Trailer for Cloud Atlas

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How Prometheus Should Have Ended

I loved Promthethus--and I still thought this was hilarious.

Iron Mark

This week's column in the freakin' Ashland Beacon is called "Armored Columnist". You can read it here on page 2.

The Man of Steel

Here's the teaser trailer for the Superman flick coming next year. Nice shot at the end.

Booya! Journalist Smacks Down Conservative Blogger.

This is easily my favorite story of the month.

Sen. Sherrod Brown's Wife Makes Conservative Blogger Look Silly

You're Not The Boson Of Me

My column this week in the Freakin' Ashland Beacon mashes up the Higgs Boson with our favorite gentleman's club, The Possum Ranch.

As always, you can find it on page 2.

What Really Happens in the Batcave

This:



And sometimes this:

Today's Writing

Work continues on the new novel. Today, again, was revising and editing, then I was able to start writing fresh material.

Here's where I stand tonight: 19,432/90,000

Novel Work

I resumed work on the novel today. Since I hadn't touched it in a while, the day was spent re-reading what I already had, changing a few things and adding new sections. There's more of that to do tomorrow.

Here's the current word count: 17,336, with a goal of 90,000.

Baby, What A Big Dead Surprise

I finished the final proof of The Dead Sheriff: Zombie Damnation yesterday. It took a little longer than I expected but I want this book to be right, you know?

Along the way, I surprised myself. It had been a while since I had read the book. I turned it in a long time ago and moved on to other projects, so when I read it again, it was definitely with fresh eyes. And the story works. It’s a big, grand pulp adventure, full of magic and gunfights and some pretty despicable villains and at least two people searching for some nobility (even if one of them doesn’t know it yet). There’s cussin’ and fightin’ and more than a little humor. Most importantly (to me, anyway) it’s a hell of a lot of fun.

I’m pretty happy with it.

During the course of reacquainting myself with the story my passion for the characters was reignited. Even while I was making corrections, I was rapidly jotting down notes about The Dead Sheriff 2, 3 and beyond.

It will be here soon. I hope you’ll try it.

Now it’s back to work on the next novel. I’ll try to post a steady word count here, beginning later today. I know some folks find that interesting and I hope it will serve as a motivational tool for me.

It’s not good to disappoint the blog readers. That’s my motto. Well, my new motto. It replaces my old motto “Damn, I looks good in this g-string, yo!”

This Week's Column: The Bureau of Made-Up Names

You know what that attractive badge means: my new column is available on page 2 of this week's Ashland Beacon.

We just lived through a "derecho" and Arizona recently had another "haboob". Where do these names come from? Now it can be revealed right here.

50 Shades of Gravy

For some reason, I now have a page on Tumblr. You can drop in on me here. Or in the links at the left of this page.

Stewie Griffin on Mars

Seth MacFarlane, the creator of Family Guy, is overseeing a reboot of Carl Sagan’s classic PBS series Cosmos.

I’ll give you a minute to let that soak in.

Now, I want to direct you to the following video interview with MacFarlane. I agree with everything he says regarding our space program and how we’ve let it all unravel. I particularly like his comment about watching the history of the space program backwards. Sad but true.

Creature Feature

Where’s the love for The Creature from the Black Lagoon?

This classic Universal monster doesn’t seem to get the respect that his better known counterparts—Frankenstein, Dracula, Wolfman—do. Maybe it’s because he debuted years after the era of Big Frank and the rest. Or maybe (and this is my theory) Gill-Man is just too damned creepy. I mean, have you seen that face? And he’s mostly an underwater guy, so when he’s attacking the nosy scientists on dry land, dude is dripping everywhere. But dig the tragedy: He's mostly fish, but all he wants is some human-style lovin'

He’s one of my favorites and after perusing this behind-the-scenes look at Gilly, I may have to watch the original flick tonight.

Where’s the love for The Creature from the Black Lagoon? Right here, my little mermaid.

The Every-Now-And-Then Vacation Writing Update

I have a plan. I really do. It’s just that it’s frequently derailed. I’d hoped to have two short stories completed and submitted by Sunday. As it turned out, the second story wasn’t finished until yesterday afternoon. After it was done, I read it aloud to Norma. She’s an honest critic (which means she won’t hesitate to tell me it sucks). She loved it. After a few corrections and a final polish, I sent it off to the editor. I have no idea if the piece will sell. I certainly hope it will, but as I’ve found out over the years, the joy of writing it and having it turn out better than you’d hoped is a very satisfying reward.

And, yeah, it would be way cool to see this end up in the book. So there.

Meanwhile, the first story I finished last week is still waiting to be revised. I want a little more distance from it before I start the edits. There’s no pressing deadline and I want it to be just right.

Now I need to get back to the current novel, but...

