Metazen's Christmas Charity E-book

Okay, good hearted people, here are instructions for reading some great literature and feeling good about yourself this holiday season.

1- Download Metazen's free Christmas Charity E-book. (I had to register with ISSUU, then choose the pdf option, but the process was mostly painless.)

2- Admire the sexy cover. Proceed to page 109 and read Midnight at the Cab Stand by My Own Bad Self. Browse around and read some other stories*, too.

3- If you can, make a small donation to a worthy cause, the Sunrise Children’s Village Orphanage in Siam Reap, Cambodia.

4- Return to googling "cheerleader's bikini car wash", "beefcake on the beach", or whatever you were doing previously. But feel smug about yourself as you do.


*-Metazen is a great journal edited by talented artists. I am proud to be associated with this project, and my story is fairly tame. HOWEVER, the language and content of some stories may be a bit, well, more risqué than some conservative readers might expect to find in a Christmas book. Hence this disclaimer: I accept no responsibility for words other than my own.

You were warned.

A Post-Modern Country and Western Song: Patty Melted My Heart

Patty Melted My Heart


I was sitting in the Hardee’s in Harlan, Kentucky

when Patty said we were through.

I laid my sandwich down on the table

and said, "Darling, please say it ain’t true."



I looked in her eyes across an ocean of soda,

I said, "Sweetheart, please don’t make me cry."

She said, "My mind’s made up. There’s only one question left:

You gonna finish that fried apple pie?"



(Chorus)

It was a fast food fiasco, a French fried disaster.

She sugar coated the truth, then left me soon after.

My courtesy card ran to two or three chapters.

Patty melted my heart.



I sat in the booth and tried to be stoic,

to accept my defeat with true grace.

I wiped away tears with the back of my sleeve,

left a big mustard stain on my face.



Patty paused at the door as she was walking away,

I’ll never forget what she said:

"Did you slit yore wrists when I went to whizz,

or is that just ketchup instead?"


(Repeat Chorus)

It was a fast food fiasco, a French fried disaster.

She sugar coated the truth, then left me soon after.

My courtesy card ran to two or three chapters.

Patty melted my heart.


(I published this as a Facebook note a couple of years ago. Since my circle of online friends has increased considerably since, I decided it would be fun to repeat in this space.)

Sign of the Times (and some stories, too)

To begin with, I am proud to have had a couple of stories accepted recently. The previously unpublished Breakfast in a Macon Diner appeared in A-Minor Magazine and The Hammer and Sickle Tattoo in Dew on the Kudzu. Big thanks to Sheldon and Idgie for liking them.

I've had a ton of fun taking pot shots at Kentucky signage, but lately I'm feeling somber. A locally owned, indie grocery store in Richmond, in business far longer than I've been a Kentuckian, recently shut its doors.



A few weeks later the restaurant next door, another Richmond landmark, took a break from their usual advertisement of soup-and-sandwich specials to post the following:



(For a larger image click here.)

The sign says, "Without your business we will have to close".

Things are tough all over. I hope you, dear reader, are faring better than this #%#$@&% economy. Until next time.