The Secret Room Part 3

concluding this little story... Let me begin by saying that I'd originally planned to finish this little serial-post deal last month, the story about the new Secret Room that Think-A-Holic Lounge added on behind my back last summer. But I was way too busy having a life of my own.

Excuse me all to hell and back, but two pigs playing tic-tac-toe with one another on their own, high-end. state-of-the-art personal computers with big-ass plasma screens and built in quadrastereo didn't make me want to lay a bet on the outcome. Not at first. But later I just had to.

It just so happened that the pinkest pig won seven out of the ten games I was forced to watch. I was forced to watch and participate in illegal sports betting by Angus McCloud, the Lounge's big-ass head bartender (and the ghost of a 400-year-old Scottish poet) because he ran out of money so we went halfers and then we split our winnings. 

The fact that the pinkest pig won the tournament meant nothing scientifically because Angus told me that the paler pig won seven out of ten games of tic-tac-toe last week on Saturn. But that meant absolutely nothing to me, either, because they toss their senators around on Saturn every weekend on The Saturn Outernet and then nuns from Uranus bowl for dollars, unless the Outernet managed to hijack a Mexican soap from Earth.

It's all illegal and all crooked. Nothing but a bunch of attention-getters grabbing glory for a group of greased palms. The nuns, by the way, have to wait their turn as the third most popular sports show on The Saturn Outernet, after Pig Tic-Tac-Toe and Saturn Senator Tossing. Don't ask me why. I'd rather see a happy nun bowl for fun and glory anyday.

The pigs are from Earth and they play mostly for food and then for attention. But the most popular pig sport in this part of the space-time continuum is Pig Soccer, also from Earth. Another pig sport that's only popular because it's illegal and only illegal because of illegal sports betting.  Angus and I were up seven Solar Quid by the time the pigs keeled over from exhaustion. Afterward, Angus had to throw the other betters out on their ears for trying to welch on their bets.

Seven Solar Quid notes don't divide evenly so Angus took four and I got three. Then I really had to pee like a Russian bull so that's what I did. Well, that's the end of this sad but exciting story and if I ever see another peephole in a door anywhere I'll just pretend that I have to go to the bathroom so bad that I can't take the time to check it out. Then I'll just run in the opposite direction and never look back. Three Solar Quid might buy a lot of think-a-hol and big-ass bubbly chasers but I'll be hearing pigs squealing and stomping and grunting in my sleep for years. You know, it serves me right.

Old Book, New Video

I'm up late tonight and I'm out of Monterey Jack cheese so I moseyed on down to the Lebenty Leben. I've got plenty of ham and Swiss cheese and rye bread, and even a new jar of baby dill pickles, but I'm plum out of Monterey Jack and that won't do. I got the last brick at the ol' Lebenty and I'm glad because Pepper Jack just won't do when you've got Monterey on the brain.

Before I go any further with this post I'll spill the beans right now about The Secret Room Part 3. It is forthcoming. I just don't know when. Why is it late? Because I'm busy.

After I grabbed the last brick of my favorite cheese I popped into Think-A-Holic Lounge for a wee dram and a bubbly chaser and to watch the new promotional video for my first novella, Blind Fool Running. I finished writing my second novella, The Truth Is a Lone Assassin, on Januray 1, 2013, Earth Time. The new video for my second novella is done but it won't be released until the paperback and the Kindle Edition are both published.

So, why am I showing a new video for an old book, one I published at the end of 2009? Hollywood taught me that shit. I'm trying to get everybody in this part of the space-time continuum all excited about my second novella by making them all excited about my first novella. You know the drill. And, yep, the video's good, but the book is even better. 

Tonight's Band from Earth's Past

That Earth band doing their first time-travel tour finally showed up for their Friday night gig here at Think-A-Holic Lounge. It only took them 46 years to get here at the speed of music but we always say it's "better late than never". That's our motto.

Pluto Poop Protester Pulls Prank...

...And Lands Big-Ass Role in New SciFiFoFum Video! Click Pic For Story!

Plutonian Poop Protester

German News Uplink

The book,  If You Survive by George Wilson, is a MUST READ for All Americans and for everybody who thinks Germany should ever have a military role in the world again, anywhere. This true account of the horrors of war ought to be required reading in every American high school history class. If you were ever cat-fascinated by Germans in uniform, like a lot of sick, twisted freaks, read this book about the real Nazi plague and how an awful lot good people died eradicating it. Let's not subject the world to any more Germans in uniform.

Big Breaking Beer News

When I waltzed into Think-A-Holic Lounge this afternoon like I owned the place (one of my favorite things to do) there was only one stool left at the bar and I hopped right on it without hesitation. The TV set that normally plays hacker videos and illegal sports like senator tossing on Saturn and nuns bowling for dollars on Uranus was broadcasting a Breaking News report from a pirate TV station on Earth.

Angus McCloud, our big-ass head bartender, refused to record the broadcast for fear of losing his bartender's license. That's right, you gotta be licensed to serve think-a-hol and other think-a-holic beverages in this part of the space-time continuum. But he did manage to write down the URL for the Internet news story, the source for this pirate TV broadcast. I had to slip the old beady-eyed bugger a solar fin for the address so I could put it into this story. Click on the TV image for the story.

