Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Obligatory check-in post. Not a lot going on, really, but my not putting much on this site since December makes me look lazy and neglectful, and I am not at least one of those things. Mostly, my slacking off (I said ‘slacking’) is due to being too busy with writing words that will go into a storybook instead of words that will be housed in server bunkers or clouds or human battery farms or however they’re storing Internet data these days.

As for what I’m working on (because I know you’re so invested in it), I’ve put a June deadline on finishing it. It’s a book, which, point of interest, has nothing at all to do with the one that probably brought you to this site. You know, the one that you surrendered actual money earned at that job you hate so that you could read and might have even enjoyed. Yeah, it’s got nothing to do with that one (’cause striking while the iron’s hot is how you get third degree burns, kids). Instead, I’m currently wading twenty-two chapters deep in what will probably be twenty-eight or twenty-nine chapters of a hard boiled Prohibition-era detective story (yeah, I’ve posted about this before, but there’s no harm in repeating it–there is, however, shame. Lots of dirty, whore-like shame). There’s no sci-fi to this story in any way (so I guess fuck you, readers who likes that), but there’s more to premise and a higherness to the concept than just standard hard boiled boilerplate stuff (boilerplates – also hot).

Anyway, when that’s finished up, I’m going to see about getting it printed on Mother Earth-offending paper and sold in Mom & Pop store-killing retail chains; something I didn’t do with They Tell Me I’m The Bad Guy because I thought it might be something of a hard sell (and some Amazon reviewers agree). But once this hard boiled thing is all squared away, I’ll be working on the next installment of Donnie Guillory’s life, which I also expect to be the last. Yes, I know trilogies are what all the cool kids are doing these days, but I’m a firm believer in telling only as much story as you’ve legitimately got. If you keep pushing things too hard (that’s what she said) to where the good ideas are drying up and getting harder and harder to come by (that’s what she said), you’re just going to end up disappointing everybody and making a mess (. . . she said that, too). So when the TTMITBG sequel is done, I think I’ll have said all I have to say with Donnie (13% of that being the f-word). I’ve got other stories I want to get to before I die; not gonna spend all my time with him. That guy’s an asshole.

Hugs and Kisses,

R. D.

Okay, so after one day, They Tell Me I’m The Bad Guy is at #15 on the free Kindle Sci-Fi list and rising. That’s not bad. In fact, I think it’s pretty damn great myself. The fucking Krampus, however, is calling my house and breathing heavy while he puts a slow knife to a whetstone. That goes on for a good five minutes, then he gets bored and yells “Fuck you! That’s my name!” then hangs up. (it’s an old phone, too, so it’s really loud when he slams it back on the cradle). So to appease this psycho bitch demon, They Tell Me I’m The Bad Guy will be offered free on Amazon for another day. Do not thank me. Just download the thing. Gotta go, the phone’s ringing again.

Do not bone me here, People,

R. D.

Tomorrow, December 5th, bask in the magnanimousnesses of secular gift-giving and download They Tell Me I’m The Bad Guy (aka The Fuck and Cigarette Memoires) for free at your local Kindle dealer. Or also here. Spread the word to people you love and people you hate, for the Krampus will surely skin you in your sleep and wear you like a quivering (-insert your name here-) suit while he dances around your living room with his thing tucked, Buffalo Bill-style, if you don’t. That’s not a threat. That’s a Yuletide promise. So download it quick; the Krampus is already taping his thing back in preparation.

Hugs and Kisses,

R. D.

Thanks to a movie now in theaters (Skylincoln or something), interest in our 16th President has grown 7000% in just two months. Those numbers are shocking and would be even more so had I not made them up. Consequently, Abraham Lincoln’s name is getting slapped onto all kinds of television shows and internet articles in empty attempts to generate profit, ratings, and web hits. It is my opinion that this exploitation of his life and untimely death ultimately cheapens us as a country and spits on his grave of a great man for money and attention. It is borderline desecration and would not have found favor with such a humble man from such humble beginnings . . .

Lincoln: Portrait of a President: In Words, Not Pictures:

Abraham Lincoln was born in a hollow log in Cabin, Illinois. He grew to manhood under the yoke of poverty, having only an ax and faithful blue ox, Babe. Lincoln held many jobs and was held in high esteem for his hard-working attitude. But when Babe died from the ox flu, Lincoln wrote in a letter to friend Joshua Speed, “… [I] have no more use for the soul my companion’s departure has left withered in me…” Despondent and inconsolable, Lincoln became a lawyer and, later, a politician.

