Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

I met up with a friend who recently decided to move to Fecal Creek. So, natch, we wanted to figure out how close we’d be living to each other, so I reminded him of the exact address of the Safehouse, and he looked it up on Google Maps. The results showed that his place is 2.5 miles from me, but it’s really less than a mile away from Point A to Point B. When he saw the search results, he said, “Two and a half miles? It seems a lot closer than that…maybe a mile as the crow flies.” Well, what the hell does that mean? I mean, I know what it means, but what relevance does it have to me? I’m clearly not a crow, nor am I capable of flight. I don’t give a fuck how long it would take me to get there if I was a goddamn bird. “As the crow drives” would be much more accurate, but of course completely absurd as I would never ever let some random crow behind the wheel of the Panty Dropper. How about something I could actually use, like “as the drunk stumbles.” I know exactly how far that is. “As the pelvis thrusts” might work. Measure distances in the number of pelvic thrusts it takes cover them. I do occasionally navigate from room-to-room via pelvic thrusts, usually when I’m in a particularly good mood. So as weird as it is, “as the pelvis thrusts” is significantly more useful to me than “as the crow flies.”

“As the junky sweats,” “as the pervert leers,” and “as the schizophrenic mumbles darkly,” would all also be decidedly more helpful than “as the crow fucking flies.” It is worth noting that I am neither a junky, nor a pervert, nor a schizophrenic. And I’m not a drunk either, but I can relate more closely to any of those categories than I can a goddamn crow.

N.P.: “They Came In” – Butthole Surfers

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

One dear reader did some bitching about me not doing my part for Halloween by not writing a great Halloween story and posting it here.  I replied gently, saying as down for Halloween as I may be, I simply do not have time to write a good Halloween story, let alone a great one.  But I do have a couple minutes to write a really bad Halloween story, so why not.  Here goes:

“Nine Was Better”

Kevin had only been 10 years old for two days, but he was already convinced he wasn’t any good at it. Nine was better. There weren’t as many ghosts last year. In fact, there weren’t any at all. Nine was definitely better. Kevin turned over to watch his father on the couch, with his back to Kevin, swiping angrily at his phone. His mother was in the kitchen, cooking. Kevin’s little sister, Katie, was running around the house screaming. Kevin wondered if any of them even noticed he existed. He wanted to be nine again.

On Halloween night, Kevin went out trick-or-treating with his friends. He was dressed as a ghost, with a sheet over his head. But he didn’t feel like a ghost. He felt like a little boy in a sheet. His friends were laughing and having fun, but Kevin couldn’t enjoy it. He just wanted it to be over.

When they got home, Kevin’s father was waiting for them. He was drunk and angry, and he started yelling at Kevin’s friends. They quickly ran away, leaving Kevin alone with his father. His father grabbed Kevin by the arm and dragged him into the house. Kevin’s mother was in the kitchen, cooking. She didn’t say anything as Kevin’s father started to hit him.

Kevin curled up in a ball on the floor, trying to make himself small. He wished he could disappear. He wished he could go back to being nine years old. Nine was better. There weren’t as many ghosts last year. Nine was better.

Ever since he’d turned ten, which was an entire two days ago, he’d suddenly been able to see ghosts. Which was really starting to piss him off, because he didn’t believe in ghosts. And he especially didn’t believe in ghosts that were currently haunting his ten year old ass.

“Boo.” One of them said, a little girl with long dark hair, who was currently perched on Kevin’s bedpost. He glared at her. “What do you want?” He asked, feeling beyond annoyed. The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just here because I’m bored, I guess.” Kevin frowned. “You’re a ghost. Shouldn’t you be haunting people or something?” The girl shrugged again. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

Kevin sighed and laid down, putting his pillow over his face. Maybe if he ignored them, they would go away. He was getting really tired of being able to see ghosts. He just wanted to be nine again, when things were simpler and he didn’t have to deal with any of this crap.

