Tag Archives: apocalypse

It’s the End of the World!

Hmmm…August is flying down the road and will soon be a memory. Another month down, and another month closer to the end of the year, which as we all know, is the end of the world. *snicker, snort*

Earlier this year, a Flash Fiction piece of mine took second place in a writing contest hosted by The Write Place at The Write Time. The prompt was to use the Mayan 2012 cataclysm and a few choice words. Here’s the prize winning story. Oh, and what was the prize? I got to create the prompt for the new contest, of which there are a few weeks left. You should enter! Go to this link for the details.

Now on with the show…presenting “Hi Mom” for your amusement.

Stan was on the phone with his mother. Which meant that Stan was chained to his phone. It currently weighed 1000 pounds.

Mother was never one for the quick call. When Stan’s phone would ring, and he would look down at its screen to see who was calling, seeing “Mother” was always stressful.

Do I pick up? Do I really have an hour?

Mother not only couldn’t have a quick chat, when time finally came to end the call, she had to say goodbye at least six times, and in as many different ways.

At least half of the time, Stan would just let the call go to voice mail. Today, being the day that it was, he took the path of mercy and picked up the phone.

Today was supposedly the end of the world. December 21, 2012. At least that’s what every talking head had been blathering about for weeks now. Here was the big day, and Stan had pretty much turned everything off, as all the static was giving him a headache.

Mother was fully lathered up. She had always been one of those new age types. Pyramid power, ancient aliens, Bigfoot, ghosts, Ouija boards, angels, all that crap. And she was worried.

Currently, she was grinding on about the Winter Solstice and its importance to Druids. And the little folk.

Little folk? What the hell was she talking about?

Stan had perfected the art of the well-timed affirmative monosyllabic response.

Yeah?

Right.

Sure.

As long as he peppered his end of the conversation with these elements, Mother would continue without question. He just had to wait it out.

Had he taken precautions? Was he sad there would be no Christmas or New Year’s to celebrate?

Stan hadn’t even thought about that stuff. He had been too busy at work to even notice the holidays’ rapid approach. He didn’t really care.

You know this is the apocalypse today? Have you told your friends how much they mean to you?

Yeah. Right. Sure.

Mother was really testing his patience today. He tried to be a good son; it was the right thing to do. But Jesus, it could be really annoying.

The end will bring about the redemption of mankind.

Wow, she was really going at it today.

Redemption?

“Hey Mom, I gotta question for you,” said Stan.

Mother paused. She suddenly seemed very excited. “Go ahead dear.”

“This end of the world thing today. What time zone does it start in?”

“I am not sure I understand, sweetie.”

“Ok, so today is the end of the world. But what time zone determines that? It’s already tomorrow in Japan?”

The answer was not as fun as the question. She didn’t even realize he was messing with her. She went on and on about latitudes, longitudes, and something called ley lines.

For no real reason at all, Stan looked out the window, and noticed a massive burning meteor about to his apartment building.

“Mom, gotta go. Love you.”

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The Final Chapter: AUDIO DOWNLOAD

Here’s another piece from my recent studio work. It’s the reading of the conclusion rant for my novel, Leather to the Corinthians, originally posted here. No music yet, would anyone like to put together some loops or something for this? Let me know via my contact form, I am always looking to collaborate.

Rather read it, man you are so OLD SCHOOL: The Final Chapter

GoodReads Review: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

The RoadThe Road by Cormac McCarthy

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The third to last time I cried was when the Detroit Red Wings won the Stanley Cup in ’97.

The second to last time I cried was when my father died almost two years ago.

The last time I cried was when I read the ending of this book.

This is a masterpiece, straight-up future canonical apocalypse literature. McCarthy joins George Orwell, Aldous Huxley, Anthony Burgess, and the rest of the fun bunch. The world falls apart, and all that remains is the final days of a father and his son. READ IT AND WEEP.

View all my reviews

The Continuing Adventures of Jacob P. Smorely: Part 3 of 3

So, I pondered breaking up this last piece, but I figured I would just go ahead and post it. This short story/excerpt created a most curious response: THUNDEROUS SILENCE. I have posted a variety of material on my site, and I always get some kind of feedback. Here, nothing. Should I worry? Not sure, although being from my book I had hoped for something. HEADSCRATCHER LEVEL 10.

Hmmm, I do know that websites are perhaps not the best medium for fiction, although many folks do it just fine. Short pieces seem to do much better, and I get that. I figure I can either think, hey maybe my book really stinks, but honestly some very respectable folks have told me otherwise. I will say that as a small part of a much greater whole, it barely scratches the meta aspect of my novel and don’t let the simplicity and the absurdity of the story fool you, I mean to BURN THEIR PALACES DOWN.

Enjoy, and hey, why not share your thoughts? I very much welcome them.

