Category Archives: humor

July 11, 2019 · 12:24 am

Heat and the Heart of the Problem

109 degree Heat Index in the Dallas area for the second straight day. It is hot. It is humid. But I can work outside because the heat causes the West-Nile Virus-carrying mosquitoes to burst into flame before they can fly far enough through the Texas air to drink all your blood.

And I have work to do. We are planning to go to Iowa this month. So, I had hoped to have more of the work mending the retaining wall done before we go. You can see that I took Ian Malcolm’s advice from the movie Jurassic Park to heart. I dressed all in black to radiate the heat more efficiently. And I will never do that again. Black is also a color that absorbs heat. The movie-based advice was COMPLETELY AND IGNORANTLY WRONG!!!’

Of course, the dirt that was to be dug out was mostly clay. It was recently moistened by excessive rain in June, and then baked at inside-a-kiln temperatures just long enough to get baked hard as the bricks it needed to be separated from. I almost broke the danged shovel.

And, naturally enough, because I had chosen a time when there was supposed to be morning shade from the live oak trees to work in, there had to be an opening to the sun right above the spot where I was to work and sweat for at least an hour.

And number two son had a dentist’s appointment. I had to work alone.

There was no one besides passers-by and squirrels to complain to. And those squirrels have shorter tempers than I do.

But an old man on a bicycle wobbled by with what had to be either his granddaughter or his daughter, if he was like me and waited until there was gray in the hair on top before he mistakenly decided he was mature enough to have kids. Make no mistake, the girl, about ten years old, was a real mistress of the two-wheel velocipede. Her riding style bespoke grace and mastery and loads of practice. The old man… not so much. He spent most of his time wobbling, stopped, or coasting with his legs splayed out. It looked like she was teaching him how to ride. She even stopped him to ask if he was all right, then let him take the lead so that she could keep an eye on him and make sure he was not going to hurt himself. It was cute. I laughed. But only because they were too busy to look at me and notice how horribly things were going for me and laugh at my expense.

But all is not Laurel and Hardy slapstick comedy with our efforts. All the bricks between the two gaps we are working on have been put back in their proper places by me and number two son working continually since last November. I look at the extent of what we have already done to chill myself out over the literal hot mess this job has become.

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July 9, 2019 · 2:44 pm

When the Captain Came Calling… Canto 27

Canto Twenty-Seven – Begging for Counter Spells

Valerie-squirrel scurried through the cat door in the back of Mazie Haire’s Gingerbread House.  Once inside the house, she searched all around the downstairs for Miss Haire.  Not finding her anywhere around the kitchen cauldron and fireplace, or the sitting room and reading area, or even the bathroom, the little blond squirrel finally found the witch upstairs, watching something through the telescope.

“So, you still aren’t practicing your natural skills of seeing and knowing, I see,” Miss Haire said to the squirrel at the top of the stairs.

“Chit Chitter Chit-it-it!” said Valerie-squirrel angrily, even though she meant to say, “I need help, I’ve been changed into a squirrel!”

“You don’t have to talk like that, you know.  Just say it in regular people words.”

“Chit-chitter… do I use regular people words?”

“Just like that, girl.  You have to use the acuity of your own intelligent mind to see through the fog the spell put on your brain.”

“Spell?”

“Well, that’s what a witch calls it, of course.  But it is more like a bit of chemistry in gaseous form, I believe.  Did you not come in contact with a cloud of purple smoke at one point or another?”

“Yes.  The Tiki idol filled Mary’s basement with purple smoke right before Mary, Pidney, and I all turned into squirrels.”

“Yes, and somehow you were given some sort of powerful suggestion right before that, I believe.”

“Suggestion?”

“Ideas were placed in your head prior to inhaling the gas, I believe.  Someone talking, or chanting, or telling a story perhaps.”

“There was… some chanting… yes.”

“So, that was the trick of it.”

“Can you…?  Can you cure me?  Or reverse the spell?  I don’t want to be a squirrel, Miss Haire.”