But no matter how much he wished it, he couldn’t go back to being nine. He was stuck being ten, whether he liked it or not. And that meant dealing with ghosts, whether he liked it or not.

At least, until he figured out how to make them go away. Where ghosts just a part of life once you turned 10? Or was it just around Halloween? Halloween was only about a week away…why was it still so hot?

“Are you hot? I mean, do ghosts get hot?” Kevin asked the little girl with long dark hair, who was still obstinately perched on Kevin’s bedpost.

“I’m okay,” said the ghost.

Kevin knew damn well it was far too hot for just before Halloween. He grabbed the small remote from his nightstand and clicked the ceiling fan on. The ceiling fan spun to life aggressively, and instantly blew the ghosts away. Kevin stared for a beat, then chuckled.

“Problem solved,” he said, as he climbed into bed.

He may not have liked that he could see ghosts, but at least he knew how to get rid of them. And until he found a way to make them go away for good, he would just have to deal with it. For now, he’d just keep the fan on. It was hotter than hell anyway.

Happy Halloween, dear reader.

N.P.: “…Clarisse” – Venom

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

Good evening, dearest reader.  And happy Columbus Day.  It’s allegedly almost Halloween.
I must confess I’m finding it somewhat difficult getting into the spirit of the fucking season when it’s 92 goddamn degrees outside.  But what is one to do except bitch.  So bitch I shall: It’s too hot for October!
There.  I feel better.
As long as I’m downloading, here, wanna know what else is pissing me off?  People saying “perfect” at me every time I’m forced to have an interaction with a female under 30.  Holy Jesus.

I’ve got a pretty healthy ego, but I’ve never been under the delusion that I am anywhere near perfect or that I have done or will ever do anything perfectly. Ever. So why oh why must I be not simply told, but really rhetorically bludgeoned by Gen Z women telling me absolutely every single thing that I do, down to the most mundane task, like signing a form, was “perfect”?

This nonsense started a couple years ago, but was generally limited to lesser-educated mall employees and the like. And since I only found myself in malls only once every year or two, it was tolerable. But then, during the pandemic, everybody got noticeably more stupid. And “Perfect” evidently became ubiquitous.

I’m now hearing it several times a day, in response to the most innocuous things. It’s like these women have been taking lessons from manically medicated Valley girls or something. I’m beginning to think they’re doing it on purpose, just to annoy me.

Or maybe they really are that stupid. Either way, it’s driving me up the wall.   I was talking to my new friend and driver Jerry about this, and his suggestion was…typical of him:  “Dude…I know…it’s driving me crazy too.  Fortunately, I’m a man who is slowly learning how to deal with this. I don’t want to get too graphic, but one of the more effective things I’ve found to shut these annoying twits up is to grab them by their upper arms and shake them until their teeth rattle like loose change in a beat up penny jar. It puts them in their place, and does wonders for my mental state.  I know you’re more “sensitive” than I am, but even though I know it might feel “wrong” when you first try it, don’t let that stop you.  This “perfect” shit has already gotten out of control…if you and I don’t start doing our part to rein it in, I shudder to think of how things will be in three months, hell, in three weeks!”

Though I take his point, and even concur, his suggested methods are a bit much.  But still…I get where he’s coming from.  Anyway, if we can please all knock it off with the “perfect” all the goddamn time, that would be great.  Otherwise Jerry’s just going to keep shaking people.

N.P.: “Hunter’s Moon” – Ghost

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

“Music loud and women warm…
I’ve been kicked around since I was born.”
~ Maurice Gibb

That about sums it up, dear reader.  Maurice knew what mattered, and perhaps more importantly, what didn’t.  But none of that matters anymore…Maurice is long dead and I’m still here, so I’m not sure how much of his wisdom I’m supposed to let eclipse mine.   According to the calendar, today is the first day of October.

