Sunday, April 9, 2017


Finaly made it down here.
Shit Internet. 

Won't be posting much on line. I bought an old type writer. Next book the old fashion way. Lots of rum and the sound of the keys bitch slapping white paper.
Love this machine. Does anyone sell white out anymore. Not talking about current culture. But that liquid used for typos and errors for old type writers.
Masculinity baby.

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Chapter 1


Support independent publishing: Buy this e-book on Lulu.
  Available Nov 7 2016

Iphone    Amazon   Barnes and Noble   Google

Talking Dick Head

I awoke in a newly renovated room at the Flamingo to a loud raspy voice that was shouting, “Smokey! Hey, Smokey! Wake up asshole.” I quickly scan the room for an intruder, my hand clenching the hotel phone in case I need a weapon. “Smokey god damn it, put it down, you don’t want to hurt me, look at me man, I’m alive ….” The voice is coming from inside my bed, I grip the phone tighter, prop it up to get better leverage. Supercharged Alien adrenaline is pumping hard, I slowly carefully with one hand start pulling the sheets off, the other hand clenching the phone straight up and ready to deliver a crushing blow. 

Jesus! my penis was speaking; the slit was moving with every word. It had tiny teeth, a tongue, miniature Ray Ban sunglasses, a tiny fedora, all the while smoking a cigar and blowing smoke rings.

“Smokey, what are we going to do about this. It’s Vegas man, get on the web and get me some pussy. I want four Chic's, three skinny ones and one humongous fat one?” It said.
My 800 IQ tells me, obviously, I’m having deprived hallucination, a seizure or mental breakdown of some kind, the question is how and why?
I reach for the channel changer and turn on the TV, hoping whatever substance is causing this delusion wears off soon. “Come on Smokey, talk to me asshole, just a little bit of money for some honey.” It said. I refuse to look at it or acknowledge this is happening.

“Why don’t you try and strangle me you prick; I will puke straight up onto all four blades of the ceiling fan. Then the centrifugal force will fling your DNA onto the walls, and if someone gets murdered in this room you got some explaining to do. Spend some of that money you have on the dresser buddy, get me some chic's you cheap fucking bastard.” The dick said.

I start watching the movie previews.

“Smokey put the porn channel on, just me and you here, I won’t tell anyone, honest.”
I look down at my dick and say. “Really-Man, I'm seven hundred years old.”
“Oh you’re talking to me now, you pathetic boring piece of shit, our EX wife is a billion light years away, the current one, two thousand miles away, what's your problem, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. You're a chicken shit, I can’t believe I’m attached to such a loser.”

Then it goes into a hysterical laughing fit just as I start feeling light headed, and everything goes dark.

I force my eyes wide open and all I see is black, then flashbacks of traveling on our spaceship at a million times the speed of light. Stars, galaxies, flying past us like fireflies on a dirt road doing 100 miles an hour. Fuck, it hits me; I forgot my nicotine patch before bed last night.  I’m moments away from certain death. I stand up completely blind and start feeling around the room, I only have about a minute to get some nicotine in my body or I’m dead. I smash into the washroom door, my head is split wide open, warm blood running down my face. My legs go rubbery, I fall, desperately trying to stand while moving forward my head still on the carpet, I put a two-inch carpet burn on my head.

There is a pounding on my room door. I scream out “Go away, not now!!!” “Smokey it’s me, Ashman, open up, I got to tell you something important,” he said.

Using all my strength I get back on my feet then frantically walk around the room, smashing into things, my arms straight forward like a desperate trapped Frankenstein. I need to find the door, or a damn cigarette, my legs are about to give out again, my telekinetic powers ineffective. I navigate to the closet. I know the door knob is close, two steps to the right. I find the doorknob; without a moment of hesitation, I yank it open.

“Ashman spark me up a few cigarettes right now. I’m about to die, I was patchless last night.” I said.

Ashman realizing the seriousness of my situation shoves two Marlboro's into my mouth and sparks them up with his Zippo, I can't see it but smell it. I inhale deeply. “Oh Yeah—Ummm”, a wave of numbness descends from my head down to my toes. I have a few more deep drags and my eyes clear, the world comes back into focus. My heart beats are racing up to a normal rhythm. That was a damn close call.

Ashman says, “What the hell happened to your head?

“Before bed, I forget my nicotine patch, I got hammered at the crap table.  I woke up this morning hallucinating, then my body started shutting down. You just saved my life man, I owe you huge for this.” I said.

“Smokey please tell me you weren't snorting salt?”

“I only had a few salt packs with a bit of Jack Daniels. I don’t even remember coming to bed.   Ashman, I was on a roll man, I killed it, I made a shit load of loot, I haven’t even counted it yet, it's on the dresser.”

“Are you insane? Two salt packs, that’s like a human heroin junkie pumping in an entire needle into his neck, you’re lucky to be alive.” Ashman said while counting my winnings.
“Ashman, I've built up a good tolerance over the years, our mission is almost over. I just wanted to let my hair down and have a bit of fun before we go back home to that shit hole of a prison planet. Now, what were you going to tell me?”