“You are not a squirrel, child.  You are a rather stupid and completely naked girl.  I can’t cure stupid, but you can.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will continue to think you are a squirrel until you take control of your own mind and convince yourself that you are not.”

Valerie-squirrel looked down at her own paws and golden-blond fur.  How exactly was that done?  Everything she saw, heard, and smelled told her that she was really a squirrel.  A human girl in her mind, but definitely a squirrel in all her body parts.

“So, what do I do?”

“Obviously, me telling you that you are not a squirrel is not enough.  So, you are going to have to go back out there and find for yourself the proof you need to turn yourself back into a beautiful young lady, and not a silly, naked squirrel.

“Go back… out there?  Where the cat is?  And that dog, Barky Bill?”

“Yes.  Go back out there and find the focus, find the part of your brain that reminds you that are not what somebody else says you are.  Go out and find the part of Valerie Clarke that is not a squirrel.” Valerie-squirrel swallowed hard and looked back down the staircase.  This was going to be hard.

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July 8, 2019 · 5:09 pm

When Readers Respond

I recently got my very first unsolicited review on a book I had written when Mr. Ted Bun, one of the leaders of the nudist writer group on Twitter gave me a five star review on Recipes for Gingerbread Children.

I was grateful and reviewed one of his books on Twitter in return.

But it was totally unsolicited. I didn’t even know any of my book promotions had penetrated such an odd corner of the internet. The story does have nudists in it, but that is not what the book is really about. Mr. Bun acknowledged that much in his review, and still liked it and called it well-written.

My first Amazon book promotion, offering the Kindle version of Snow Babies for free, produced the same kind of fruit. I started by sending a paperback copy to the girl I grew up with that I named the main character after. Valerie read the book to her grandchildren and then sent me this message;

Valerie– Hi Michael! I wanted to let you know that I finished reading your book a couple of days ago, and that I thought it was really good! You used so many colorful descriptions of the characters, that I felt like I could really picture the whole scene! I also enjoyed how you used several people’s names and surrounding towns from our past that brought back good memories. It kept my interest and made me excited to keep reading to see how things turned out! I appreciated how you ended it, too! Thanks again, so much for sharing it with me. I plan to share it with a friend of mine to read and then return to me! Do the Rowan and Belmond libraries have copies of your books? I would be happy to talk to the Belmond library about it, if you haven’t already! I will spread the word, and keep writing! Val

Me– I donated a couple of books to Rowan and one to Belmond.  But I have written a lot more since

They don’t have Snow Babies.   I am so glad you liked the book.  It is one of the best things I have ever written.

Valerie– You can be proud of your hard work! Next time I’m in the library, I will take Snow Babies with me and show them. I know they like to support local authors! 🙂

Me– Thank you for the help. I really appreciate it.

Then I find this tweet on Twitter from a fellow author who responded to my book promotion week.

She read Snow Babies and loved it and shared this review with me before she posted it on Amazon.

Headline: This book has a potential to become a classic

The story takes you to Norwall, a secluded midwestern town where people are expecting a snow blizzard to arrive in couple of hours. Among strangers coming to the town during the blizzard are four very special boys, a hobo, a bus driver, a drunken old lady, a stupid salesman, a couple of newly-weds and a lady following the four boys. Each of them, as well as the local people, has their own interesting story and their stories start to intertwine while the town gets buried in snow.

Some from the locals and the newcomers start to see white naked kids in the snow. In the course of events, they learn that those white kids are so called “snow babies”. According to what people say, those who see snow babies, are supposed to die during the blizzard.

The author has a talent for depicting situations in an impressive manner, so they can be humorous and touching at the same time.  His mature narrative style enables you to learn deeply but in a light way about individual characters and understand their motives. Interesting are the hobo´s droppings of philosophical reflections and life wisdoms from Walt Whitman’s book. Simultaneously, in connection with snow babies, the author keeps you in suspense until the end. The story is not predictable, and the ending left me smiling and absorbed in thought. 

