Christmas Past

I knew it was too good to be true. We haven't had to endure the disturbing presence of The Author From Another World for almost three years and last night he waltzed into Think-A-Holic Lounge, big as you please and still glowing all over. He bellied up to the bar and ordered a Buxx Brew from Angus. Then he unwrapped the big-ass package he had under his arm and held this thing (see pic) right in front of my face.

"How much will you give me for this?" he asked. When I didn't respond right away because my jaw had dropped onto my chest he said, "Huh? Huh? How much?"

"I'll give ya fi' dollars for it," I said, and slapped a Solar Fin down on the bar. A dozen heads turned our way and Angus McCloud, our big-ass head bartender, cupped a big-ass hand behind his big-ass left ear and leaned in our direction.

"Sold!" said The Author from Another World. And then he chugged the entire bottle of Buxx Brew, the malt beverage that makes all female creatures in the universe look like Ernest Borgnine (we drink it to maintain our dignity tanks when they're dangerously low). He set the empty bottle down so slowly on the paper coaster we all thought he'd keel over dead. But all he did was burp. It was so loud it hurt my ears and they're still ringing today as I write this journal entry.

"Have another?" Angus asked the indie author's shimmering specter.

"Nope," he replied and then he added, "See you in the funny papers." Then he left. Then I quickly hid that hideous painting under my arm. Then I ran.

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.   

Astral Feedback

Wow, the left TV set seems to be a hot item this week. But, hey, just when I felt like standing up and shouting to the TV screen, "You go, guy!" (or something to that effect) that screaming chipmunk voice kept me from even wanting to show my face around here.

But, you gotta give The Author From Another World some credit. Those Grays don't seem to scare him one damn bit. In fact, I think it might be the other way around.