Story on Demand: Let’s Process our Feelings.

Man, it’s getting dusty in this here blog.  I’m going to kick of this week’s Story on Demand early, just to force myself to show some bloggy-love.

This week – how about a topic? Like, Cheerios vs. Honey Nut:Discuss. I’m trying to stay focused on the last stretch of the book’s rough draft — so maybe questions?

YEAH. I will answer all questions submitted, to the best of my ability and liberally sprinkled with lies and deceit.


Quiet as a tomb.

The blog’s been quiet this week — mainly just me pushing my friends’ projects on you. If you’ll notice the sidebar, I’ve actually been getting some writing done — I’m in the last leg of the “book” and can see the finish line in sight.

Artist - Eric Kumsomboone

So…yeah…….deal with it?

I’m a bully.

Hey, you nerds — give me your lunch money. And put it in this jar.

As anxious/neurotic/nervous I am about promoting my own stuff, and even admitting that I’m creating anything — I am a tireless jerk windbag when pushing my friends’ projects.

This is my friend, Dustin:

Dustin Ah Kuoi - Suspected Power Ranger


Isn’t he dreamy?



Dustin is an excellent singer, an earnest songwriter, and entirely too nice.

He wants to record a solo album, and we’re going to give him some money to do it.


Dustin Ah Kuoi – Kickstarter


He’s a great guy making great music. Do it and nobody gets hurt — further.

I’ve already decided what song I’m going to make Dustin sing for my Kickstarter Reward:

Disney – Tangled Soundtrack

So make with the money!!!

N. E. White

Can’t claim credit for that. Really. I want to, but obiwannabe is the guilty party. Go check out his blog and remember to inundate his comment section when he asks you to. I dare you.

What is it that grips a completely normal person and turns them into a hideous recluse spouting at imaginary people who run around slicing off Kings’ heads and spearing babes?

Well, it’s their third nipple, of course.

You see, some of us are born with an extra one. As obiwannabe explains, it is normally not talked about in polite conversation so many of us who have one are not even aware we got an extra nipple running around on our torso, even though we’ve had them all our lives.

I found mine last week. It peeked out at me from under my armpit.

I said to it, “What are you doing there, Third Nipple?…

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Shakespeare 2012

[I don’t normally include the explanation at the top — but this one is a doozy. This idea was submitted on Facebook by Allen.]

“Othello is running for reelection. Henry V is the GOP nominee. They wait in the green room to begin a televised debate when, suddenly, a young woman collapses of stroke. who is she? Two paramedics arrive as the scene opens.”


Enter two paramedics.


Summoned we have been, to the house

of light and sound – the television studio

where all visions fantastical

leap o’er the air to the shining

squares in each and every good man’s

noble den, couch-front and shining.



What is the sport? What

dire sickness or mortal wound

summons our white chariot

red lights flashing like

the red eye of Jove himself?



I know not, friend  —-

but I see presently a stout porter comes

henceforth to lead us to our

duty and sacred charge.


A television producer enters, bearing a clipboard.


Ah, medics — at last you arrive

fast as Hermes’ to your duty

and sacred charge — well met!



What sickness or ill calls us to this place?

Speak quick — swift action is the blessing of all

who ail and require our skill and succor.



Come hence.


The three discover HENRY V, one time King of England and France — and OTHELLO, a moor. They crouch over the still form of a young woman. The paramedics rush to the woman’s side and begin tending to her.


Honored nobles, please come away and

allow these men to fulfill their charge.

The people of America wait for you to speak

and fill their hearts with the message of

your glory, vouchsafe the country’s goals

and seize the crown imperial through

this televised debate — the time of choosing

is nigh — we must begin this play of words

‘ere more sands fall through the hourglass.



Jupiter and blessed Pallas Athene!

I do pray this young girl can be

returned to full health and vital

how strange that she should fall

ill here, and swoon into the bosom

of foul sleep ‘ere she could

speak her dire message.



Uh huh.



What means this, friend Hal?

I know we disagree most bitterly

on the course and tack of this country’s ship.

But surely you do not suggest that I—



Look, buster. I think we all know about you  and the ladies.



Your words are dross, instead of true-gold.

How can you speak with the split tongue

of a garter snake — here on the cusp of our debate?

To take this poor woman’s fate and twist it to

suit your minstrel-song and mechanical-pander.



Or should I say…..girls?



Listen here, you mealy mouthed motherfucker —



Hark! She breathes, the flame of life

still burns within her mortal frame.

Our duty and sacred charge has been

well served here this day, this time

of legends!


The woman rises and approaches the two candidates.


Look upon my face and know despair

twenty fathoms deep your heart thrown

in iron shackles beneath the blue-green

waves of Poseidon’s kingdom.



O, horror!






I served your purpose, and served your lust–

a chattel born to the lash is better served

by a quarry’s cruel labor then I was served

by you two princes of the earth.

To take a poor widow, kept in a house

with madmen and waggle-doctors —

to make me scribe your words,

plan your campaign, even pick

out the color of your tie.

Neither of you have half the manhood that I can claim.

you are bitter, empty things — gourds full of sound and air.

And now, here on the edge of your greatest glory

I come— I come to strike you down



Who are you, strange woman?



Look — could you not — shit.


OTHELLO falls on his sword. No one notices.



I am the kingmaker — I am the queen of iron

behind the prince of straw, spinning quiet webs

and laying plans for these fools’ victory.

And I will have my cup overflow with

revenge and the blood of those who have

wronged me.



Hey — Lady M. I think you spilled some barbecue sauce on your dress. It’s right there….on your sleeve.


LADY MACBETH begins to tear at her clothing.



Out! Out! Damn–


A ravenous bear enters. 


EXEUNT all pursued by bear.