I honestly fell in love with this book from the first page. It is like a fresh breeze compared to a number of today’s books written in similar patterns.

*****

I am amazed that people are beginning to read my books and like them… even love them. I wasn’t expecting that to happen until after I was dead. It is a good feeling that took me by surprise.

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July 2, 2019 · 10:42 am

When the Captain Came Calling… Canto 26

Canto Twenty-Six – The Secrets of Stupid Dogs

Valerie-squirrel, despite the almost endless supply of squirrel energy provided by a fast-pumping squirrel heart, was panting and out of breath as she stopped at the corner of Cecily Dettbarn’s porch roof.  She needed to catch her breath, but she could see Mazie Haire’s Gingerbread House on the other side of the Norwall water tower, just across the street.  Even better, she hadn’t seen Skaggs the cat for at least two blocks.

The evil cat had nearly caught her as she ran along the fence back at the Kellogg place.  When he had lunged at her, he missed, and he toppled into the concrete birdbath that sat between the fence and Mrs. Kellogg’s big bay window on the west side of the house.  She hadn’t seen the cat since she had left him behind there, sputtering cat-curses and spitting out old sparrow feathers.

Valerie-squirrel had gone back up into the trees to travel the rest of the way north on Whitten Avenue, and then from maple to maple along the north side of main street.

Now, looking carefully all around for signs of danger and lurking cats, she climbed down the trellis on the side of the Dettbarn house.  She then sniffed the air and scampered quickly across the street to tall grass under the water tower.

“Boof!  Boof!  Boof!” barked Barky Bill from the end of his chain behind Martin’s Bar and Grill.

“What does boof mean, stupid dog?” Valerie-squirrel thought in the direction of the stupid dog.

“Well, it means boof, or possibly bark in dog language.  How is it you don’t know that already?  You are a dog, aren’t you?”

Valerie-squirrel was stunned.  “I thought the cat told me dogs can’t speak.  You’re Barky Bill, aren’t you?”

“I answer to that, yeah.  But also, Stupid Dog, and Ijit Dog, and Damned Dog… and some other strange words that end in dog.”

“Skaggs the cat told me you couldn’t speak.”

“Yeah.  The cat’s right.  Dumb dogs can’t speak.”

“But you’re talking to me now.  What do you mean dogs can’t speak?”

“You are a dog, ain’t ya?  Dogs can talk to other dogs.  We do it by waggin’ tails and sniffin’ butts and stuff.  You know about that, right?”

“I’m not a dog.  I am a girl, actually.  Valerie Clarke.  But I’ve been turned into a squirrel by black magic.”

“Oh, yeah.  You are a squirrel!  I can smell you from here.  But not the eating kind of squirrel.  I can smell that you are not a real squirrel.”

“Do you smell the cat?  Skaggs?  He was chasing me, trying to kill me.”

“No.  I hate the dumb cat.  I will kill him some day.  I don’t smell him now… no.”

“Good.  Promise you won’t eat me if I go over to the Gingerbread House?”

“The witch’s house?  You don’t want to go there.”

“Yes, I do.  And I don’t want you to attack me when I try to get there.”

“Oh, I would never eat you.  You smell like the prettiest little squirrel-girl that ever lived in this town.  I will protect you.  I will boof at the cat if he comes near.  And one day I will kill him.  But I could never eat you.  Barky Bill is a good boy, yes, he is.”

Valerie-squirrel was a little worried that Barky Bill might not be completely sane as dogs go.  She didn’t know if she dared run past too close to the chained and perpetually angry dog.  So, giving him the widest possible berth she could manage, she slipped under the water tower and down the alley behind main street into the back yard of the Gingerbread House. “Boof! Boof!  Boof-boof-boof-boof!” was how Barky Bill ended their brief conversation.

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July 1, 2019 · 5:18 pm

Mickey is on Twitter

One of the things I was taught by the good people of I-Universe Publishing is that writers do Twitter. They set me up with a Twitter account that never got followed by real people and got no traction of any definable kind.

