Smokey Mountain Breakdown

A friend observed that the insects were going silent and the birds were gathering, talking in their little groups of leaving the mountains. It's early for this yet and I wonder if it has anything to do with the coming storm.

My story, Collectors, was accepted today by Up the Staircase. It's a newer publication but I've been following them from the start and have been really impressed. Go have a look at them--they have some gorgeous photos of Savannah and Bonaventure Cemetery. Bonaventure is where my family's burial plot is--and the cemetery made famous by Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. I think it was pretty famous before.

When I was little, we would drive through there on Sundays and just drive around. We'd visit Gracie Watson's tomb. I grew up on tales on long-dead children. I never thought it particularly peculiar, though in hindsight, the fact that my mother and I haunted graveyards as often as we did--thoroughly enjoying the company of these ghosts, does seem odd.

Collectors is about another activity my mother and I sometimes enjoyed. You'll be able to read it on October 1st.

Back to Porn and Donuts!

*****************************

Officer Jack Hensley washed the sugar from his hands in the men’s room of the Kingston Pike Krispy-Kreme Doughnut shop. He was burning an ever-shorter candle at both ends to supplement his low cop’s pay. Despite several attempts at the detective’s exam, he had not yet passed. He stopped at the doughnut shop for a sugar and caffeine fix each night before going to his night job. Jack had turned sideways and sucked his gut in when Lucius locked eyes with him.

They looked at each other with equal discomfort before obeying the unspoken rule forbidding eye contact. Jack slid his utility belt back and forth as if adjusting it. Lucius fled into a stall and tried to lock the door behind him. He settled on sitting on the toilet with one hand propping the door closed. Jack cleared his throat and left the restroom.

Lucius sat on the commode feeling panicked. He stared at the broken latch on the door. His fingers tugged then twisted the lacy fabric hanging from his shirtfront. Sweat beaded on his forehead while he wondered what to do. The cherry scented deodorizer made him nauseous. The teddy broke free, taking a shirt button with it. He balled the scrap of fabric in his fist and shoved it in the wastebasket.

Lucius washed his face at the sink, tidying himself. He stuck his head under the faucet to rinse off the frosting still gluing his hair together. He dried off with paper towels then ran his fingers through his wet hair. The simple tasks calmed him a bit.

He took some comfort he had not heard any sort of disturbance from the shop. He took several deep breaths before leaving the safety of the men’s room and looked over to the service bar where Kellie sat.

The cop was leaning one hip against the counter talking to Kellie. She laughed at something he said and playfully touched his arm. Lucius thought she lingered a bit when she did so. Kellie leaned forward letting Jack get a good look down her shirt. Lucius forgot any fear he had been feeling about the cop.

He stomped over to his stool and sat down. He kept sullen eyes on his doughnuts then started dumping sugar packets into his coffee. He picked up one of the glazed and took a savage bite. The warm pastry stuck to the roof of his mouth like white bread.

“So who’s your friend?” Lucius growled through a mouthful of doughnut.

Everyone here in Cocke County, TN has their knickers in a twist about Outsiders Inn, CMT's new reality(which they define loosely as staged and scripted scenes with ad libs and non-actors) spin-off of Gone Country. There has been outrage over how the series portrayed our local people, or rather how it didn't. All of the locals appearing in the series were actors drawn from the pool of talent that populates Pigeon Forge's stage shows--Central Casting for Southern-Stereotypes-R-Us. Which is fine for Pigeon Forge and Dollywood, but misleading when presenting the program as a "reality" show. It's not. It's just bad, bad retroscripting. The trick with retroscripting is that you actually need actors--good ones--to pull it off. Outsider's Inn is sadly lacking in that department and many others.

Everyone in town was excited this June while it was in principal photography out at Christopher Place. But if you've watched the programming on CMT, it shouldn't have been a surprise that the channel that brings us My Big Redneck Wedding, makes its bread and butter from exploiting Southern stereotypes and mocking its fan base should do anything different with Cocke County.