I have to write a newspaper column later this morning. And Evileye Books has sent me the e-galley of The Dead Sheriff: Zombie Damnation for a final read-through before it debuts. I’ll be giving it a very careful exam, like a gynecologist with OCD. Whatever time is left will be spent on the novel, which, by the way, I hope to finish by my birthday, September 23rd.

And just to prove I love you, here’s a baby monkey riding backwards on a pig:

The Long Rotting Arm of the Law

I write a column every quarter for Horror World, and the new one just went up. It's all about the writing of The Dead Sheriff. Check it out here.

Whisk Master

It’s a banner day. Norma taught me to make her excellent lo-cal breakfast sandwiches. The secret is her perfectly seasoned softly scrambled eggs. I’ve never had anything like them, and they’ve ruined me for all restaurant eggs. Now I can make these delectable treats whenever I get the craving.

It’s like the old saying “Give a man an egg and he’ll eat for a day. Give a man careful instructions along with a couple of eggs, chives, parsley, shredded cheddar cheese, milk, pepper, salt, low-fat low-carb English muffins, a pan, a whisk, a spatula and a toaster and he’ll be one happy boy!”

Or something like that.

A Web Enema For Spidey

A new tie-in toy for The Amazing Spider Man in the Philippines offers kids a chance to toss rings over Spidey as he seems to be impaled on a tower of webbing.

Read more here.

Hey, Kids! Fun With Physics!

Megan Fox!! Nude!!!

Not really. Like Naked Jennifer Aniston Day earlier this year, I wanted to give this little blog a few more eyes upon it.

UPDATE 8:14 A.M.
Megan just sent in this picture. She's looking great.


Sometimes on a two-week vacation, especially after I’m several days into it, entropy sets in and I feel as though I’m slogging through molasses. That said, I made good progress on a new short story yesterday. I hope to finish it today and get it and this week’s earlier story edited and submitted over the weekend, along with writing the newspaper column. I plan to devote next week to the novel.

We’re still waiting for the power company to fix the low hanging power line in the back, basically reattaching it firmly to the neighbors’ house and rehanging it. They have also pledged to cut down the large cracked oak in the front. There are still people without power, so it could be a while. But my amazing precognition mojo tells me we’ll see them in the next day or two (of course, this is the same astoundingly reliable psychic ability that told me “Alcatraz will be a great TV show and will be on the air for many years and will make a lot of sense”).

Meanwhile, so you won’t feel you’ve wasted your time here today, I present Lightsaber Etiquette, not starring Megan Fox.

Soon...

Chili/Sacking

Yesterday was what we call a Good Day.

We turned up the music and chopped vegetable together and made a great pot of veggie chili, the kind that leaves your tongue burning for a hour afterwards (the chili-making came after a brief walk I took in the morning during which I discovered that my left hip joint is acting like it doesn’t want me to take walks).

The rest of the day was filled with writing, some movies, a nap, a brief power outage and a little reading. It was the first time we haven’t hosted some kind of cookout for Independence Day. I had a great time.

Just a few minutes ago I woke up from a dream that had me rushing to get ready for the first day of high school. Once I got to school, but before I went in, I wrote a short story in the car and was an hour late for classes. I don’t remember anything about the story except it concerned a young man named Sacking Forest, whose mother admitted to him she was high when she came up with that moniker. He didn’t mind being called Sack, though he preferred King.

I got up to write down that name.

I have to write another short story today. It doesn’t feel like a Sacking Forest kind of tale. But we’ll see.

Happy Fourth of July

I think it’s going to be a quiet holiday (figuratively speaking). We’re tired of the heat, so we’re staying in and having Norma Kay’s incredible veggie chili seasoned in part, I hope, with peppers from our garden.

For several years we watched Yankee Doodle Dandy and 1776 on the Fourth. We haven’t done that in quite a while, so those two classics are on the agenda today, along with A Capitol Fourth tonight on PBS.

As you can see, I prefer my Independence Day the traditional way: air-conditioned and without large sweaty crowds.

I also want to spend some extra time with our cat Clark. He had another seizure yesterday and every one of those drives home the point that he won’t be with us forever. We got him and his sister Lois in 1995 when they were but a few weeks old. Clark has been a great companion and one of the sweetest, gentlest souls I’ve ever known.

(Let me stop you right there before you get on your soapbox about animals not having souls. If you can claim some of the biggest assholes in history–Hitler, Stalin, and about half the people in the radio business have a soul–then my sweet little cat sure as hell has one. I am prepared to fight you on this one. So go put that soapbox away. It smells like that goop you’d get out of a Texaco restroom dispenser in 1971, anyway.)

Where was I? Oh, yeah. I intend to do a little writing this morning. My plan to resume the novel is in a holding pattern. I had two columns to write this week (one of which completely slipped my mind) and two stories (one that I didn’t know about until two days ago). The columns are done. Story #1 in 90% complete and will be finished today. I plan for story #2 to be done by Saturday. Then it’s back to the novel.