“Smokey you have a quarter million dollars here, you used your powers didn’t you, you’re going to get us kicked out and arrested, you can’t take all this money. They have cameras everywhere. I know you cheated, we are in deep trouble now idiot.”

Ashman’s always been a bit of a screw-up, a mama’s boy, always scared of his own shadow, doesn’t lie, and thinks no one else does either. The only reason he got on this mission is because his father is second in command on the Nictonite council, Ashman is 250 years old and was still living in his parent’s basement back on Nictonite. They had to do something to get him out of the house. Sending him a billion light years away was a probably a bit of overkill, he’s not a bad kid, just weird. 

“Ashman what room is Barrington in, he’s got the tickets to the area 51 convention,”
“Smokey we got to give all this money back, we don’t need security pounding down this door. What happens if they figure out we are from another planet? They will lock us up forever, no trial, no rights. We will be experiments, creepy guys in white lab coats, probing us, drilling us, doing terrible things.  I mean they do that to their own kind here on Earth.”

“Ashman, stop working yourself up, just relax, we can’t afford another one of your episodes, take a deep breath, light up a smoke, calm down, that’s it, good. No one can't hurt us here.”

There were six hundred top candidates for the mission, no one less than a 500 on the IQ scale. Now I’m stuck with him because his goddamn father is a selfish bastard. He jeopardized this mission, Ashman is barely an IQ 300.
Just as I was getting him under control, Boom, Boom, Boom, three hard knocks on the door.
“Mr. Smokeweeden, we need to speak to you, are you free for a few minutes.” The voice behind the door said.
Ashman starts to hyperventilate, eyes wide open, frozen in terror. There was about a three-second delayed reaction. His face, paralyzed while his mind is computing every possible negative outcome before I can talk, he bolts. In a split second, he smashes through the wall into the next room. He leaves a clean hole in the outline of his body, no debris.

I said to the voice behind the door, “Sure, give me a few minutes to get decent.

The voice says “Is everything ok in there.”

I grab all the loot, stuff it under the mattress. No fucking way I’m giving it back, I won it without cheating, or at least I think I did. I walk to the door and slowly open it. There is a giant beast of a man. His name tag says Hugo, head of security, this fat faced bald guy with a thick goatee exhibiting no emotion or eye contact, the other guy is short, in a trench coat, a dead ringer for Colombo, old school Italian I'm guessing. He extends his hand to shake mine. He says, “Hi I’m Ron LaMotte, I’m an executive host for Caesars Entertainment, I would like to welcome you to our property and offer you a rewards card. I’m here to take care of anything you need. What happened to your head?”

“I bumped into the door in the middle of the night, had a bit too much to drink last night, I’m OK,” I said.

“Well, you had a great two-hour roll on the crap table. We value our high rollers and let’s see what we can do to have your stay with us memorable. How long do you plan on staying with us?” Ron asked.

“Well, Ron I’m here for the weekend, Me and some friends are going to the Area 51 Convention.”

Shit, Hugo caught a glimpse of the hole Ashman made. The bastard nudged me out of the way and stepped into the room, then Ron followed, they both see the hole.  I look at Ron and say, “Ah., well… listen. I had a bit of wild party last night, you know, celebrating the win, had a few girls up here, a few college buddies, it got out of hand. There’s a little bit of damage, I can pay for it, it's no big deal.”

Uninvited they approach the wall for a closer look, they stare at the hole for about twenty seconds. Hugo suddenly turns toward me, his eyes wide open, his nostrils are having an epileptic seizure, this guy has issues I think to myself. Ron then turns, pausing for a moment, his calculator at full speed, slightly a little unsure of himself and said. “We’re sold out of our regular rooms and you can’t stay in this room anymore, we need to send up a crew to fix it. How would you like the penthouse with full butler service at no charge?” 

I grinned and nodded in acceptance.

“Its’ on the house. Don’t worry about that wall, it’s Vegas, we know stuff happens, you’re a valuable client, we want you to have a great time here. I’ll send someone up to move your things. I look forward to seeing you at the tables tonight, you are playing again?” He asks.

“Absolutely!” I said.

I walk them to the door shake hands, Ron first then Hugo. Hugo has a gentle grip, but I can’t feel his soul, I’m having trouble reading his mind. He's holding back, he wants to crush every bone in my hand, then my body. I don’t think this beast knows its own strength.

After I close the door, Ashman pops his head from his hole, His out of control episode of hysterical panic and crying is instantly turned into an evil crazy laugh. “Smokey, what just happened man, that was amazing, you got the penthouse for free. Now I know why my dad made you commander for this mission.”

“Ashman you never told me where Barrington is.”

“Oh, he’s staying at Caesars Palace; he said this place is crap and  low class for him.”

“He comes from a low life family back on Nictonite. 

What a nervy entitled prick, that teaching job has gone to his head. Here; take all this money, put it in your safe, I'll meet you at the pool in fifteen minutes.” I said as I self-repair my cracked skull and carpet burn head wounds.