My sister tells this story about how embarrassed she would be when her dates came to pick her up at our grandparent's house. Mutt and Papa loved Hee-Haw. They were also quite deaf so they kept the volume turned up on the TV really loud. Outsiders Inn is going for that Hee Haw vibe. The problem is that it doesn't have the astounding brilliance of the Grand Ole Opry talent behind it. There really isn't any talent to speak of. Hemorrhoids just aren't that funny--particularly on Carnie Wilson.

In short, the show is insulting not just to Cocke Countians, but to Appalachian people, Tennesseans and to Southerners in general. It's also insulting because of the amateurish production values. It's the sort of show that is useless for anyone's resume--the sort of show you grab the money then deny like hell you worked on it. It's a truckstop prostitute of a TV program and no one is going to want to admit they had anything to do with it. But if you insist on viewing the Credit Roll of Shame--it can be found on IMDb.

To make matters worse, Cocke County Mayor, Iliff McMahan Jr., willingly cast in the role of hick mayor, was reported by the National Enquirer to have brought quarts of moonshine as gifts to the cast members. I would have to consume way too much untaxed liquor to blab to the Enquirer. No one, thus far, has admitted to being the Enquirer's source.

Cocke County needs to dust themselves off from this bad experience. It's okay to be outraged but realize the insult was far broader than just Cocke County. CMT needs to stick with the music--or at least revamp its sixty years out-of-date image of what country music entertainment and its fans look like. Last I checked, overalls and checked shirts were not involved.

Back when I was working in the film industry, we had this thing we'd say when a set-up was going overlong or we were losing light.

Let's shoot this puppy before it turns into a dog.

Outsiders Inn was barking in pre-production--why didn't anyone hear it?

More Reviews and Articles:

KnoxNews Review

Johnson: 'Outsiders Inn' out of bounds in Appalachia

Enquirer's mayor and moonshine article attracts attention

They call them "Mankillers" here in the Appalachians. The sting is said to be nearly deadly and more painful than death and they can kill cattle it is said. They fly at night and are attracted to lights. It's the European or Giant Hornet...only surpassed by their somewhat larger cousin the Asian Giant hornet.

Often, you will see their two foot or larger long nests displayed in homes or stores throughout the Appalachian area as a piece of natural art. I have an old photo of my grandmother seated in front of such a nest. I've always wanted to find one myself.

One bit of folklore about the hornets is that if their nests are built low to the ground, a hard winter follows. It's one of my favorite Appalachian weather myths, along with the number of thunder storms in May equaling the number of snows coming in the next winter.

You can follow a mankiller back to her nest by following her--they fly in straight lines--but the closer you get to the nest, the more likely it is you will suffer one of their ferocious stings. They are pretty docile and slow-flying away from the nest. But an inch and a half wasp, is not a creature you want to aggravate. They look so much bigger, too, when they are flying.

The most annoying thing about them is the night flying business. While Scott was here, he kept leaving the door open at night and he managed to let five in the house. He's really tall, Friend Scott is, so I let him kill them while I cowered in the hallway yipping little screams every time the thing zoomed by. When you kill that many giant stinging insects, you start feeling like your skin is a bit crawly. So we both sat there twitching and slapping ourselves.

Okay, I've fallen a bit behind.

I had a wonderful day with Friend Scott, yesterday. People were civil and no fights erupted at the Hall Family Reunion--though he claims he got cussed out three times and wandered into the aftermath of a dreadful domestic dispute before he got to my house.

"Why didn't you just come here when you saw the cop cars?" I ask, because that's what I'd do. I'd get away from a dreadful situation like that once the cops were there. Because I hate a scene. People love scenes here.

"But I just had to find out what was going on!"

Typical Scott. He had to drive back to Texas this morning with a trailer of Standardbreds for a horse something in Fort Worth. He sleeps with the horses while he's there and they keep him up. It's like a horse house party.

There wasn't as big a crowd this year as there usually is. We got there in time for the morning and afternoon singing. It was hot and a bit sluggish for the afternoon. The singing at the Hall Reunion is some of the best in this area. They've really held on to that tradition, though I'm told in years gone by--it was even more impressive. Only five people came up to the front who could still read the shape notes. Still it was something to behold.