At some point today, I will sit down with my well-worn copy of the original tabloid size Captain America’s Bicentennial Battles, by a true genius and one of my heroes, Jack Kirby. I’ve told the story several times of how that comic, purchased during the summer of 1976 at some roadside store between here and Tennessee, helped me hang on to my sanity during a family vacation. I re-read it every July 4th.

I don’t plan to be on the Internet much today, if at all. Or the phone. If you have a Tweet for me or a Facebook message or a text or an email, I’ll see it Thursday.

Have a great holiday.

Radio Daze

Now and again, I will use this space to share with you Actual True Stories from my long radio career. You can tell I’m excited about this, because I capitalized some letters right smack dab in the middle of a sentence. Am I excited because the stories are multi-layered fables, fraught with hidden meaning and symbolism, offering life lessons couched in humorous terms?

Heck, no. I don’t even know what that means.

Actually, I’m excited to offer you Actual! True! Stories! From my long radio career (notice the exclamation points? I got extra excited that time) because of one simple reason: I don’t have to think up anything for this week’s column. Instead of trying to come up with a topic, then massaging the truth until it is a polished little nugget of entertainment, I just open the vault, pull out one of wacky things that actually happened to me, dust it off and then I can stretch out on the couch and watch American Pickers.

(That reminds me: I originally wanted to write this column about an odd fella I worked with several years ago. This guy had many interesting quirks, and one that was very disgusting. My wife, who is much smarter than I, suggested that the good-looking readers of this fine publication would not enjoy a column titled American Nose Picker. So you’ll have to ask me about that one when you see me standing at the one open lane at Wal-Mart.)

So sit back, get comfortable and prepare yourself to take a peek behind the scenes of the thrilling world of Small Town Radio! Small Town Radio is a field like no other, full of good people, unusual people and people who apparently suffered blows to the head early in life.

Here’s one example. Many years ago, a man who claimed to know a lot about radio actually uttered the following sentence to me in complete and total sincerity:

“We have to stop saying the word “country” on the radio because if people who don’t like country music tune in and don’t hear us say “country”, then they will have no idea they’re listening to country music!”

Believe me, I was looking around the room for the hidden cameras, but it was not a goof.

Want another story?

At one point in my career, I worked with a young man named Opie. Opie was an interesting guy. He, like me, knew early in life that he wanted to be on the radio. In fact, when he started at the radio station, he was so young that his parents had to drive him to work. He was enthusiastic, full of great ideas and he loved to be on the air. Eventually he joined me on the morning show.

But he was still young. Really young. This becomes important in just a bit.

First, I have another digression, but it, too, has a bearing on our story.

Sometimes in radio, individuals have been known to utter what my grandmother called “naughty words”. This probably doesn’t happen where you work, so feel free to be shocked and/or appalled. Maybe it happens because those individuals know they can’t say these words on the air and the repression and censorship foments into a brain soup of rebellion and anarchy.

Or maybe some people just like to cuss.

In any case, Opie had a small issue with knowing what was appropriate to say on the air and what was not. One morning, near the end of the broadcast, we were discussing ideas for the next day’s show. Every morning we tried to have a certain number of comedy sketches–or “bits”–ready for the show. As I recall, we had a good idea for a bit, but we hadn’t decided on a title.

Opie chose that moment to say, “What don’t we call it ****?”

****, by the way, is standing in for a naughty word. To be more specific, THE naughty word. And I don’t mean the one you’re thinking of. See, I know you think I mean ####, which was represented in the classic holiday film A Christmas Story by Ralphie saying, “Oh, fudge!” as the lug nuts from the family car went sailing into the night.

That’s a bad word, to be certain. The second worst. The worst is the one Opie said. This is the word that will cause an otherwise mild-mannered woman to stand up, smooth out her skirt, then stab you in the eyeballs with knitting needles.

And Opie thought we could use it on the air. I don’t know why. I could speculate, but this is the Freakin’ Beacon not Psychology Today.

I said, “We can’t say **** on the air.”

“What’s wrong with ****?” Opie said.

“If we say it, every woman in the audience will come to the station, carry us out to the parking lot and repeatedly run over us with their mini-vans,” I said.

Opie shook his head and smirked the smirk of the very young, confident that everyone older than him was a senile fuddy duddy.

If he hadn’t smirked, I probably wouldn’t have done what I did. In my defense, I was a lot younger then, and less responsible. I’m so much more mature now. In fact, I now only smirk three times a week.

At that time, the office manager of the station was a woman we’ll call Consuela. Consuela was, and is, pretty, smart, funny and sweet. Consuela also occasionally has what could be charitably called a short fuse. Especially when it came to dealing with Opie.

At this point in the day, Consuela was in the office with a gaggle of sales people and others who had business with the radio station.

“Okay,” I said to Opie, “Why don’t you go run your idea by Consuela? If she says okay, then we’ll do it.”

Opie’s face lit up. The senile fuddy duddy was caving in.

“Seriously?”

“Sure,” I said.