There are obviously magic spells out there somewhere that help you sell copies of your beloved first real novel if only you are willing to go on Twitter to engage… to sell yourself and your books… to trolls… and nudists and other writers and nudists who are writers… and, inexplicably, the Norwegian Branch of the Tom Hiddleston as Loki Fan Club. In order to do this I ended up having to establish my own Twitter account to handle what the I-Universe account couldn’t. What a mistake that was!

I have after six years finally gotten past the 2,000 follower mark. I have sold a precious few copies of more than one of my books. And I have learned what a horrific alternate universe Twitter actually is.

Trying to sell my books to Twitter followers who seem like the kind of person interested in reading YA novels full of humor and fantasy and goofy stuff, obviously generates more marriage proposals than sales.

Apparently, young women on Twitter are looking for husbands and lovers online. It you answer their direct messages thinking they are women interested in your writing, they will aggressively try to convince you that they have fallen in love with you, one even saying this without asking for a better picture of me than the cartoon I use to portray myself. They ignore the fact that you have been married for a quarter of a century. They ignore the protestations that you are only on Twitter to sell books, and ask you to send them money for an airplane ticket so they can come to where you live and have an affair with you… even though you protest that you are married and don’t have money for airplane tickets even if you wanted to have an affair with a young lady who could be your granddaughter age-wise. One essential function on Twitter is learning how to block someone. Ooh! That was a lifesaver. Learning who not to answer is useful too.

Pirates often take your money via selling you insurance.

And women are not the only ones with dangerous schemes to take your money away from you.

I was Twitter-friended by Arab royalty. Prince Hamdan of Brunei wanted to give me money as part of his charity work to salvage the image of his royal family. He offered to put thousands of dollars of oil money in my bank account just because he liked me and felt sorry for me. All I had to do was give him my online bank account number. I may have told Arabian royalty that I had a fatal disease that made me forget all my bank account numbers and would cause me to die before he could get a reply sent back to me. I stupidly gave him no bank information what-so-ever. And my bank account audibly breathed a sigh of relief.

So, I have successfully now used Twitter to sell copies of Snow Babies and Recipes for Gingerbread Children. I have become a member of Twitter’s #writingcommunity. I have also become a member of a group called Writers Without Clothes. (#FF#naturist fiction by: @Mr_Ted_Bun, @buffprofwally, @CalowAndrew, @AuthorMatBlack, @NakedDan, @smdenham3 and @mbeyer51 (growing list!)) They offered me a chance to join their group because they liked the nudists in my book Recipes for Gingerbread Children, and because they learned I have written for nudist websites and do much of my writing in the nude. I recently also got a tweet from a fellow author who is reading Snow Babies and loves it. She says it is a well-written book, high praise from another published author.

So, I intend to keep writing… right up until the end… and maybe I can learn how to use Twitter from beyond the grave so I can keep my writing alive and my future ghost-tweets can make you all horrified enough to be compelled to buy my books. They say my books are funny, even the nudist parts, and maybe I can make more Tom Hiddleston jokes to keep that part of my Twitter following happy too.

If you are foolish enough to look for me on Twitter, you can find me at @mbeyer51.

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June 30, 2019 · 4:05 pm

Dreams of the Mastiff

As a comic cartoonist sort of artist named Mickey, I was as a teenager obsessed with making artsy goofy books. One of those was unaccountably called Dreams of the Mastiff. These surrealistic picturations are examples from that silly Donald-Duck thing.

This page is supposed to explain the title. So I guess all of the following pages are somehow supposed to be from the nighttime brain of the dog in the nursery.

And what is this supposed to be about? My old-man memory has not a single clue.

It occurred to me long ago that both Fantasy and Science Fiction were surreal by nature. What is the story behind Black Peter? Ich weiss nicht! I do not know! Old-man memory again.

Inexplicable Sci-Fi from this little surrealist art-book-thing.

And more of the same…

Now back to cockroaches from doggy dreams…

…And mice, monkeys, and tea-drinking ladybird beetles…

…And what…? The whole world in a nutshell?