The food, as usual, was amazing, delicious and plentiful. Those Hall ladies sure can cook--I've seen a copy of their cookbook from the past and they really need to do another one of those. I would so buy it.

The absolute stand-out for both Scott and me, was this sublime sweet potato dish. I didn't think it was possible to surprise me with a sweet potato. I really didn't. I'm the Bubba Gump of sweet potatoes.

Scott and I were sitting side-by-side on a bench with our plates when I took the first bite.

"Oh. My. God. Have you tried this yet?" I pointed out his mound of the stuff on his plate.

Scott tries it and said, "I could eat that three times a day!"

I went back for seconds and Scot had three helpings. It's really a dessert and I have a feeling it would be much better as a pie than a casserole. She had taken the basic sweet potato pie filling recipe then topped it with German Chocolate cake filling(the coconut part), then sprinkled a butter-nut crunch topping and baked it. It had this stunning buttery crispy top caramelized on top of the sweet potato and coconut filling. Yes--it was really sweet and rich but what a show stopper! I wanted to leave a note in the empty casserole dish that said, "I love you!"

Happy Birthday to my buddy, Mallow over at Fun in Flatland. Go over there and wish her a good one. She's got amazing yummy cake photos on her blog!

Now. I have a matter of great import I need you native Appalachian folks to weigh in on. I may put it up as a poll. It is a matter of spelling.

How do you spell the word that means a small valley tucked into the mountains--holler or hollow?

The reason I'm asking is because the first line of Narrative Magazine's story of the week this week spells it "hollows" in the very first sentence. Spelling it that way destroyed the credibility of the author's narrator from the get-go, as far as I'm concerned. They don't say it or spell it that way here. At all. Do you remember being taught one way or the other? Am I being too harsh?

The 90 acre fire is now 1500 acres and burning Rocky Top. Still visible if not sniffible from my back porch. The night sky glows over beyond Sol Messer and you can see flames. They say it's 20 percent under control.

Scott's mailing address is:

Scott Smith
442 Tigerville Road
Travelers Rest, SC 29690

Send him some underwear or a postcard.

There is Popcorn Sutton news. His court date rescheduled to the 22nd of September. It doesn't look good for him.

CMT has a reality show called Outsiders Inn set in Cocke County. Scott has been following it religiously. I haven't been watching it though I remembered hearing about it while they were filming. Everyone was really excited to have the "TV people" in town. Having come out of that industry, I pretty much knew exactly what to expect. So now, predictably, some folks are upset. After the Esquire article back in 92 or whatever--you'd think they'd understand.

I will blog about all of this and more upcoming. But wanted to let you know things were moving right along here. Oh. And my kidneys are tanking again so they've upped my imuran.

Max running through the grass. I toldja the grass was high.

It occurred to me I haven't shared a tidbit of Appalachian snake folklore I picked up earlier in the summer. It's just a smidgeon. Black snakes are plentiful here. There are the big, fat, slow kind that eat your chicken eggs and the long, thin, whippy ones that move like mercury--you never quite can catch them and if you do, they seem to move in your hands like they weren't there to begin with. The whippy ones are said to keep other snakes away, so you like to keep them around. The ones that eat your eggs also eat lots of rats and mice. The farmers say if you put your hoe handle under your arm so it can soak up your B.O. and turn it to the snake it will chase them off, but not too far off. It will stay on your farm and keep other snakes away and eat the rats--but will get out of your garden.

I can hardly wait for Pastor Jimmy's new folklore book to come out. It's going to be wonderful. I'm dying to read through all of his stories and compare some of the stuff I've heard to his versions.

The moon is full and the color of a tangerine. Not sure what you'd call that. It's not really a blood moon, though I've heard them called that. It's really orange colored.