…A day later, Jacob awoke to the beeping and booping of the native boys’ electronic games. Pulling himself out of his economy digs, he opened his tired eyes to the glory of a busy tribe at work with the daily chores. Jacob decided to walk over to Scratch’s Dart Swinger and stretch out a bit. As he walked across the camp, various members of the tribe waved and exposed various parts of their bodies.

“How utterly charming,” Jacob pronounced. Arriving at Scratch’s car, Jacob was promptly greeted by the manly leader.

“How the hell are ya?” Scratched asked.

“Dandy. Just dandy. What do we have in store for today?”

“Buddy, let me tell you, it’s gonna be a great day. I’m gonna have you come with me on a trading deal with the King of the Go Blow village, then we might visit one of the other tribes that wander this area. But first I have something to tell you.”

“What’s that, Scratch?”

“J, You don’t know how glad I am that you came out here. We sure had a blast the other night, and my people seem comfortable around you. And the bottom line is that we would like you to become an honorary member of the Dodge
Tribe.”

If you have ever been an adventurer/explorer (WSM, A/E), or have ever known one, then you know this is an offer that makes their pants wet. “Why, It would be an honor, Scratch.”

“Exactly. What it boils down to J, is that we need some exposure. That’s why I sent the release out. We need a man of your stature to do a nice, glossy travelogue and get us a bigger name. Think you can do it?”

“Why Scratch, consider it done.”

“Good. Now listen. This week we’ll just get down to business and you can walk around and observe and write down what you see. I assure you that I’ll have Full Access Press Passes set up for you so you can do what you do best. At the end of the week I’ll clue you into the final stage of your acceptance.”

Scratch and Jacob shook hands on the deal and so it went. The next week proved to be a highly educational and rewarding exchange of cultures that can be seen in the runaway bestseller The Dodge and I: The Continuing Adventures of Jacob P. Smorelv, on sale now, soon to be a major motion picture. However, due to certain Tribal Limitations, Jacob was not allowed to write about his final stage of acceptance into the tribe. However, various hints of evidence have been pieced together here for a Dramatic Recreation:

On that fateful morning, Scratch woke Jacob up early, so that they could leave the encampment without waking the tribe. The two friends walked in the early mist.

“Now is the time to conclude your greenhorn status. I will walk with you for many miles until we come to the Warrior’s Grove. It is there that you will engage in the time-release ritual.”

Jacob nodded and cleverly disguised his nervousness. “Of course, time honored, umm, release,” he said.

The invigorating preparatory hike was a good time for Jacob to gear up for the enigmatic ritual. As they walked through the wilderness, the serene surroundings calmed the adventurer down. Aside from the occasional early rush
Traffic Copter, the scenic hike proved a most valuable time killer. Eventually they reached the grove.

It was a large circular clearing surrounded by ancient trees. In the dead center was a beanbag, to which Scratch motioned.

“Sit.”

Jacob plopped down into the cushy seat.

“J, this is the Warrior’s Grove. All members of the tribe must come to this grove once in their life and commune with the Great One. You sit in the comfortable, form-fitting seat of time-honored tradition. Around you is a circle of old TV sets, which will be tuned in to a variety of entertaining channels. You are to sit here until you see a vision, a vision that will help the tribe in some way.”

Jacob nodded. “I understand. Piece of cake.”

Scratch continued. “In order to help bring about your vision, you will consume various cherry flavored Cough Syrups. Take these bottles and consume them now.”

Jacob took the bottles of Syrup from Scratch, and with great bravado, threw away the dosage cups that they came with. He proceeded to guzzle the medicine down.

“It is with deep admiration that I leave you to the Great One. May you score for our team,” said Scratch. The mighty warrior chief then turned and left the grove. Jacob’s head began to swim. As he watched the tubes flicker with informercials that became cartoons that became shouting preachers that became revolutionary new products, he felt his head weigh him down, and he slumped even further.

“Must remain vigilant,” he thought. “Vigil rust memains,” he said as he passed into blackness.

Day became night and it was the national anthem blaring on one of the TVs that brought Jacob into consciousness. Trying to shake off the cough syrup’s veil of obscurity, he looked about the grove. In the distance, there was a glimmer of light.

“Or was there?” though Jacob.

Yes, there was a light. A flashing point of blue light off in the distance. Knowing that it must be special, Jacob got up off his butt and ran for it. Although the light seemed far off, it was easy to get to and it was not long before Jacob reached it.

And there it was, a glorious flashing blue light suspended in the air, and below it, were boxes and boxes of new and exciting hair care products that the tribe was sure to enjoy. This was it! This was the sign that would assure Jacob an entry-level position in the tribe.

“Hey,” a disembodied voice boomed from above. “I thought you were gonna save some for me.”

Jacob tried to shake off the ultra strength cold medicine and look around the room. Looming over him was his good friend, the King.

“The Great One,” was all Jacob could say.

“Of course it’s all you can say, you’re all jacked up on the cough syrup we were supposed to share. I can’t trust you with anything. And you’ve got my toys allover the room.”

The King stormed out of the room, his face twisted into a mean pout. Jacob cracked a drunken smile.