To a thing I used in two novels, Catch a Falling Star and The Baby Werewolf.

I offer no explanations or excuses for these nonsensical and unaccountable things. I am not sorry I once did them, if you want to know the truth… but I probably should be.

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June 29, 2019 · 5:26 pm

My Surreal Youth

I must confess that I chose to be a surrealist from about the time I discovered the artwork of Salvador Dali at the age of fifteen. I did a report on Dali and Surrealism for 9th grade Art Class. I wanted to be a surrealist because I realized that surrealists got to draw really weird stuff and then pretend it meant something real in the modern real world. So let me show you some of my weirder high school surrealist messings on paper.

Of course, like most teenagers, I was obsessed with death and mortality at a time in which I had not yet learned how to live and stay alive… one of the serious dangers of being a teenage half-brain in a post invention-of-the-atom-bomb world.

So, I start this gruesome dissection of teen-y art apoplexy with a depressingly angst-y picture and poem about the urgency of nameless coming doom.

And at the same time I was basically an angst-y pre-Goth Goth, I was also a lollipop Disneyphile romantic… A pre-My-Little-Pony Brony as it were. I was goofy as all get out and determined to latch onto all the big-eyed art ideals of the many girls I stalked and watched and comprehended incorrectly while never, ever talking to even one of them. (Well, not counting sisters and the several non-aggressive Mickey-lovers who were chasing me and courting me while I was totally oblivious to facts of it.)

But I was also aware of a spiritual something that lurked in my church-going Sunday self that needed to metaphorically tackle ideas of God and life-after-death notions of something that I knew in my head weren’t really real, but were necessary to the heart I possessed and its dire need for love and life and laughter.

And then too, I was seriously teaching myself to draw. And I drew things like nudes from pictures in National Geographic and Post magazines… but of course, only non-sexualized nudes like kids playing soccer in the nude and in the rain in a school yard in Indonesia so they don’t get their school uniforms soaked.

But what is Surrealism that I can accomplish it any way as an Art movement that is really probably in the past and not relevant to anything in the real world now? Well, what I always thought it was… was a way of seeing the world through a rose-colored lens of imagination (with flying purple jelly-bean spots in it). It is a way of taking my Mickey-and-Goofy strangeness and mixing it into the Donald-Duck Soup of Art. It is a way to simply be true to myself rather than the truth nature insists on putting in front of my face.

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June 25, 2019 · 3:45 pm

When the Captain Came Calling… Canto

Canto Twenty-Five – Squirrel on the Lam

Valerie-squirrel found that even though she had rapidly ascended through the hollows of the brickwork, dodging obstacles, squeezing through narrows, and working her paws at a high rate of speed, she reached the top with energy to spare.  Her squirrel-body was almost infinitely flexible and full of muscle.  What skateboard miracles she could perform if her body were only like that as a human!

But she came out under the eaves of the Philips’ house and was soon racing across the roof.  She leaped into the branches of the tall maple that stood in front of Mary’s house.  The leaves were mostly yellow with fall color, but bright reds and scarlet colors tipped the five points of almost every leaf.  The view was amazing from the heights of the tree, especially because of her squirrel eyes that gave her very nearly a 360-degree view around her.  It was like three-dimensional vision warped into surround-see super-reality.  And yet, as amazing as the view was, her squirrel heart knew despair because the Pidney and Mary squirrels were nowhere to be seen.  Had cats eaten them already?  She shuddered to think it.  Was it up to her to save them?  Could they somehow save her?

There was no squirrel-plan that made sense at that moment.  Her instincts were screaming at her to run and climb and jump… and eat nuts.  But how could any of that be helpful?  Especially eating nuts?

She knew this predicament had to be the result of magic, probably evil magic.  How could she turn herself back into a human girl?  The only real magic she was aware of before this terrible curse was the magic revealed to her by the witch, Mazie Haire.  Somehow she had to go and find the Haire woman, and somehow she had to make the woman understand, through a stream of screamed-out squirrel curses, chreeks, and chit-it-its, that magically somehow the witch would interpret, what had happened to Valerie, and that she needed the old witch to change her back.  But how to get there?