He hopped off his stool and practically sprinted to the office. I closed the studio door. I knew what was coming.

The way it was told to me by the survivors, Opie ran into the office where Consuela was having a conversation with someone in sales. Opie wasn’t big on patience, so he immediately interrupted.

“Hey, Consuela,” he said in his outside voice, “is it okay if we say **** on the radio?”

Inside the studio I was already under the console, curled into a fetal position with my arms over my head, increasing my chances of living through the shockwave.

My memories of the next few seconds are unclear. I recall a horrendous scream. The entire building shook as though it were resting on the San Andreas Fault. I heard another horrible noise, one that was eerily similar to the sound of a young man’s head being rammed repeatedly into a wall.

All I know for sure is that I eventually climbed from under the console and stood on shaky legs. My senses were rattled.

The studio door opened. Opie hobbled into the room. He looked older. He was slightly hunched over. His hair stood up in patches. His eyes were glazed.

We never spoke about what happened. And Opie never, ever said **** again.

Some day I have to ask Consuela for her side of the story. You’ll understand if I’m a little reluctant to bring it up.

Heed Her Well

This is Sabrina.

This is her creed.

Soon...

30 Years Ago They Said It Wouldn't Last

Yes, they really said it.

Dumbasses.

Welcome to Vacation and a Bit of Publishing News

I’m on vacation for two weeks beginning today, but the fun started last night with 70 mile-an-hour winds, which knocked down this tree in the back yard.


Fortunately, the tree missed the deck. Unfortunately (this isn’t visible in the photo) the upper end of this chunk of tree is on the power line, making it dangerous to attempt clean up and dragging the power line closer to the ground than anyone wants to see. This morning the power company has many customers without electricity, so, obviously, we aren’t very high on the priority list. The other thing that happened during the windstorm was this:


This big old tree in the front yard was actually cracked by the wind, not by lightning as some who have seen the tree suggested. There was no lightning until much later and we, you know, watched the tree bend and the crack appear, running from the base upward. As the wind gusted, the crack would widen then close, much like an accordion.

No one was hurt. The trees will be removed and life will return to as normal as it gets around here.

As for vacation, the next two weeks will be serious writing time, as I try to make significant inroads on the current novel. I may post my daily word count on my Facebook page as a motivational tool. If I can get motivated enough to do that.

As I hinted below, the first Dead Sheriff book is finally getting close to publication. I know I’ve been posting updates for what seems like years, but now the book is actually in production. The lesson I’ve learned is to stifle my excitement and wait until there’s something substantial to report before hyping a project.

The ebook should appear within weeks, with the trade paperback showing up this fall. The final piece of the puzzle was a new author photograph, which was taken by the immensely talented Heather Mattingly-May.


I’ll post ordering information for The Dead Sheriff: Zombie Damnation as soon as the ebook is available.

Soon...

12 Cats of the Zodiac

See it here.

At The Movies

Here’s my short review of Prometheus: I loved it.

I know, I know. Some science Fiction fans are foaming at the mouth because of scientific inaccuracies and such.

You want to know something? Usually when I see a movie, I want to like it. I’m not a professional film critic; I simply want to be entertained. And with Prometheus I got my money’s worth. Here’s what the movie has going for it:

1) It’s visually stunning. Incredible sets and effects.

2) An engrossing story of the search for mankind’s beginnings.

3) Tremendous acting, especially from Noomi Rapace, Idris Elba and Michael Fassbender.

4) An ending that surprised me.

5) Charlize Theron in tight clothing.

While others are arguing about flight vectors and fusion engines and the like, I’ll be seeing the movie again, and then standing in line for the Blu-Ray.

Where's Neelix?

Ethan Phillips, who played Neelix on Star Trek: Voyager, is starring in this movie tonight on SyFy. I had an interview scheduled with him Thursday to plug the flick.

There I was, ready to go, with all my little research notes, when the producer called to say, “There’s going to be a small delay.”

“What’s the problem?” I said.

‘We, uh, can’t find Ethan.”

So I went about my business and an hour or so later the producer called back to formally cancel the interview. They still couldn’t locate the actor. Neelix was apparently in hiding.

His latest credit is Arachnoquake, so you can’t really blame him. But, man, that spider looks SO real.

(And, yes, I’ll be watching this. I can’t help myself.)

Werepig Redux

I have been informed that my episode of The Funky Werepig from March will be repeated Friday at 9:00 P.M. (Eastern) while Pig Master Gregory Hall is summering in West Virginia.

If spending an hour listening a couple of disturbed adults discuss their love of Mary Lou Retton and unitards (not the only ‘tards on the show, if you can dig it), then listen here.

For the Facebookless

Not much posting lately, mainly because of time. Also, there's a short story that's kicking my ass. And every time I come over here, Google makes me sign in again, even though it used to remember my log-in. I get frustrated, curse Google and go read a Ray Bradbury story.

