The Harry Potter Short Story

15 July 2013

Some while back I published one of my short stories.  It’s title: Harry Potter, the Rest of the Story.  As you might imagine, it pokes a bit of fun at the little wizard and his hardy band of hangers-on (Ron, Dumbledore, etc.).  I put it up for sale on both Amazon and Smashwords.

Well, wouldn’t you know, the first person to read the story was some little twit who, by what he said in his diatribe, seems to believe these fictional characters are real.  He seemed hurt that I would, “Mock Harry Potter”.  If he knew what the word “blasphemy” meant, I’m sure he would have accused me of it.  But, here, let me quote his own words:

THIS BOOK MOCKS THE HARRY POTTER SERIES!!!!!!!!!!!! I have read all the Harry Potter books and the book is stupid!!!!! What is the author of this book thinking????!!!!!!?????

See what I mean?  If this little twerp gets all hot and bothered over this Harry Potter nonsense, he doesn’t have enough wholesome activities in his life.  Instead of sitting around with his hand in his pants watching Harry Potter movies, he might go outside, get some sunshine and listen to the birds.

Judging by his style, he can’t be more than twelve years old so I suppose I should cut him some slack, and so I shall.  But I think his parents are derelict in their duties by letting him fill his mind with such drivel.  Harry Potter is definitely not good literature and children should not read it.  The Harry Potter stuff can cause them to lose the distinction between fact and fiction.  And maybe cause hair to grow in their palms..

However, lest you think this is all sour grapes on my part, I should point out that of all the trash I’ve written, this little story is my best seller.

If you want to check it out the story for yourselves, click this link:  It’s only ninety-nice cents.


Love Client No9

14 July 2013

Love Client Nbr. 9 – The Elliot Spitzer Song.

                (With apologies to The Coasters)


I took my johnson down to Mother Ruth

        You know that hooker with the gold-capped tooth

She runs a house down on thirty-fourth and Vine

        Where she’s been looking for

                             Love Client No 9.


I told her I’m a flop with chicks

           I’ve been this way since 1996

She looked at my shlong and made a magic sign

            She said “You’re gonna be my

                                 Love Client Nbr. 9.”


She bent down and turned around and gave me a wink

          She said “I’ll grab my ankles right here in the sink”


It smelled like rotting fish!

It looked like India ink!

A great big ass!

A hairy mass!

Oh what a stink!


I started banging everything in sight

          I told Ruthie that her shit worked right

But when I sent her money on the telephone line

          The Feds went and busted

                                 Love Client Nbr. 9


Not Much to Say

11 July 2013

I really don’t have much to say today.  But as I haven’t posted anything in a while, I thought I’d say it anyway.

The weather around here is simply stunning.  After spending a couple of weeks back in the home country of Illinois, I appreciate this place all the more.  We have  . . .  Well, lots.

The farm across the way is expanding.  They breed, raise and train racehorses and champion cattle.  Mules, too, once in a while.  Yesterday they brought in some bulldozers and other stuff.  I have no idea what they’re up to, but it’ll emerge.  This is good as it represents a capital investment.

One of the cats got loose yesterday.  Sweetpea climbed over the edge of the upper deck and landed on the deck below.  Jo happened to be close by and saw her go over.  I came down here to the office and let her in.  She’s none the worse for wear.

I’ve been tending the lawn and garden more this year than ever before.  This is because Jo and I have reached an understanding: I’ll go out when I feel like it and do what I feel like doing and Jo will keep her tongue in her face.  I don’t like being prompted and hectored.

The old Camry did us proud.  She has over 280,000 miles on the odometer.  She used but 1.5 quarts of oil on our vacation of some 5,000 miles.  Inside and out, she looks a quarter her age.  On said trip, we measured the mileage on slow roads (>65 mph) with the AC off kept off; she got 35 mpg.  But a headlight burnt out yesterday, so it’s off to the parts store.  I may as well get a new wiper blade while I’m there.

My boss from the Santa gig called on the 4th of July, as is his yearly custom.  I told him that, yes, I’ll be playing the Jolly Olde Elf again in 2013.  The boss went on to say he had something else he wanted to talk to me about but it’d be a couple of weeks yet.  Wonder what it is?  Maybe it’s an overseas assignment.  Japan has been known to pay old, fat, dudes with white beards upwards of $30,000 to play a six-week gig.  I have my name on the lists of several agencies.

Our good friend, E,  is coming by for dinner in a couple of hours.  I’d better vacuum the rug and dust the furniture.

Oh, and here comes Sweatpea to interrupt.  Guess I’d better get going.