Friend Scott is coming this weekend for the Hall Reunion and I asked him to bring me some South Carolina peaches. I'd like to make some peach cobbler and pecan peach preserves. Mainly I'm looking forward to seeing him. He called me from Fort Worth, TX today. He's working a horse show there with the stable he works for now. They are flying him home in time to drive up here for the reunion. He's doing important horsey stuff now and I know it's something he loves

I've been feeling a bit fragile recently. I've been less tolerant of rudeness--particularly rudeness in the literary submissions process. Pubs tend to hang onto my stuff longer than usual. This is okay, as long as it isn't a no simsubs publication. I used to ignore those people--now I'm ignoring that part of their guidelines because if they can't get back to a writer in a week or less they have no business refusing simsubs. It's unreasonable, and everyone knows it. The other thing that ices my shoulders are pubs hanging onto pieces without so much as an acknowledgment for months and months and months. Now that we have Duotrope, we know how long they usually take to respond. I'm a bit more forgiving of the northern pubs, because like most Southerners, I don't expect them to know how to behave.

I'm starting to be more and more selective about who I send things to.

...things went decidedly southward.

Finally. I caught Chops to shear him. It was a spur of the moment thing where I took a bit of feed out to them and he let me grab him by the horns. Of course, I didn't have a rope with me to make a halter so I had to drag him to the porch by the horns. This is the thing about sheep. You can lead them quite easily by the neck or by a halter, but the horns--the handy thing to grab onto--causes them to dig their heels in and fight you the entire time. It's a contest of strength. I won in this case.

I get to this point in taking this enormous fleece off of him and I'm really excited because I think I may be able to take it in one big piece--when...

Okay, let me explain about Mutton. Mutton is the other, older sheep. Both are wethers--neutered boy sheep. Mutton, though he has no reason to, is in rutt. He'll actually go after anything. If the dogs didn't give him a hard time, he'd be up for a date with them. Anyway, Chops--the younger, pretty boy sheep--seems to be the object of Mutton's affections this go round(it was a goat, last time).

...Mutton comes charging down the hill baaing lustfully. Chops turns and baas back at him something like, "Aaack, leaf me lone!" Chops is at a considerable disadvantage, half-dressed and restrained by the horns--it's a recipe for disaster and he knows it, I know it and I've left the dogs inside, so no help from that quarter.

Before I know it, I'm in the middle of lanolin-drenched sheep on sheep homosexual sex. Chops is so not into Mutton "that way". I mean, they're friends and all, but Mutton is out of control. The clippers fall on the deck turning themselves on, I'm beating Mutton off Chops, Chops is bellowing, "Aaack! Leaf me lone!", the dogs are barking inside and I'm trying to get to the door to let Max out. Finally, I make it to the door, Chops by the horn in one hand--pushing Mutton off him--and Max comes to the rescue.

Needless to say, the fleece is no longer in one piece. Chops is so upset, he's got diarrhea over part of it. Fiasco. That's the only word for it. This fall may be the year to do the Kentucky barbecue experiment--with Mutton.

***********************

And now for some Porn and Donuts!

If you are just joining the SMB and are wondering what Serial Story Saturday is about--I'm serializing a novella I'm writing called Porn and Donuts and have been running it every Saturday over the summer. You'll have to back track to pick up the entire story. There is always a blog post in front of each installment to foil the sploggers.



She pulled into the parking lot of a Krispy-Kreme store and pulled around the back. The big “Hot” light glowed red in the front of the store. She backed the truck into a line of identical vehicles.

“I wonder what they have coming out of the fryer?”

“Will you focus for a minute, Lucius? How much money did we get?”

“Looks like about fifteen thousand. That ought to get Papaw a right nice stone.”

“Okay, this is the plan.” Kellie let the truck’s engine stall. “We are going to go in there and wait until the heat dies down. They won’t think to look for us there.”

Lucius went to the back and got his duffle bag and Lola. Kellie took the bag with the cash, zipped it up then crammed a fistful of bills in her pocket. Lucius moved towards the front of the van.


“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Kellie asked.

“What?” Lucius looked confused.

“You can’t take that damn thing in there!”

Lucius could see her reasoning. Lola was perhaps the most easily recognized of the three of them.

“But I can’t just leave her behind! I like her. I stole her fair and square.”

“Okay. Fine. But leave it here and we’ll come back for it when we leave.”

Lucius secured Lola in the passenger seat with the seat belt. Kellie pulled him down from the truck and they walked to the side entrance of the Krispy-Kreme.