I post pretty regularly on the Facebook, though. For those who aren't members of that particular time-wasting club, here are some recent items.

There's this:


And the Apology List:



I found this particularly gut-busting:


Oh, and I'm in a relationship and it's not complicated (that's a shout out to those who used to be on Facebook).

The Boy That Bradbury Built

I first encountered Ray Bradbury in middle school. I believe that is the perfect time to meet Bradbury. Any younger and the wonder of his stories would have escaped me. Any older, and my focus would have been on girls and cars and football–the business of growing up. I would have read the words but perhaps missed most of the magic.

Instead, I was the perfect audience for Bradbury: shy, bespectacled, a quiet boy secretly yearning for adventure.

I don’t recall the first Bradbury story I read. However, I cannot forget the first story that had an impact on my young mind. It was “Mars is Heaven”.

A rocket is sent to the red planet to discover what happened to two previous expeditions. Upon landing, the rocket’s crew discovers an idyllic American small town, circa the 1920s, the perfect Bradbury town. The residents of the town are the deceased relatives of the astronauts, all in perfect health and leading an ideal life on the surface of Mars. Overcome with joy, the crew abandons the rocket to reunite with their long-lost loved ones. The only crew member who doesn’t trust what he sees is the captain, who suspects his men are being duped by telepathic creatures.

I had never read a story with that emotional heft (honestly, more heft than I was capable of processing. Still, like most kids who had read a lot by that age, I knew there was more going in in the story than I could see, even if I couldn’t grasp every nuance) and I remember lying awake in my bed for several nights, replaying the tale’s events over and over. I wasn’t sure what had happened or why I couldn’t stop thinking about “Mars is Heaven”.

What I didn’t realize until much later was that Ray Bradbury had changed me, as surely as if he had opened the top of my skull, reached into my brain and rearranged a few things. Because of Bradbury, I asked for a telescope and began searching for that tiny red speck in the sky. I read more Bradbury and discovered the magic and mystery that hid in autumn, of the ghosts and monsters who yearned for a better life just like the rest of us. Because of Bradbury, October became my favorite month and Halloween the most cherished holiday. I was transformed into the boy that Bradbury built.

I’m still that boy, all these years down the road. My life is richer for his works. Anytime I feel that old red planet slipping away from me, I just have to turn to my bookshelf, where the dinosaurs and little ghosts and rocket men are always there to welcome me home.

Pod of Horror #68: Joe R. Lansdale

Pod of Horror is back, and #68 features the legendary Joe R. Lansdale, plus newcomers Jonathan Janz and Ty Schwamberger, as well as the creator and host of The Funky Werepig, Greg Hall. Nanci Kalanta has the news, Jason L. Keene goes to the movies with Moonshine Matinee, and we give away swag in The Tomb of Trivia. Scary Words reviews Southard, Janz, Cato and Schwamberger. The fear is here with Pod of Horror #68, produced and hosted by Mark Justice. Get it now at iTunes or here.

Frustrated Writer

It has become difficult in the past 12 months to carve out a regular writing schedule. In fact, putting two good writing days together in a row is a rarity. Time has become a cherished luxury. Still, I’m pecking away at various things, including projects where the deadlines have passed. One is a short story and another is a novella. I’m not sure a market now exists for either, but they will get finished. I hate that I’m turning into The Guy Who Misses Deadlines. The only answer for now is to turn down projects until I’m caught up.

I’m also revising a big chunk of a horror novel that was abandoned a few years ago. So far, the suckage is less intense than I had feared.

I continue to write the weekly newspaper column. You can always read it here. I’ve changed my mind about reprinting some of the columns on this blog, at least for the time being. I’m in discussions about collecting some of them into book form for the holidays. If that doesn’t pan out, I’ll get back to posting some older columns here.

Book Update

In preparation for the release of Dead Earth: Sanctuary later this year (I hope), the e-book version of the first book in the series, Dead Earth: The Green Dawn is now free. Get the details here.

***

It seems that we finally have an official release date–or dates–for the first volume of The Dead Sheriff. Evileye Books has worked out their production snafus, and now plan to release the e-book in July and the trade paperback in October. It will be good to finally see this one in print.

Mailbag

(Originally published in The Ashland Beacon on 3-21-12)

There’s no room for a preamble. I’m here to serve and that means doling out well-researched answers to your vital questions, stat (note: we don’t actually have a budget for research. Maybe next year).

DrStrange1963 writes: “Dear Mark, Oreos or Hydrox?”

What? Are you kidding me? I type my fingers to the bone and this is the thanks I get? Ridiculous questions that are so obviously simple that Jessica Simpson could answer them.

On the other hand, you may be serious, so I will treat this topic seriously.

Oreos, ya big lummox! Is there a single person on the planet that wouldn’t pick the classic Oreo, with its perfect combination of delicious cookie and smooth and sweet cream over the cardboard and caulking of a Hydrox?

