Category Archives: Paffooney
Hidden Kingdom (Through Page 10)
Filed under comic strips, fairies, Hidden Kingdom, humor, Paffooney
Mickey’s Secret Identities
Yes, there is very definitely a possibility that there is more than one me.
If you look carefully at the colored pencil drawing above, you will see that it is titled “The Wizard of Edo” and signed by someone called Leah Cim Reyeb. A sinister sounding Asian name, you think? I told college friends that my research uncovered the fact that he was an Etruscan artist who started his art career more than two thousand years ago in a cave in France. But, of course, if you are clever enough to read the name backward, you get, “beyeR miC haeL”. So, that stupid Etruscan cave artist is actually me.
It turns out that it is a conceit about signing my name as an artist that I stole from an old episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show and have used for well over two decades through college and my teaching career.
And of course, the cartoonist me is Mickey. Mickey also writes this blog. Mickey is the humorist identity that I use to write all my published novels and blog posts since I published the novel Catch a Falling Star.
Michael Beyer is the truest form of my secret identity. That was my teacher name. It was often simplified by students to simply “Mr. B”. I was known by that secret identity for 31 years.
Even more sinister are my various fictional identities occurring in my art and my fiction. You see one of them in this Paffooney. The name Dr. Seabreez appears in Catch a Falling Star as the Engineer who makes a steam engine train fly into space in the 1890’s with alien technology. He appears again in The Bicycle-Wheel Genius as a time-traveler.
The young writer in the novel Superchicken, Branch Macmillan, is also me. As is the English teacher Lawrance “Rance” Kellogg used in multiple novels.
So, disturbing as it may be to realize, there is more than one name and identity that signifies me. But if you are a writer of fiction, a cartoonist, an artist, or a poet, you will probably understand this idea better. And you may even have more than one you too.
Filed under autobiography, foolishness, humor, irony, Paffooney, strange and wonderful ideas about life
Aeroquest… Canto 37
Canto 37 – On To Dancer
Arkin Cloudstalker was a natural-born starship captain, the way Ham Aero was a natural-born pilot. Their abilities and sensibilities meshed in ways Ham had never thought possible. Arkin took command of the mission without needing to be asked. Aboard the Leaping Shadowcat Ham had always had the say, but since he retained the captain’s cabin, he had no trouble yielding command. Arkin was berthed in Ged’s stateroom, a suitably Spartan and undecorated place. Duke Ferrari took over the Madonna’s stateroom since she moved in with Ham as his wife. The Duke was made Astrogator and Navigator since he knew the way to both Dancer, and Coventry beyond. Sinbadh was relegated to ordinary crewman and cook. Trav was still nominally the engineer. The young Lupin, Sahleck Kim, was taken on as the cabin boy. His job was to clean the air systems, wash the freshers, and generally swab the decks.
The Shadowcat had two decks, an upper deck with the control pit and bridge, computer access room, six staterooms, and three storage lockers. The lower deck had the trophy lounge in front, under the bridge, and two more staterooms. It also had a skinning room, a galley, and two large capture tanks which hadn’t had a xenomorph in them since before reaching Don’t Go Here.
Duke Ferrari stood over the Astrogator’s holo-pit on the bridge, studying the route from White Palm to Dancer. The jump would take them thirty hours over 16 parsecs and nearly exhaust all of the Shadowcat’s fuel. “Who will take care of your corsair fleet, Cloudstalker, while you’re away?”
“They take care of themselves, Duke,” he answered from the Captain’s chair. The chair itself had hardly been used the last ten years, since Ham always used the pilot’s seat. “Besides, we’re allied with Tron Blastarr now. There aren’t many pirates you can really trust, but I know my Lady Knights are safe with him. He’s a good man underneath.”
“I sensed that too,” said the Duke. He twirled the right end of his moustache between thumb and forefinger. “I know he set me free and offered to help me, but beyond my desperation, I could sense that the man is a hero.”
“He’s a bit boring at times,” offered Trav.
“Explain what you mean to the nice gentlemen, Goofy,” warned Ham. “They don’t understand your sense of humor.”
“Ach! I’m just saying, Tron never takes advantage of opportunities the way a good pirate should. That old jester just doesn’t have it in him to steal the way a pirate should.”
“Sir, I see why they call you Goofy,” said the Duke. “You are something of a cad yourself.”
“We’ll see who’s goofy when we find the relic on Dancer!”
“Remember, sir,” warned Ferrari, “this is a critical diplomatic mission intended to forge a planetary union to fight against the Imperium.”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I will use what I gain from the ancient device to help fight the lizard-men of Galtorr.”
“That’s assuming you can get it out from under the nose of old Razor Conn,” laughed Arkin. “He’s a corsair that knows how to hold onto something that’s valuable.”
“I’m not afraid of the old pirate,” said Trav. “He’s just another spacesuit full of gas and hot air.”
Ham looked at Goofy hard. The dumb nut was wearing a bright yellow tie with a screw and a baseball pictured on it. It was little wonder Trav was willing to put both feet in his mouth at once.
“You will belay such talk, Mr. Dalgoda,” said Arkin. “If I am to be captain here, then you must show respect to other spacers, especially the ones I most respect.”