The shop smelled of a mélange of grease, sugar and yeast, with a comforting perked coffee undertone. A conveyer belt clicked along behind a glass partition while another machine injected fillings into the filled doughnuts. Several large rolling bakery racks held cooling glazed doughnuts. It was modern, shiny and brightly lit. The white menu board was backlit over the server's work area. The trademark aqua green and red accented the black and white checked floor giving the place a hint of nineteen-fifties diner.

The usual sprinkling of parents with kids, college students, bleary-eyed shift workers and a few homeless were clustered around the booths. The counter, however, was free.

Lucius and Kellie came in with their duffel bags, like a pair of travelers just off the bus. A few of the customers glanced at them when they sat at the counter. A pudgy waitress in a paper hairnet came over to take their order.

“Welcome to Krispy-Kreme!” She chirped, revealing a mouth full of silver orthodontia. “What can I get you?”

“Coffee and two glazed, please.” Kellie ordered.

“And you?” The waitress’ eyes strayed to Lucius’ shirtfront, adorned with the sticky remains of Lola’s undergarment. She had seen stranger things at the doughnut shop so she did not mention it.

Lucius looked up at the menu items. “Ummm, Coffee and--what’s hot?”

“We have apple-filled and glazed hot right now.” The girl rattled off.

“Okay, I’ll have three of each.”

Kellie cut her eyes at Lucius.

“Lucius, sweetie, why don’t you go to the men’s room and get yourself cleaned up.” She stroked his thigh as an added incentive. “See if you can get that thing off your shirtfront.”

Her hand on his thigh delayed his ability to comprehend what she said.

“Lucius?”

“Oh. Right. On my way.” Lucius shoved his duffle bag under the stool before leaving.

He opened the door to the men’s room and confronted his worst nightmare.

These incredibly stupid birds are a constant source of delight for me. I think I like them even more than the badass geese. And while the grass is very high due to the wasp problem in the lawnmower--there are no ticks thanks to these guys. Max loves chasing them and they can actually get away from him. The whole Max vs. Geese affair turned out very poorly for the geese in the end. But they were rather asking for it.

It's a sad time of year for the giant moths. A Luna came beating against the screen the other night. I went out to look at her and she was on her last legs. Right after the eclosion is when it's good to get pictures of them. They've got all their fat and bright shiny powdered wings ready to spend that last week mating and egg laying. They only live a week in the imago form. Anyway, she was pale and frayed--her wings almost transparent. Near death. None of the green glory of a newly eclosed Luna. The Lunas are more likely to beat against the house then--it's like they go mad.

It makes me sad when they die like this. I could never do the pins and collecting thing. I just couldn't. I know how it's done, but they only live a week. Let them live that week. Besides, it's so easy just to wait for them with a porch light and a camera.

She took off with one last blaze and dove into the light. That's when I got her pictures here--and she is so beautiful in these last moments. Still--even with her pale frayed wings.

These are my favorite moths here. I took the picture of this one--I actually have many photos of them. It's the Tuliptree Silkmoth. It's as big as a bat. I wrote a story I'm shopping around that features them. Is it odd that I like moths so much?

So, I've been trying to get set up on Facebook and Twitter the past few days. I wanted a place where I can combine my blog friends and my lit friends. Facebook is sort of clunky. There are things that make it very difficult to manage and navigate. It pulled some people from my address book that shouldn't have been and there is no way to remove them. The links hang up on the site and you have to manually move them to the browser bar to get them to work.

I've been depriving myself of things that are bad for me. Money is tight so I can't deviate from my plan. But I have a feeling come the twentieth that I'm going to bake a chokkit cake and eat the entire thing. Or maybe a coconut refrigerator cake with berries in the filling. And lots of fruit. With ice cream.

Peter Cole, my lovely editor from Issue 3 of Keyhole, left word that they mentioned me in conjunction with that issue of Keyhole on The Emerging Writer's Network. So that's really cool. Keyhole #4 is soon to be available, so you should pre-order a copy. T.J. Forester has a piece in it. T.J. has hiked most of the Appalachian Trail--several times over--and we've had some nice conversations about Max Patch and Hot Springs--SMB neck 'o the woods.