The original opening of Gettysburg Address was to be 'Haters can't see me/Bitches want my jock,' but Lincoln felt the solemnity of the occasion instead called for a math problem. In politics, however, he found renewed purpose. Lincoln’s keen, affable mind and gift for clever story-telling were put to use in Congress, where the president not only garnered respect and admiration from colleagues, but a collection of nicknames like “The Rail-Splitter” for his early job splitting rails, “Uncle Abe” for his friendly demeanor, and “The Ancient One” for his worship of Y’golonac the Defiler. On his first bid for the White House, Lincoln won a landslide electoral victory. But while the newly-elected president had proponents in Washington and throughout the country, his election did provoke controversy in some corners. For example, it’s alleged by many modern historians that Lincoln, a married man, may have engaged in a homosexual relationship with friend Joshua Speed, and that the resulting gay panic was one of the major contributing factors to Southern Secession. Even Lincoln’s wife Mary Todd, perhaps also suffering from gay panic, drew criticism for spending what some felt was an excessive amount of the country’s money on renovations and improvements to the White House. When questioned on the matter by a reporter, the always sharp-tongued Lincoln replied, “Women be shopping.”

Soon after the Illinois lawyer took office, the Union split. Southerners who had vowed to relocate to Europe or Canada were he elected decided to just make their own country so they didn’t have to move. The Civil War began in earnest not two months into Lincoln’s term in office. Though he projected confidence to the public, years after his death, close friends would reveal that the president was in fact not fond of the war. Despite this aversion, Lincoln ran a successful war presidency that ultimately pulled the Union back together even with his absence at an unknown point post-Gettysburg when he aided two young time-travellers in saving the very future of human civilization (these were not, however, the same time-travellers who prevented his assassination by John Brown’s men prior to the Civil War).

Tragically, these dick time-travellers did not give Lincoln any warning of the violence that would befall him. After the South’s surrender at Appomatox, the president was assassinated by noted American leading man John Wilkes Booth, the first actor to inject himself into politics because he felt his views were ‘important’ (also originator of the industry term ‘headshot’). Lincoln’s murder shocked a populace that still had the horrors of war fresh in its mind, and at least half the nation mourned his passing. Upon his death, he was succeeded by his then Vice President, Andrew Johnson, who narrowly escaped impeachment and then died (way to reach for the stars).

President Lincoln would die unaware of the length and breadth of his achievements but hoping that he had put his country back onto a path that cherished freedom. It is unlikely he ever imagined himself one day being so revered as to be memorialized forever next to our greatest presidents (also Teddy Roosevelt), being the first president to have his likeness on U.S. currency, having a clone that would hook up with Cleopatra, or that a Lincoln android would help the crew of a mining spaceship escape space-execution by a robot (space) Caligula. And while these four things alone would be enough to transform any ordinary man into a figure of legend, they are only bullet points in the mind-blowing legacy of a President ahead of his time.

Nine inches. Honest.

Yes, I’m as shocked by this as you are, mainly because I didn’t know Canada had the Internet. Strangely enough, I see a lot of hits on my site from the Great (debatable) White (racist) North (they are, in fact, north of me). I’m not sure why, but I can only assume my once-passionate love for the Red Green Show somehow comes through in my writing. So, in tribute to our Canadian cousins, here is a timeline of canuck facts to educate and enlighten your American asses:

- The first Canadians cross over from Asia via the Bering Sea land bridge. Weak Canadian immigration policies at their finest.

- Canadian Indians do their thing for a while. Invent syrup and hockey (both originally derived from baby seals). Maple leaf is deified.

- Europeans come along and shit gets real complicated, real fast. I think Canada is still part of England or something; they like the Queen a lot, at any rate, which I don’t get. I don’t have pictures of the Queen in my house since we kicked her to the curb in Revolution Days. Canadians = Redcoat Sympathizers

- Newfoundland is formed. Trouble starts brewing.

- My Acadian ancestors are kicked out of Canada. Canadians = Buncha Bitches

- 1776: Canada takes backseat to the U.S.A., where it remains to this day.

- Custody of the Great Lakes region is worked out. We get Lake Michigan, they get Georgian Bay. Lakes Superior, Huron, Ontario, and Erie are with Canada on weekdays and with the U.S. on weekends and three weeks out of the summer. Holidays are alternated. We’re cool with it, though, because we get to be the ‘fun’ country.

- 1864: Canada copies the American South and confederates.

- Sometime around the turn of the century, I guess, Wolverine is born.

- Canada enters WWII before the U.S. does. Thanks for making us look bad, dicks.

- Canada combats Beatlemania with Trudeaumania. Though fervent in their enthusiasm, the trend does not catch on outside the country, although a U.S. version is made in 2008 starring Barack Obama.

- Toronto finally succeeds in becoming the clean, boring version of New York City. Way to go, guys.

- Late 20th Century: Celine Dion, Mike Meyers, Kids in hallways, drunk guys in earflaps. Due South star Paul Gross makes me question my sexuality for a couple of confusing years.

There. You’re welcome, Canada. I think we’re now all a little more comfortable with the thought of your weird country being right beside ours and your people’s ability to look just like one of us (like The Thing). As payment for this public service, you can mail my father some twenty-sixers of Canadian Mist, and I will take a moose head of whatever size you have lying around. I assume you guys have a postal service. Probably a ‘Royal Canadian’ one or something.