(By the way, no offense intended to those who love Hydrox–either of you. It’s just that you’re damaged in a deep and profound way, and should seek immediate counseling.)

If you’re still not convinced that Oreo is the superior cookie, then perhaps this will help. Do you know the origin of the Oreo, which debuted 100 years ago this very month? The creator of the cookie, a destitute baker named Hiram Oreo dozed off in his kitchen, exhausted from worrying about his money woes. While he slept, beautiful angels in bakers’ hats flew in through the window and whipped up the first batch of the world’s favorite cookie. Hiram awoke the next morning to find his kitchen filled with the baked goodness of the Greatest Cookie on Planet Earth. Hiram realized his fortune was about to change. He became rich, married a Kardashian, divorced a Kardashian and brought happiness to children of all ages with that cookie the angels made.

Now, let’s examine the beginnings of the Hydrox. In the early 20^th Century, an evil alien overlord arrived secretly on Earth from the planet Hydroxia 7. His goal: to take over the planet by brainwashing every man, woman and child with a tasty confection he sold under the name Hydrox. The cookies contained a potent devil’s brew of vicious chemicals designed to sap strength and destroy free will. The evil alien’s dastardly plan would have worked, if not for one small matter.

The cookies tasted worse than doggy doo-doo.

Apparently, the taste buds of the evil alien were hooked up backwards, compared to those of a human, leading to a cookie that is pictured in the dictionary next to the word “horrendous”.

So you tell me: Sweet angels or evil aliens. Which would you choose?

You may be wondering how I knew that Hydrox were less tasty than doggy doo-doo. It’s simple. When I was a kid, I gave a Hydrox to my dog. He spat it out and growled at me. Remember, this was a creature that spent much of the day licking his butt. I rest my case.

Our next email comes from BeckyShecky of Ironton, who says, “Dear Mark, I have jury duty in a few weeks. Have you ever served? What tips can you give me?”

Becky, I have served jury duty three separate times in my life, thus proving that I am a good citizen. And I believe I can offer a couple of tips that just might help you out.

Yes, it’s time for another Absolutely True Story from my exciting life.

One of the times I served on a jury, I was asked by the other jurors to be jury foreman (translation: none of the rest of them wanted to be bothered with it). The details of the case we heard aren’t important. I was fascinated to learn that one of the jurors–a senior citizen–slept through almost all of the testimony and no one–NO ONE–seemed to notice. And he snored!

Anyway, we heard one full day of testimony. The next morning, the two attorneys made their closing statements and the jury was ushered to our little room to deliberate. To get some idea of where we stood, I immediately asked for a vote. It was unanimous. It was 10:30 in the morning and we were through. Since the courthouse was located across the street from my office, my employer expected me back at work as soon as the trial finished. I had a lot of work piling up, so I was ready to leave. I thanked the jury and stood to summon the bailiff.

One of my fellow jurors–in fact, the older gentleman who had fallen asleep and snored in court–placed his hand on my arm and said, “Mark, if we stay here till noon, they have to feed us lunch, and today is meat loaf day.”

The other jurors nodded in agreement. We were staying for lunch. We sat in that little room for 90 minutes, making small talk and pretending we didn’t have a verdict. At noon we put in our lunch order. At one, I told the bailiff we had a verdict. The meat loaf was pretty good.

BeckyShecky, here are my two tips for your own jury duty: It’s okay to sleep in court. And if you’re still there at noon, they have to feed you. Good luck.

Look! An actual, real, not-made-up email from a living, breathing reader of the Freakin’ Beacon: Brent Ramey writes: Enjoyed reading your article. I too spent many a Saturday late night watching Chiller. It would be great to have a list of titles that ran on Chiller from the beginning to end. I am 50 years old now, however if I ever come across a 1950's or 60's Sci fi. I usually end up watching it. I have often thought is there somewhere in the world right now that is experiencing what our 50's and 60's were like. Technology though probably has ruined that chance!

Maybe they’re stuck in the 50s in Outer Mongolia. Back here at home, we have to create our own Chiller experience, with DVDs, popcorn and dressing up in scary makeup to crack jokes about the movies. At least that was my plan. My wife says I don’t need the makeup.

And one more, this time from Barry Grimm: I really enjoy your funny stories each week as I read the Beacon. Keep them coming.

Thank YOU, Barry. You keep reading and I’ll keep lying. Er, I mean, reporting the facts in a fair and unbalanced manner.

***

Mark Justice hosts The Breakfast Club weekdays on 105.7 WLGC. His email address is He really hates Hydrox.

Get Fit With Mr. Benefitness

Punch, punch, kick. If only everything were so simple.

Dude Drinks a Bottle of Mrs. Buttersworth

'Nuff Said.

Bonehead(s) of the Day

Wedding Fun: Mothers-In-Law Brawl

A wedding in Danvers, Massachusetts ended in a brawl with the groom’s mother being arrested.