I've got a story called Mr. Black Takes a Sunbath going live in October on Insolent Rudder's Fall issue. It's a fun piece set in the 1960's about a young tomboy who runs away for a few hours after assaulting her sister with a Johnny West action figure. While she's away she witnesses the neighborhood eccentric taking a sunbath. It's one of my favorite new stories and has lots of fun period details like Wonder the Rocking Spring Horse, WAPE AM(the big Ape) radio out of Jacksonville, baby oil and iodine tanning lotion--and stuff like that. I'll give you a link when it goes live.

In other buzz--lookit!


That dirt dauber is totally dragging home a big fat spider for dinner! The neat thing is that he was walking backwards--I turned the photo on its side so you could see better but he's walking backwards up a wall with it. A pretty long ways too. Guineas have cleared the place of ticks. Even with the yard all grown up, I have no ticks. Wasps are going into their aggressive crazy stage right now. I've gotten stung twice. Last night, one of those enormous night flying hornets came in the bedroom. I thought I trapped it in the light but when I went to release it this morning it wasn't there anymore. Which is sort of scary because I now don't know where it is.

Buzz. Happy Sunday.

I haven't been posting because I've been cranking on a graphics project that I' trying to get out of the way so I can put my full attention back on my writing. It's now clear that I'm not going to be able to do much more graphic art work. My good retina got so inflamed yesterday from the eyestrain that I freaked and bumped my prednisone way up. I think I may have this eye thing that only septuagenarians and occasionally people with lupus get. At least the pred seems to pull down the swelling or whatever is causing the crazy out of my mind pain. Writing, I can at least not look at the screen. There's no way I can do graphics without staring for long periods of time at stuff. Anyway. My eyes are practically bleeding from the graphics work and when I'm done all I want to do is lay in a dark place with ice on my eyes.

So has everyone been following the Olympics. That was some opening ceremony. I think they've set the standard way higher. Barcelona and Paris' were fabulous, but this one took the cake. And they seemed to have gotten rid of the omnipresent haze of smog over the city for that one night at least. The visibility was great.

Zhang created an amazing work of performance art and it just goes to show you what a director can accomplish with the resources of a nation and a blank check. Though I'm happy I wasn't one of the designers. I heard he changed his mind about the color of one set of costumes and ordered 2008 new ones done by the next night. I would have had kittens.

I, for one, welcome our Chinese overlords--especially now that they've lost those unattractive unisex Mou suits. The goose stepping soldiers did sort of creep me out. After the WWII thing--I think all militaries should have retired the goose step. I'm just sayin'. Hitler ruined it for everyone.

P & D?

*****************************


Kellie tried the ignition, and then pounded her fists on the steering wheel. The reek of gasoline flooded from the engine.

“Crap! Crap, damnit! Damnit to hell--” A stream of profanity burst free from her mouth. Lucius stared at her with wide eyes from behind Lola.

“Come on!” Kellie gave Lucius a push and they piled out of the red car into the middle of the street.

Kellie checked Bubba’s car, found it locked, and then ran over to the delivery van. She looked under the steering column and pulled free a fist full of wires.

Lucius stood in the middle of the road hugging Lola. Kellie cut her eyes at him in exasperation. He got the message and piled into the doughnut van just as she coaxed it to life.

The van lurched into the street, throwing Lucius into the back of the van. He landed on his rear and a palette of chocolate-iced crème filled fell on him. One of the boxes spilled open, smearing Lola’s front with icing and crème.

Lucius picked up a blob of crème from Lola’s nipple and sucked it off his finger. Kellie looked back briefly and snorted at him.

“Lucius! Now might be a good time to—uh--disengage yourself from your--friend there while I’m getting us out of here.”

Lucius considered the problem of Lola’s attachment and decided to remove her garment. The transparent synthetic material caught on everything. He squeezed Lola out of the red teddy, bending her in startling and unexpected contortions. He could see why some men might find her irresistible. The deflated teddy dangled from his shirtfront like shredded frills from his old prom tuxedo. Lucius plopped down in the passenger seat with a box of chocolate glazed.