If one were to argue this point based on all available objective perception, one would not be out of line, for one would be basing one’s argument pretty solidly on the fact that it is presently 95 F(ucking degrees) outside, with nary a cloud in the sky. This, of course, is in California. The land of fruits and nuts, though that means something different than it did 100 years ago, where fall apparently means “let’s turn up the heat a few more notches before we’re forced to confront the reality of winter.”

So, I ask you: what the fuck happened to fall? Remember fall?  It was that brief, beautiful period between summer and winter when the weather was perfect, the leaves were changing color, and pumpkin spice lattes were in season. We did a little digging and found out what happened: Governor Gavin Newsom signed an executive order last year, in a late-night executive session that went unmentioned by the press, banning fall. “Autumn is bigoted and sexist, and a vestigial part of the systemic racism in American timekeeping,” reads the official statement of the Governor’s Office. “Besides, fall has felt like an afterthought for a lot of years now; an after-party to summer that no one really wants to attend but feels obligated to nonetheless. Well, no more! No more fall!”

This is bullshit, of course. Fall was my favorite season, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some two-bit politician take it away from me without a fight. I’m throwing down the gauntlet: #BringBackFallYouDick!

N.P.: “God Only Knows” – Gary Numan

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

Hey dear reader…just wanted to check in real quick…the writing is going extremely well, I’m just working on too many projects and there are simply too few hours in the day.  Thirty hours would be about perfect, I think.  Stupid heliocentric universe.  Anyway, I promise I’ll be back here soon.

N.P.: “Bil Biyelgee” – The HU

Happy birthday, Mary.

N.P.: “Love…Thy Will Be Done (NPG Extended Mix)” – Prince

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

Good evening, dear reader.  Just a quick note for now…I have been busy as hell.  The writing is going swimmingly, but it’s taking all my time.  Anyway, good things are happening.  I’ll be back here for a proper visit with you soon.

N.P.: “Highly Suspicious” – My Morning Jacket

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

Unholy temperatures today, dear reader.  I think it’s weird that people live here…people are clearly not meant to live here.
Anyway, I’ve been working on something that is taking a little longer than expected, so I’ve been absent here a few days more than anticipated.  So I just wanted to stop by and say hey and bitch about the heat.  Okay…back to it.

N.P.: “Hang on St. Christopher” – Bulletboys

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

Well, it’s the first week of September, so naturally it’s hot as balls here in The Creek. We’re in the middle of something worse than a Heat Wave…it’s evidently called a Heat Storm and it is evil. The next 7 days are once again featuring highs in the 120s. And as has long been established, no great literature can be committed in any climate hotter than 110, and even that’s pushing it.

Fortunately, the Safehouse is equipped with a state of the art Freezeyerass Air-Conditioning unit pumping out something like 15K BTUs, of chilly climate-controlled bliss, so work on the books shall continue apace, despite the ongoing temperate fuckery.

N.P.: “Ten Times More” – Dropkick Murphys

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

Good evening, loyal and long-suffering reader. In an unexpectedly sudden move, the goddamn Muse has, at long last, decided that we’re once again on speaking terms, and, having decided thus, has spoken: Underground long enough, she seemed to say…it’s time to resurface. Or at least start to. She then gave me a five-year plan. Which is actually a pleasant change from not having a five-year plan. So suddenly there’s a five-year plan. I’ve got six book ideas that I’ve written out to 10K-15K words, and after much ceiling-staring, hardwood-floor pacing, and whiskey clanking, (and subsequent drunken consultation with the Wise Ones), it has been decided to shelve four of the book ideas for the time being, and focus exclusively on getting the first two books ready for a 2024 release.

The first book is a psychological memoir (which I’ve never read or written), the second is a novel (of which I’ve read many, but never written). Yeah…fiction. Traditionally, my fiction has been shit. And it still very well may be, but it’s a satire, so I should be able to pull it off.

A completed draft of the first book is due by December of this year, (which is rapidly approaching), and the second book by June of next year. It’s a bit ambitious, but that’s the plan, so yeah…Let’s get weird.

N.P.: “Cage” – Billy Idol