We Lounge regulars are crying in our own beer and suffering from big-ass sympathy pains for every Russian beer drinker affected by this new law. It's the least we can do. Now Mum's the word on this shit or I'll find a way to sic that Earthling broadcaster on you. I hear he eats scorching buffalo wings for breakfast. So there you go.

Holiday Cheer

The Secret Room Part 2

Continuing with this little story... About three weeks ago I found myself at Think-A-Holic Lounge again after a long summer absence. I was on my way to the male species room for a little relief when I decided to lift the lid on the peephole they installed on the door to that new back room here at the Lounge. The hair that's left on my head stood straight up and I got goose pimples all over my hairy arms when I saw what was causing all that pig-like squealing and snorting and those creepy undertones of what I thought were illegal sports betters making cute, innocent pigs fight one another for sick fun and profit.

Well, to make a long story short, the snorting and squealing was coming from pigs. Two of them, in fact. And the unmistakable sound of gambling junkies in a secret room placing bets on illegal sports action was, indeed, the sound of our big-ass head bartender Angus McCloud and a handful of regular Lounge lizards. Their fists were full of solar dollars and solar fins and solar sawbucks and I even saw an occasional Intergalactic Quid note being peeled off big fat bill rolls. They muttered and blabbed and barked out new bets to each other out of the corners of their mouths.

But the pigs — two pale-pink, full-grown, big-ass bacon makers — weren't going at each other with hoofs and snouts and teeth. Nossir. They were both sitting on their haunches in front of their own personal computer with a big-ass plasma screen and specially made keyboard with only five keys on it. That's when I saw a big brown eyeball staring back at me through the peephole and the door was opened by Angus McCloud himself.

"Got money?" he said, pulling me into the dimly-lit back room. Before I could reply, he closed the door and locked it. Then he flipped the peephole lid back down and led me to the betting table.

to be continued...  

Stealing My Thunder

It's no big deal but I have made a few bucks peddling my novella on the Internet. When Michael Casher gets paid by Amazon.com for ebook sales I eventually get a piece of that action if anyone bought any Kindle copies of Blind Fool Running. Michael's never stiffed me yet. So, naturally, when the old indie author got his first royalty check from his publisher today I'll get a piece of that action if anyone bought the paperback edition of my novella at either Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com or Lulu.com. As a matter of fact, I moseyed on down to the Lounge tonight to blab about it but I immediately saw that someone had beaten me to the draw.

I wouldn't mind so much if the real Michael Casher had gotten to the soapbox here first but it wasn't him. The joker in question (see pic) doesn't have the trademark Vineyard ball cap on his head but under what looks like an English snap brim cap just has to be the face of The Author From Another World. I can't wait for Angus McCloud, our big-ass head bartender and the 400-year-old ghost of a dead Scottish poet, to throw the otherworldly bum out on his keister. Of all the unmitigated gall (I always liked that worn-out phrase). There's more to this Author From Another World royalty deal than meets the eye. I'd bet a solar sawbuck on it.

Man, the things you see on this side of the space-time continuum. No wonder I stay on my side of the looking-glass most of the time. The other side is just too unpredictable and way too scary.   

Cosmic Power Balls Warning

Warning to Powerful Earth MenFrom The Big Black Hole of Hell

The Secret Room Part 1

Now that summer's a distant speck in my rearview mirror, I was eager for a little diversion the other night so I moseyed on down to Think-A-Holic Lounge for a quick belt of think-a-hol and a refreshing bubbly chaser. I'm trying not to think about Hurricane Sandy and the American 2012 Presidential Election that's finally over and done with. That's reality. I mosey on down to Think-A-Holic Lounge to escape from reality. Especially since two chapters of my latest novella manuscript mysteriously disappeared a couple weeks ago, leaving me with the option to either eighty-six the whole project or face a grueling rewrite of thirty pages from memory. Only time will tell.

Anyway, after I'd slugged down two shots of the ol' elixir and two bubbly chasers and made sure to totally avoid imbibing that overpriced think-a-hol knockoff they call Death-A-Hol, I headed to the male species room for some relief. That's when I spotted the door to the new back room they added since I was last in here. I immediately suspected that an illegal poker game was probably in progress in there or maybe a little senator tossing tournament on the Saturn Outernet or maybe some nuns from Uranus were bowling for dollars (highly illegal on Uranus) but there was no TV sound at all coming from the back room.

I had to go like the proverbial Russian bull but I decided to indulge my curiosity for a minute because my curiosity was bigger than my urge to go. Suddenly, I heard what sounded like pigs squealing and snorting and squealing and then some muffled voices and then more squealing and snorting. My scalp snapped back and the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up as I entertained terrible notions of animal torture and illegal sports betting. I wanted to run but I held my ground. There was a little peephole lid on the door and I had no qualms whatsoever about lifting the lid and taking a peek. If people want to put up a peephole they'd better be ready for Peeping Toms, that's how I looked at it. But I was in for a big surprise.

to be continued...

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