He stuffed one of the doughnuts in his mouth and said, “What about your car? Aren’t they going to find us through it?”

Kellie made a hard left turn and the wheels squealed in protest. “Oh. That’s not my car. Get my bag and see how much cash is in there.”

Lucius dragged the bag over and started counting.
“What do we do now?” He lost his place counting and started over. His lips moved as he concentrated on the money.

“Well, the first thing we need to do is lose the doughnut truck. Then, we get a car and check into a hotel.”

Lucius stuck another doughnut in his mouth. He offered the box to Kellie. She grabbed one and held it in her mouth to make another hard turn before licking the frosting off. She chucked the naked doughnut out the window then sucked the frosting from her fingertips.

“So, where are we going to dump the truck?”

“Oh, I’d say this looks about right.”

Getting sick of the jigsaw puzzles yet? Cause I love them! I can make my entire life into a jigsaw puzzle. Or perhaps that's what happened a long time ago and I've lost a few pieces. I've sat out, half finished, on a card table in the spare room for way too long.

I'm getting close to the part where I'm going to actually have to write the end of P & D. That's why I started serializing it here--so I'd have to finish it. People love this story but I still think it's unpublishable. I've got much better stories out floating around that can't find homes.

Still pondering the change over to Wordpress. Losing my ranking is going to be a bitch. I probably should have disassociated myself from the huge loser that is Blogger a long time ago. On top of the spam thing--there's this thing with IE--which I don't use but know people who still, for some reason, use it. I guess if you are on DSL it doesn't matter how ponderous a browser is. And who can give up Sitemeter? TTLB uses it.

Anyhow--P & D.....



Lucius flattened himself into the door opening and tried to squeeze through it. He kept trying to push Lola away from him while looking dead into the barrel of Bubba’s gun.

“Su—s—s--s’not what it lo—lo—lo—uh--looks like.”

Bubba cocked the gun and walked towards him. He tilted his head to the side and aimed the gun gansta-style.

Lucius swallowed hard.

“Drop the bag,” Bubba gestured to the floor with the gun. “Slowly.”

Lucius shrugged the strap of the bag from his neck, but it was now hanging from the connection point of Lola and his shirt.

“Oh, fuck.” Lucius looked down to where the bag dangled between his and Lola’s unnaturally tapered legs.

Someone grabbed his shoulders and yanked him backwards, dragging him, Lola and the bag through the door. Lola gave a rubbery squeak of protest.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Bubba yelled from inside the store. The sound of an unloaded gun clicking through its cylinders sounded on the other side of the door. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Get your ass together, Lucius.” Kellie said, hooking the strap of the bag back around his shoulder. Kellie jammed a piece of two by four she found on the street through the double handles of the door. She pushed Lucius in front of her and they ran to the red Fiesta.

Bubba raged inside the store. He rattled the jammed door then ran to the cash register. He scrambled around for his ammunition under the counter, bellowing like a mad bull.

Kellie dove into the driver’s seat of the Fiesta while Lucius tried to pack himself into the passenger side. Lola refused to cooperate and the bag of porn pressed against his scrotum. He closed the door, trapping one of Lola’s legs in the door. She squeaked in protest as she connected with the dashboard.

Kellie started the Fiesta with a clattering shudder. It spewed white smoke out of the tailpipe. She floored the accelerator and pulled out from behind the Krispy-Kreme delivery van. The Fiesta sputtered in protest, stalled out and blocked the driveway of Mistress Mona’s Lingerie and Adult Emporium.

So, I'm back up, evidently. But I'm not happy.

Blogger, in its infinite idiocy, knocked out a huge number of blogs today labeling them as spam blogs. Some of them were really big blogs with really important stuff going on--not just little me talking about the Smokies and my writing.

So, I need help figuring out how to move to Wordpress. I think I'll just go ahead and get my own domain--really sick of being at the mercy of Blogger which detonates a bot bomb that knocks out this many blogs. I hate to lose the ranking on this blog, but I'm so not happy about this.

Here's another jigsaw--one of my own photos.