If I Were A Superhero

Posted: July 18, 2012 in Uncategorized

Reblogged from The Empire of Jeff Newsletter:

Click to visit the original post

I have a pretty eclectic taste in books, but my favorite genre has always been science fiction, and my favorite sub-genre of that is military science fiction.  But every once in a while, a new niche will take off that has all kinds of interesting possibilites, like Superhero Fiction.

No, not novelizations of comic books or the fucking Avengers movies or the Justice League queers. 

Read more… 324 more words

Spontaneous absolutely-not-paid-for review of 'They Tell Me I'm The Bad Guy.' A good one, no less. Give this cat web traffic and fealty.

First step toward the extinction of mankind: Magic Legs “Scientists,” the people who brought you such discoveries as Phlogistons and the planet Vulcan, have come up with their latest so-called boon to mankind: robots that move like we do. On feet, knees, legs, and other miscellanea. Forget the days when you could easily confine your Roomba in a vacant bedroom where it would bang around in a bloodthirsty rage (true story). Thanks to “Scientists,” these fuckers will now be all terrain.

These “Scientists,” people driven by sadistic urges and childhood traumas to create technology and concepts that shatter the world view of a populace they loathe, would have you believe that creating human-like devices to do menial jobs in the middle of an economic crisis is a good thing. Tell that to the guy who used to put on car doors on the Ford assembly line (you can’t; the robots already killed him) or the guy who used to tell people to press 1 for customer service (you can’t; he probably didn’t exist). People gotta eat. Robots don’t. Give a robot my job, and what’s he going to spend all that disposable income on? Robot porn and getting blasted on Duracells. This is allegedly progress.

So, everybody grab your ankles and say “Thanks, Scientists!” Thanks for the next phase in derailing human civilization, as if a thousand TV channels and texting weren’t enough. In ten years, we can all look out of our liquid nutrient cocoons at a new Mt. Rushmore of Johnny Five, Hal, a fucking Dalek or something, and that creepy abomination from iRobot.

Uncanny Valley, my ass. Just look at this thing. Nightmare in a can.

Dade County Sheriff Deputies unable to cope with the stress of zombie apocalypse, befriend undead attackers Seriously. Just what the fuck, man. If you’re like me, you’ve been preparing your family to survive underground through the December apocalypse the Mayans will bring upon us “With great revenge and furious anger” — Montezuma 3:16. Out of the blue, however, the apocalypse has come 6 months early in the form of Gulf Coast Zombie Armageddon 2012: Assignment Miami Beach. Those trick-ass Mayans got the jump on us, and nobody paid attention to George Romero’s Reefer Madness-style cautionary tales. As a result, we’ve been caught flat-footed, and I’m in full-on Doomsday Crisis Mode (different vest than prep mode) awaiting the inevitable collapse of society. The CDC says there is no zombie outbreak, but don’t trust them. This is the same government responsible for MK Ultra and chasing a bunch of kids at gunpoint to capture a defenseless asexual alien. So it’s up to us to prevent a Mad Max-ish future but with zombies and hybrids instead of muscle cars and Masters and/or Blasters. To this end, I’ve adopted the following modus operandi (Latin for ‘Take Care of Business’). Fair warning:

1) No Shambling in my vicinity. You’re asking for a headshot because I will not ask questions. I don’t converse with the dead unless it’s through approved channels like gypsies or TV static.

2) If I even suspect you’ve been bitten, be prepared to get a headshot. Immediate family members will be given a running start.

3) I will leave your ass behind. I don’t know if zombies can smell blood. My gut says they can, so you’re one paper cut away from being an ejected party member.

4) Do not play pranks or try to surprise me. There are fucking zombies out there; that shit’s not funny anymore.

5) No more baths, no more salt. Period.

I highly suggest you all update your Zombie Emergency Preparedness Home Handbooks and desecrate as many Mayan ruins as you can in retaliation for this and the last Indiana Jones movie. If you don’t, those smug, asshole, dead Mayans win.

Some trick-ass Mayan

Market Research

Posted: May 29, 2012 in Uncategorized

Your information will not* be sold to Anonymous Corporate Overlords(TM). Vote for free** money***

* Your definition of “not” may vary. I want a speedboat.
** Your definition of “free” may vary.
*** Your definition of “money” definitely varies.

So, yeah, I basically and frequently forget I have this website. No time for updates, really because I’m in the process of moving to Georgia, a long and soul-sucking enterprise that will last into the Fall. Also working on another book that should be finished up by year’s end, I’m getting a couple of short stories in shape to put on Kindle soon (this is me giving myself no option but to finally put them out there or face public humiliation), and, oh yeah, moving my ass and the asses of my family to Georgia, which by the way, doesn’t even really have a Hazzard County, which subtracts so much wind from my sails it’s ridiculous. I will try to come up with something here and there to throw up here, but it will likely be short (in addition to pointless) since whatever misfiring neurons I have left in my brain are being mostly devoted to book-writing with the occasional Tweet spasm. I haven’t forgotten about all of you, I just don’t have time for you right now. Cue Disney theme music for the movie where I turn into a bluejay or some shit until I learn that playing and indulging whims are more important than working hard.

Hugs and Kisses,

R. D.