Monday, July 18, 2011

Bad Omen Snowmen

Bad Omen Snowmen

I know Snowmen are Satanic
Crooked carrot noses
Stick hands
Beady black eyes
They hide their Devil horns
Under their Abe Lincoln hats
Across the street one stares at me

I know he will bring a legion of his demon buddies
And make a Pentagram of snowballs
On my driveway.
Last year I preemptively protected myself
With a flamethrower
Now the neighbor kid has a restraining order
So I sit in my screened in porch

I know that the priest who was in line at the bank
Disagrees with my theology
So I disagreed with his face
Hard. With my fist.
Later I fell asleep in my adirondack chair
When I woke up the number of the beast
Was frosted on my window
There is only one suspect.

I know that everyone thinks I am crazy
But they are wrong
Beelzebub is crazy
Rolling up snow shaped people
That is the crazy
Not letting a Veteran of America's Foreign Wars
Use his own mother f---ing flamethrower
From his own mother f---ing screened in porch
That is crazy

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Royals Authority Story Contest

Today I won a writing contest over at Royals Authority.
A Royal Holiday

There is a holiday that is much more sacred to me than the one America uses to buy ties for the people they disappoint. On this day each spring there is a solstice inside my soul that summons forth the summer. That highest of holy days is none other than Royals Opening Day.

As a nerdy non-athlete who made excel spreadsheets containing the batting averages of others, I had very little time to devote to actually playing baseball. Even watching baseball was rare because cable was for rich people and we were off brand cereal folk. I was a preteen anachronism, a kid growing up in the early nineties thinking that Baseball was only to be listened to. My secret lullaby each night was Denny Mathews and Fred White (along with producer/engineer Don Free), but beyond my imagination I hardly ever saw the game.

Read the whole Essay here

Wednesday, January 05, 2011

The Ballad of Brandon Loving: An Adventurer


On a starless night our story begins
A tale of conquering evil to win
Back the honor of a virtuous maiden
Enter Adventurer Loving, Brandon

Part I

Carrying paint, paintbrush, and sword
He slashed through the forest looking toward
The square bear lair, beyond the horizon
There he’ll avenge her. Tonight he will fight him.

The Square Bear had stolen a personal portrait
That Brandon painted of his love in a corset
The maiden, embarrassed, sat a home in her castle
While Brandon set out to de-square that asshole

He entered the quadrilateral’s lair
And called out deep into the cave of the bear
“Come forth and fight me you hideous beast
I am planning on having a bear rump roast feast”

But no sound occurred so the brave one named Brandon
Donned his head flashlight and went deeper within
Sword drawn, he walked and then stopped to admire
The wall art of cavemen dancing around a fire

He took out his paintbrush and started to paint
His own cave illustration, realistic yet quaint.
Then from behind him he heard a great roar
That shook the square lair right down to the floor

The hideous brown one clawed at his back
Knocking his sword from its sheath down a crack.
Unarmed the Adventurer turned back to face
The bear that possessed the painting he chased

Courageously Brandon leapt toward the art thief
He tackled and smothered the square one beneath
His own grizzly beard. The brown bear surrendered
And told the artist that the painting he’d rendered

Was “Sold to the Boat Goat a fortnight ago
And I’ll give you directions if you just let me go”
Reluctantly Brandon relinquished his beard
And learned that the Boat Goat lived rather near

Part II

In a flash he was off to seek his new foe
Bear blood in his teeth and in his beard-fro
Mr. Loving soon found the water he sought,
But the Goat Moat flowed swiftly so quickly he thought

That in order to find this Boat Goat and his ship
He’d have to be willing to go for a dip.
Disrobing and holding his paintbrush in hand
Brandon dove into the Goat Moat from the land

Using his art supplies as a crude surf board
The Adventurer soon was moving toward
The Boat Goat in the Moat nimbly afloat
On a paintbrush shirtless with paint in tote

He came upon the vessel at the rear
And mounted it stealthily showing no fear
He stared into the eyes of the four-legged sailor
Who stood in the sun despite his fur’s pallor

“Looking for Adventure or Art?” the goat asked
“I’m Looking to kick some Moat Boat Goat Ass”
Screamed Brandon as he took the back of his paintbrush
And Impaled the pale one with righteous disgust

“Where is the painting I made of my maiden?”
The Goat softly whispered as Brandon laid him
Down on the deck, wrenching his weapon free
“I hid it away amongst the Sneeze Trees”

Part III

With those last words his foe was no more
But he was in the same place as before
He began again an adventurous journey
To find the painting of her who was worthy

The Sneeze Trees were located deep in the woods
And were known for strange storage of artistic goods
He knew he had found the place when on high
Mucus and spittle rained down in his eyes

He dug through the piles of discarded wares
Looking for a glimpse of his maiden fair
He found no other art like his photo realism
The Trees seemed to sneeze on Brandon’s idealism

Then under a bush between reprints of Dali
And a Thomas Kinkade light painting called “Polly”
The magical face of his beautiful bride
Untouched by the Sneeze Trees Mucus-y tide


Brandon protected the portrait and ran
Out of the Sneeze Trees and their horrible land.
He returned to the castle and to fair Emily
And they lived happy forever adventurously.