“I see you up there!”  The cat’s voice startled her because, even though she could clearly see the cat on the ground far below, it sounded as loud as if she were face to face with the ugly old cat.  She calmed herself with the realization that the cat was somehow telepathic.

She looked intently at the cat, wiggled her blond tail, and thought intensely in its general direction.  “Can you read minds, damned old cat?” she heard herself say.

“I can hear you animal-talking,” said Skaggs from below.  “I can’t hear what you’re thinking.  But I don’t need to know that to know you must come down from that tree to get the help you need.”

She ran along a maple branch and launched herself through the air, landing in a branch of the elm tree next door in the Pixeley’s yard.  “I can travel from tree to tree!” she cried out with her mind.

“Not all the way to where you need to go.  There is too much space for you to cross to go north to the witch’s house.”

“How did you know I wanted to go there?”

“Where else would you go in your present situation?  You need that old witch’s magic to undo what Oojie did.  Am I right?”

“You are about as wrong as anything could be… because you are… you’re evil!  Evil is always wrong!”

“I am not evil.  But I will admit, to a squirrel a cat surely seems evil.”

“I will find a way.”  She leaped down onto the red tar-paper shingles of the Pixeley house.  There was no tree near enough going to the north, but there were bushes around the house.  And there was a line of pine trees in Tom Kellogg’s yard to the north.

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June 23, 2019 · 4:06 pm

The New Name Game

Have you ever noticed that some celebrities with weird names are recognizable no matter how badly you mess up or mangle their names?

For example, take a name like Justin Timberlake.

If you call him Timber Just-in-the-lake, everyone still knows who you mean.

Yes, I’m talking about Laker Timberjust, that singer who used to be famous when he sang with that group Out O’ Sink. You know, that guy named Joozin Mimbolake who caused Joanie Jackelson’s wardrobe malfunction in the Superbowl. Muffin Limbersnake… you know, that guy.

Well, there’s this other actor named Ving Rhames.

Actor Ving Rhames (Photo by Bryan Bedder/Getty Images)

Okay, that’s too scary to contemplate. Well, there’s always Kenderbick Bumbersnatch! He’s always good for a name-mangling good joke.

Very astute literary allusion delivered with Sherlockian poise, Benickle Bumberbatch!

I can think of a number of name mangles that make me laugh. Bumbershoot Bandersnatch, or Bimbleroot Snoodersnatch, or Smogthedragon Paddlebatch. What mangled names can you think of for the Mangled Name Game? You can put your bubbling genius-type answers to that question in the comments. For these guys, or any other mangle-able celebrity names you can think of.

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June 21, 2019 · 4:18 pm

Chewing on Gingerbread Stories

I have started re-reading my werewolf stories again as I intend to promote the heck out of the two books pictured here in the rest of 2019.

Both books are intertwined even though they are both stand-alone novels with different genre ties and different themes. They share the same characters, many of the same scenes (though seen from different viewpoints in each novel), many of the same plot points, and the same werewolf. I like to think that reading both books together makes a better, more nuanced story as a two-book whole. But each book is also a whole in itself. And you can read them in either order.

I started by re-reading Recipes for Gingerbread Children. This book is basically a fairy-tale story-collection contrasted with a Holocaust survivor’s story. It is about how a storyteller manages to shape the world around her to help herself and others make sense out of a cruel world filled with evil and betrayal.

Dunderella and the Wolf Girl (a random werewolf illustration not connected to either book)

The Baby Werewolf is a Gothic horror tale where the real monster is hidden by deeply buried secrets, and lies have to be pierced to protect the innocent. I will re-read and promote this book second. I love both of these books with a paternal sort of overlooking-the-warts-and-birth-defects love.

So, I have a plan. A hopelessly pie-in-the-sky plan. But a plan. And hopefully at least some part of the plan will work.

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