based solely on whether or not the president decided to stop there for a power lunch.

More at the link.

Labels: news

Taking a stab at 6-word fiction. Hemingway's was better but, you know...I'm not Hemingway.

More flashing at the main page.

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Ambulance by retirement community. No-one's rushing.

Labels: flashing

As you can see I stalled on #58 which, unfortunately, was porno. I'm working on some paying gigs now and trying to get some additional paying gigs so, for the moment, this free-to-the-world stuff will be a bit slower.

They'll still be coming, but the Monday-Friday thing isn't my #1 priority at the moment. Unless someone wants to pay me for this, of course.

Labels: flashing

I was going to call this “Post-Atomic Erotica” but realized that’s the most pretentious thing I can ever call anything. This story is inspired by The Postal Service’s “We Will Become Silhouettes,” the most beautiful song ever written about dying in a nuclear holocaust. I wanted to capture that songs sense of beauty and life and move it into an erotic story. So this is the result – short and to the point.

More Flashing at the main page.

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There’s a calm about her thighs. He finds it out of place as he moves his finger from her neck down to her knees, finding goose flesh and shivers over every inch of her body except for her thighs. They’re smooth and relaxed, accepting, comforted. As the rain cracks and the sky burns red her thighs remain at peace with the air, the grass, the poison, his hand. Her breath picks up, her chest heaves, her heart pounds, her lips quiver, her eyes tear, her skin burns, but her thighs – they’re in a different world.

He turns her towards him and whispers, “It’s time.” Her eyes are wide and her face is red and her hands are clenched and some of her organs are as cooked and painful as her charring skin but her thighs open gracefully. He comes on top of her and wastes no time, his cock slides smoothly into her pussy, moist with heat and rain and a wetness never meant for this but fitting for the moment.

With each thrust of his cock she bites her lip, drawing blood, the flesh is weak. He kisses her and sucks the rapidly dividing cells from her mouth. As their faces lock his hands move to her breasts. He pinches her nipple and the feel as if they’re giving way – as if they’re melting into his fingers. He moves his other hand to her ass, covered with rain and soil, and it once again feels as if he’s pushing through her. It’s happening in their legs, as well, and their stomachs and their chests and their lips. Everything’s losing boundaries, merging together, combining to form a solitary mass of energy and dying skin.

His cock thrusts deeper and faster. She wants to scream but their lips are now inseparable. He pries his hand from her tits and moves it to her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck, his other hand reaching up to caress it and do the job his lips can’t do. She twists as he moves his searing fingers across her most erogenous area and he twists with her. There’s no longer movement without both of them moving – their bodies are no longer separate. She cums and snaps her head forward, leaving his hand with a clump of hair and scalp, he moves it to her cheek and strokes her until he can’t move it anymore.

His movements become frantic as the pain becomes unbearable. He manages to look into her eyes and he sees a tranquility that’s juxtaposed to his chaotic desperation. He stops his movements and rests inside her, eyes locked, bodies melted – everything as calm as her thighs, now. Everything satisfied and ready.

Labels: flashing

No intro needed. More Flashing at the main page.

Labels: flashing

The original memoir done as a Pete Hoekstra meme.

I wrote this in 15 minutes. I’m sure it shows.

I hate most romantic comedies. They’re insulting. 95% of them have the following plot: Big city girl (or guy) gets forced to live in a small town. She (or he) has trouble fitting in at first but they eventually begin to fall in love with small town life. She (or he) meets a guy (or girl) who at first is the embodiment of everything they hate about small towns but eventually the guy (or girl) wins her (or him) over with his rugged good lucks (or overt cuteness). They have a moment but then she (or he) has to go back to his (or her) city. There’s a montage set to a Bruce Springsteen song and the movie ends with the girl (or guy) moving back to the small town.

So I decide to make a real ending to the above movie. And now I’m going to bed. More Flashing at the main page.

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Harold uses his grease-covered shirt to wipe the sweat from his eyes. His left hand fumbles his wrench and it drops below the four-color, coming dangerously close to the reels, before hitting the ground beneath the press with a clang. He drops down to the floor and reaches his hand below the metal walkway in an attempt to reclaim his wrench, holding his hand out against the side of the press to keep his balance. His loose sleeve gets sucked up by the giant reels and pulls his arm into the behemoth. He screams out for help, but Bobby’s at the other end of the press checking the color levels of the latest sheet and Jimmy’s out back smoking one of his Backwoods cigars. He tries to fight off the reels that seem intent on sucking his entire arm into the machine, praying to God for a miracle, when someone hits the emergency switch, causing the press to come to an abrupt halt, Harold’s elbow centimeters from being crushed.

Harold tries to pull his shirt out from the press but the giant mass of rubber and metal refuses to budge. He hears the unmistakable click-clack of high heels on concrete and smiles, knowing full well who his savior is. “Well I’ll be damned, Zoe,” he says, not seeing the owner of the heels, “Before we get all weepy can you be a doll and hit the reverse button?”

The reels lurch back, spitting Harold’s shirt out in the process. Harold turns to see Zoe standing behind him, her face filled with the spit and vinegar he’s grown to love but missed dearly over the past couple of months. “You saved my life, honey. Jeanie’s gonna wanna hug you for that.”

“Or hit me.”

The old friends laugh as Harold slowly pulls himself off the floor, flexing his shoulder and making sure all the parts still work. “Could be. Can never tell with that girl.”