Another adventure for the books.

The Continuing Adventures of Jacob P. Smorely: Part 2 of 3

And now, part 2 of our introduction to Scratch Microphone and the Dodge Tribe!

Suddenly, the brush rustled…

A tanned, muscle-bound stud with long braided hair and a designer loincloth pushed through.

“Hey, babe, that’s me,” said Scratch. He grabbed Jacob’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Damn glad to meet ya!”

Jacob managed a smile. Scratch returned with a mouthful of teeth. He grabbed the explorer by the arm and pulled him through the bushes and into the Tribe’s clearing. The majesty of the simple life of the nomad overwhelmed Jacob’s cultured noggin. Scratch noticed his astonishment and moved quickly to reassure him.

“Hey big guy, don’t worry. It’s gonna be a ball of fun. First, we’ll have a meet and greet over in the Elders’ Winnebago. Then you’ll get a low-fat shake to refresh yourself. After that, you’ll get an overview and guided tour of the campgrounds, followed by another low-fat shake. Then we’ll sit down and do the interview. We’ll wrap the official itinerary with a sensible dinner. Then it’s free time, when we sit down around the fire and sing jingles and shit like that. It’s light’s out promptly at one o’clock. Tomorrow you’ll get a continental breakfast and a chance to buy things in our gift shop.”

Realizing that he may have said too much too fast, Scrach watched Jacob’s blank face for the telltale signs.

“Such a simple life. What a treat it will be to get away from busy civilization and retreat back to simpler times. I relish my visit. Let it begin,” Jacob boomed.

And so the whirlwind day of big time Public Relations began. And when the day concluded, Jacob found himself with the rest of the tribe, one with the tribe, sitting around the fire, passing the crack pipe and reflecting on the nature of life and things.

Scratch stood up under the clear night sky, and the tribe’s mutterings and utterings silenced.

“Tonight is one of those special nights, one of those nights when we have the privilege of having such an honored guest on the program. After having spent a killer day with a great guy, I would just like to introduce him. Everyone, put your hands together for one helluva guy, JACOB P. SMORELY!” proclaimed Scratch.

Jacob stood up and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. Today has been just fan-tas-tic. I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve gotten to love you,’ and I must say that I am impressed by your streamlined nature-boy lifestyle and your great sense of humor. I would also like to say that it’s rare that I really like somebody, and this is one of those times. I’m pleased as punch that I came out and I assure you that this is the beginning of a lasting partnership that will yield substantial dividends for all.”

The tribe clapped with enthusiasm. On that note, the tribe DJ threw on some tunes and the tribe began to get down. Jacob got down with them. And so the throng of people partied until the early hours of morning, when they finally dropped from weariness. Jacob crawled into a small compact car, leaned the seat back and closed his eyes…

Part 3 tomorrow!

The Final Chapter

The rousing conclusion to my INCREDIBLE novel, Leather to the Corinthians, which will be available later this year. Enjoy.

It’s now that time on the show when we turn to our personal hand-tooled leather bound copy of the Book of Revelations and Traditional Wok Cooking the Old School Way.

Turn to Page 3.

The Book Of Revelations is your handy guide to the obvious signs that the sky is falling, Chicken Littles. The low priests in the high office and the high-on priests in the front office have convened over beers and burritos, sacrificed two small barnyard animals and have DINED AND DASHED. They have scoped out the scenery and it does not bode well.

The dark shadow trail of Armageddon has loomed above us, and jeez, do you know how much a movie costs these days? It’s like they make popcorn out of solid gold. They want you to stay home.

It is said that a lone figure, distant and unclear, will step to the plate and callout the downward spiral of life on this miserable speck of a speck on the Demigod of the Month’s sorry, omnipotent, pimply ass. This figure brandishes a trumpet to punctuate every end-of-life-as-we-know-it Kodak moment.

And when that dark Big Band Sound starts to wail, baby, and get ready to dig the bitter end.

The trumpet blows once, and your Ed McMahon sealed envelope with your possible winnings arrives via registered mail to you EI Rancho Villa style home. This envelope, along with all its contents spells, when the first letter of every sentence in the Free Truck Early-Bird Offer, the word Babylon, which of course is an anagram for SPAM IS COMING. This is also known as the opening of the first seal act, or the falling of the tower of Potted Meat Product.

The What’s On Second Seal is all that typical stuff: the sea turns to fire, the moon becomes the color of money, no smoking signs go up everywhere, the animals finally admit they can talk, and hailstones the size of volleyballs fall to Earth causing irreparable damage to Gulf Coast homes with no hurricane insurance. After the opening of the second seal, clothing decorated with Professional Athletic Team logos is suddenly affordable.

The first stage of the Apocalypse, consisting of the opening of the first and 2nd seals will last approximately 6 months, to begin on a Monday and end on a Monday, with one long weekend off so that everyone can get to know the Antichrist on a private junket to Barbados. Pack sunscreen. Continue reading The Final Chapter