The chaos started after the groom’s two younger brothers were denied booze at the bar

The 25-year-old brother punched a wall and began tearing apart the coatroom after someone from the bride’s side of the family told him to calm down.

When the bride’s brother approached, the groom punched him and the pair were soon tussling on the floor.

Then the groom’s mom attacked the bride’s mom. The groom's mom was arrested.

Full Story.

Bonehead of the Day

The Relationship May Be Over When He Chokes Her For Eating His Cannolis

A man in Florida attacked his girlfriend because she ate all of the cannolis.

He was so angry over the cannolis he flipped over a coffee table in the living room.

The girlfriend threw his dinner in the trash because she was mad at him. He then threw the food at her, hitting her in the shoulder and the face.

He pushed her to the ground, got on top of her and started choking her.

She was able to get away and call 911… he was arrested.

Full Story.

Argillite Secret Service: Operation Rome

(Originally published in the Ashland (KY) Beacon on April 4, 2012)

As regular readers of The Freakin’ Beacon know, at one time in my life I was employed by a top secret government agency.

That’s right. I was a Double-Naught Spy for the Argillite Secret Service, better known as the A.S.S.

While I can’t reveal details of my top secret assignments, even after all these years, I can tell you that one time I was preparing to embark on a mission to Italy. I had a few hours before my flight, so I decided to get a haircut.

I used a barber a few miles from the A.S.S. headquarters. The guy was sort of unpleasant and a know-it-all and he wasn’t too good at his job. But he was cheap. That was important on a government salary.

I got to Smiley’s Barber Shop just before closing, and I was the only customer.

“How you doing, Smiley?” I said.

“Lousy,” Smiley said. “What do ya need?”

“Uh, a haircut.”

Smiley sighed and gestured to his empty chair. I sat down.

“What’s new?” Smiley said, going into Conversation Auto-Pilot.

“Going on a trip.” I said.

“Where to?”

“Rome.”

“Rome? That’s a terrible city! It’s crowded and dirty and full of mafia types. How ya gettin’ there?”

“TWA,” I said.

“TWA? Their planes are old, the flight attendants are ugly and their food is awful! So where ya stayin’?”

“The International Marriott downtown,” I said.

“That dump? Are ya kiddin’ me? The rooms are tiny, the service is terrible and their food is the worst in town! So what are you going to do there?”

I couldn’t reveal the details of my mission, so I said,” Some boring work stuff. Then I’m going to tour the Vatican and try to see the Pope.”

Smiley barked out a laugh. “Fat chance! You and a million other people tryin’ to see him. He’ll look like an ant! Lots of luck, pal.”

He was still laughing as I left the barber shop.

I went to Rome, successfully completed my mission and even had time for a bit of sightseeing. I returned home a few weeks later, just in time for another haircut.

Smiley’s was again empty when I arrived.

“Look who’s back. The big-time world traveler,” Smiley said as I entered.

I settled in the chair and prepared for his volley of questions.

“So, how was the trip to Rome?” he said as he began the haircut.

“Fine,” I said.

“Right,” Smiley said with a chuckle. “So how bad was TWA? I bet it was the worst flight of your life.”

“Nope,” I said. “The plane was brand new. It was full, so they bumped me up to first class, where I had a gorgeous 25-year-old flight attendant and she served me some of the best food and wine I’ve ever had.”

In the mirror I saw Smiley frown. “Well, I bet the hotel was as bad as I said.”

“Sorry. They had just finished a 30 million dollar renovation. It’s now the finest hotel in Rome. The only problem was they were overbooked and ended up giving me the penthouse suite at no charge.”

Smiley was silent for a few seconds. The only sound was the metallic clicking of his scissors. Finally, he said, “I know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”

“That’s a funny story,” I said. “I booked a tour of the Vatican. As I was strolling around admiring the beautiful architecture and the magnificent artwork, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see one of the Swiss Guard. He said, ‘Pardon me, sir, but the Pope sometimes likes to meet a random tourist. Would you mind meeting him?’ I told him it would be my pleasure. He took me to a small, private room and asked me to wait there for a few minutes. He closed the door and I stood patiently. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door and in walked the Pope.”

Smiley stopped cutting my hair. In the mirror I saw his mouth hanging open in surprise.

“You got to meet the Pope?” he whispered.

“Yep,” I said.

“You. Some nobody from Argillite got to meet the biggest religious leader in the whole world.”

“That’s right.”

“So what happened??”

“Not much,” I said. “He shook my hand and asked me a question.”

“What question?” Smiley said. “What did the Pope ask you?”

“He said, ‘Where did you get that terrible haircut?’”

Mark Justice hosts The Breakfast Club weekdays on 105.7 WLGC. He no longer has his high security clearance, so don’t bother asking him about President Obama’s birth certificate.

Bonehead(s) of the Day

Drunk Grandparents Tow Kid in Car Behind SUV

A grandmother and grandfather in Sarasota, Florida were arrested for being drunk and towing their granddaughter in a toy plastic car from behind their SUV.