“Well, if she had any sense she’d hit me. I’m sure she’d do anything to get a worthless slob like you out of her life.”

Harold stops flexing his shoulder and stares, dumbfounded, at Zoe – a girl he thought he knew. “Well that was pretty mean, Zoe.”

“Sorry if I hurt your fucking feelings, Harold. But the thought of having to live another day in this shithole while corporate sorted out another lawsuit makes me want to punch myself in the vagina until I spontaneously impregnate myself and then punch myself some more in order to abort the putrid fetus.”

Harold doesn’t know how to respond. Luckily for him Jimmy turns the corner, cigar ash covering his novelty t-shirt that reads, “Free Mustache Rides.”

“Well I’ll be damned! If it ain’t Ms. Big City coming back down to see us regular folk. What’s the matter, sweetheart, missed us?”

Zoe sneers at Jimmy, wanting to make some comment about his shirt and his choice of pronouns and sexual harassment but she bottles it all up and gets right down to business. “Where’s Sam?” she asks.

“He’s over at the die-cutter today. He’s gonna be mighty to happy to see you, I’m thinking.”

“Thank God we don’t pay to you to think,” Zoe responds as she turns and walks over to the finishing room. She walks in and shrugs off Phil and Johnny and Tony and Greg and Bill and John and Philly and Bob and Jim and Sammy and Chris and Poncho (the token Mexican, as she calls him) before making her way to Sam at the die-cutting machine.

“Oh!” Sam says as he quickly tries to fix up his fantastic black mane, “You’re back?” His perfectly-cut jaw forms a smile that accentuates his deep blue eyes.

Zoe walks right up to Sam and slaps him as hard as her frail hands can slap him. She breaks two nails in the process, but it’s worth it as far as she’s concerned.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop sending me stuff? The flowers, the letters, the chocolates – what the fuck do you think I am? Do you think I’m some horny high school girl oozing over your rugged good lucks, wishing you’d drive by my condo so I can sneak out the window and let you fingerbang me at Lover’s Point?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Stop it. Stop trying to get in touch with me. Take a fucking hint – we fucked! Awesome! You were incredibly mediocre at best! Honestly, I’ve had more orgasmic experiences eating at shitty Indian restaurants than I had in your bedroom.”

“I really thought we…”

“I know what you thought, but I also know you’re an idiot. What did you think I’d do – give up my career and my salary and my incredibly AWESOME life so that I can move down to this Podunk town, marry you, and help you raise you’re two kids – one of which is most likely retarded? Are you really that fucking stupid?”

Sam just stares at Zoe, waiting for the punchline.

“If I get one more anything from you I’m going to come down here with an army of lawyers, sue you for sexual harassment, and have the state take your kids away. And then I’m going to fuck your retarded son while you watch just to prove a point. Are we clear?”

Sam cracks a smile, trying to force some humor into this ultimatum.

“You’re smiling. Of course. I have to go so, in conclusion,” Zoe kicks Sam in the balls as hard as she can. Sam drops to the ground, the smile effectively wiped from his face. All the Billies and Bobbies and Jimmies clutch their own balls in empathy for Sam. Zoe just looks at them and shakes her head. “You fucking monkeys.”

She walks towards the exit. The people in the shop listen to the click-clack of her heels for the last time.

Labels: flashing

Tired - long day. Sorry this is so late. I kind of rushed it, too, so it's not my favorite story by any means. More Flashing at the main page.

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Nafula sat against a tree. The ground was dry and the tree felt weak. Nafula looked up to the heavens and saw a cloud in the distance. It was a small cloud, traveling by itself, but it was the only cloud Nafula has seen in many months. She called out to it, “Cloud!” and the cloud came to her.

“Can I help you?” asked the cloud.

“This ground is dry and this tree is dying. They need water. You must open up for them,” said Nafula.

“But if I open up for the ground and that tree I will no longer be a cloud and I like being a cloud,” the cloud replied.

Nafula’s throat was dry and she felt too weak to stand. “But I need water and the crops in the village are dying. You must open up so I can have a drink and food.”

The cloud looked remorseful but it still refused to help Nafula. “That is very sad,” said the cloud, “but if I open up for you I will no longer be a cloud and I like being a cloud.”

Nafula thought of her brother and mother. “But my family needs water and food, too, or else we will all die.”

The cloud was torn but hardened. “I don’t want your village to die but if I am no longer a cloud than I will die and I do not want to die.”

Nafula, who was wise for such a young child, had an idea that would help her village and the cloud. “Go and get other clouds, as many clouds as you can find, and join with them to become the biggest cloud in the sky. Open up for 30 days. Stop before you get too small and then go find more clouds again. Come back and open up when you’re once again the biggest cloud in the sky.”

The little cloud thought about the idea and saw that it was good. It circled the lands and found thousands of clouds to join with. The little cloud soon became the biggest cloud in the sky and it opened up for Nafula and her people. Rain and lightening came down from the heavens for thirty straight days and after it all the cloud was once again a tiny puff in the sky.

The cloud liked being so big so it went off to look for more clouds and once again become the biggest cloud in the sky. And Nafula and her people had food and water to last them the rest of the year.

And that is why the skies open up once a year.

Labels: flashing

I always loved how people in small towns, who's lives where in no real danger from terrorism EVER, and who hated New Yorkers with a PASSION, where always the first ones to point to 9-11 as a rallying cry for neoconservatism. So I drafted this little play up, hope you dig it.

Labels: flashing

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