A cop spotted the SUV pulling a small plastic Hot Wheels car with the 7-year-old girl inside. The toy car was connected to the SUV with dog leashes tied to the trailer hitch.

The vehicle was traveling about five to 10 miles per hour, and a woman was riding in the rear with the hatch open, cheering the child on.

The grandfather was driving and was drunk… the grandmother was also wasted. Both were arrested on several charges.

The father was called to the scene and was very upset saying to his mom: "Are you f---ing stupid? You should know better!"

I think we can all agree that she is "f---ing stupid".

Starting Tomorrow

I'm going to begin a series of reprints of the humor column I do for a local paper. You have been warned.

Even Bigger Bonehead of the Day

Helpful tip: Don't put your explosive meth lab in your pants:

Bonehead of the Day

ELEMENTARY STUDENT URINATES ON COMPUTER CART... LESSON LEARNED: PEE MORE POWERFUL THAN MACBOOKS

UPPER ALLEN TOWNSHIP, Pa. -

An 11-year-old boy is accused of destroying thousands of dollars worth of computers by urinating on them.

On Wednesday, Upper Allen Township police said they were notified that a student at Upper Allen Elementary School urinated on a computer cart in a hallway at the school.

The cart contained MacBook computers worth more than $36,000, police said. The computers were damaged beyond repair, they said.

The boy faces charges of criminal mischief and institutional vandalism, police said.

(WGAL.com)

What Do you Call A Teenager Falling Into A Sink Hole?

If you said "A good start", you should be ashamed of yourself. I'm expecting my own shame to kick in any minute.

The Guilty Post

I realized that there has only been one post this month, so here’s a very brief update.

A couple of weeks ago, Dave Wilbanks and I signed off on the edits for Dead Earth: Sanctuary. It’s done and waiting on its slot in the Permuted Press publishing pipeline. When we have a publication date, I’ll let you know. 

Here's a new review of Looking at the World with Broken Glass in My Eye.


I have other projects in the work, though nothing is far enough along to announce.

To everyone’s surprise, my weekly humor column continues to appear in a local newspaper. You can read it online. I’ve had a promotion to page 2.


Finally, another Pod of Horror is in the works. I should have more information in about a week. PoH is something I love and the thing I have the least time to produce.

P.S. I HATE the new Blogger interface. The need to “improve” things until they are nearly unusable is an endless source of frustration. For example, see the large space after the book review link? It doesn't appear in the posting window and I have no idea how to fix it. If you have to contact tech support to type a few lines, the system is fucked.

New Review

My collection Looking at the World with Broken Glass in My Eye gets the thumbs-up from Gravedigger's Local 16.

You can read the review here and buy the book here.

Funkin' the Pig

I’ll be interviewed tonight on The Funky Werepig, the Internet radio show hosted by that wascally wastrel, Greg Hall. We’re likely to talk comics, Marie Osmond and horror. In fact, Marie’s plastic surgery may qualify as horror.

We’ll also talk about my books. There will be an update on The Dead Sheriff.

There’s a chat room, so feel free to join in.

The show is at 9:00 PM EST and can be found here.

Groovy Review

Here's a new review of my collection Looking at the World with Broken Glass in My Eye. If you’re so inclined, you can order the book by clicking on the title.

***

I need to plug one of my favorite sites, Diversions of the Groovy Kind, where the Groovy Agent keeps alive my favorite era of comics. Go on over there and browse the site. You’re bound to find something you like. I’ve personally wasted many hours reading his posts. Thanks, Groove!

Columns and Comics

While it’s still up, here the link to the current edition of the Ashland Beacon. My weekly column is on page 9, and it’s sort of about Chiller Theater, the monster movie showcase that ruled the Saturday night’s of my youth.

Also, I have a new column up at Horror World. You can read it here.

Our editor on Dead Earth: Sanctuary has returned the first round of suggestions on the novel. I’ll be going over those this week.

I’ve had an issue this week with my eyes which requires medication. It’s interfered with my reading. When I can read, I’ve been perusing graphic novels, a mixture of new and old stuff.

The old is mostly made up of my favorite era in comics: 1970s Marvel. It was a time where some incredible work was produced with apparently very little editorial supervision. That’s very much the opposite of how the big two seem to operate these days, where nearly every story beat seems to be planned out by executive committee. Both periods produced some real dreck, but the current era seems to be more craptacular. Of course, I’m old. So take this for what it’s worth.

Reboot/restarting an entire line of comics (as DC did last year, and Marvel is rumored to be doing) seems like such a cop out. I can’t argue with DC’s great success with their retooling of their books, yet rather than say “We’re in a rut. We have no good Superman stories left to tell”, why not find creators who are excited to take a shot at those iconic characters? You should never run out of good stories. Find better writers. Turn them loose. Tell your editors to take the broomsticks out of their collective ass, and have some fun again.