“Yes sir, old Jester captain, sir!” Trav saluted mockingly.
“What do we actually know about Dancer, Duke?” Arkin asked Ferrari.
“Well, Captain, it is a water world. No land masses exist anywhere. The limited civilization there dwells in undersea domes. The Blackhawk Corsairs own and operate out of a domed city called Castle Orpheum.”
“Do we have an underwater vehicle aboard?” Arkin asked Ham.
“No sir, but the Shadowcat can travel underwater herself. She’s air tight and streamlined. We can scoop up water for fuel and just extract the hydrogen from it.”
“How cool is that!” said Trav. “I bet this old girl is more rugged than any of your corsairs.”
“I have to hand it to you there, Mr. Dalgoda. No White Sword or Pinwheel I ever saw could travel in space, air, and water too.”
Ham’s breast swelled at the unexpected compliment to his space ship. Few realized how worthy a safari ship could be. It was designed to get into and out of exotic environments with both the game and the game-hunters alive. It had to be quite different from the run-of-the-mill space craft.
“I am hoping this mission goes smoothly,” said their new Captain. “A lot is at stake here. If we are going to make things work, we are going to have to be more tricky and adaptable than our enemies. That means we have to out-think the likes of Admiral Tang and the Generals of the Galtorr Imperium.”
Ham nodded in silent agreement. What he’d taken on was daunting, more daunting than merely jumping out into unknown space.
Filed under aliens, humor, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, science fiction
The Wolf in My Dreams
Rosemary Hood was a bright, blond seventh grader who entered my seventh-grade Gifted English class in September of 1998. She introduced herself to me before the first bell of her first day.
“I am definitely on your class list because my Mom says I belong in gifted classes.”
“Your name is Rosemary, right?”
“Definitely. Rosemary Bell Hood, related to the Civil War general John Bell Hood.”
“Um, I don’t see your name on my list.”
“Well, I’m supposed to be there, so check with the attendance secretary. And I will be making A’s all year because I’m a werewolf and I could eat you during the full moon if you make me mad at you.”
I laughed, thinking that she had a bizarre sense of humor. I let her enter my class and issued her copies of the books we were reading. Later I called the office to ask about her enrollment.
“Well, Mr. Beyer,” said the secretary nervously, “the principal is out right now with an animal bite that got infected. But I can assure you that we must change her schedule and put her in your gifted class. The principal would really like you to give her A’s too.”
So, I had a good chuckle about that. I never gave students A’s. Grades had to be earned. And one of the first rules of being a good teacher is, “Ignore what the principal says you should do in every situation.”
But I did give her A’s because she was a very bright and creative student (also very blond, but that has nothing to do with being a good student). She had a good work ethic and a marvelous sense of humor.
She developed a crush on Jose Tannenbaum who sat in the seat across from her in the next row. He was a football player, as well as an A student. And by October she was telling him daily, “You need to take to me to the Harvest Festival Dance because I am a werewolf, and if you don’t, I will eat you at the next full moon.”
All the members of the class got a good chuckle out of it. And it was assumed that he would. of course, take her to the dance because she was the prettiest blond girl in class and he obviously kinda liked her. But the week of the dance we did find out, to our surprise, that he asked Natasha Garcia to the dance instead.
I didn’t think anything more about it until, the day after the next full moon, Jose didn’t show up for class. I called the attendance secretary and asked about it.
“Jose is missing, Mr. Beyer,” the attendance secretary said. “The Sherrif’s office has search parties out looking for him.” That concerned me because he had a writing project due that day, and I thought he might’ve skipped school because he somehow failed to finish it. When I saw Rosemary in class, though, I asked her if, by any chance, she knew why Jose wasn’t in class.
“Of course I do,” she said simply. “I ate him last night.”
“Oh. Bones and all?”
“Bone marrow is the best-tasting part.”
So, that turned out to be one rough school year. Silver bullets are extremely expensive for a teacher’s salary. And I did lose a part of my left ear before the year ended. But it also taught me valuable lessons about being a teacher. Truthfully, you can’t be a good teacher if you can’t accept and teach anyone who comes through your door, no matter what kind of unique qualities they bring with them into your classroom.
Filed under education, horror writing, humor, Paffooney
Driving in Texas
Yes, this cartoon illustration shows how we drive in Texas. Of course, it all moves much faster than this in real life. I hope to get my car out of the shop this weekend so I can start outrunning high-speed alligators on Texas roads once again.
Filed under cartoons, cartoony Paffooney, humor, Paffooney
Telling Teacher Stories
Here’s a secret that is only a secret if you are one of the well-over-six-billion people that don’t know I exist; I loved being a public school teacher. I taught for 31 years. 24 years of that was in middle school. I taught more than 1000 different seventh graders. And I loved it.
Please don’t reveal this secret to any mental health professionals. I like my freedom. And I am really not dangerous even after teaching that many seventh graders. I promise.
But it has left me with a compulsion. I confess it is the reason I write humorous young adult novels and why I continue to write this blog. I have to tell teacher stories or I will surely explode.
I have to tell you not only about the normal kids I taught, but the super-brainy mega-nerds I taught, the relatively stupid kids I taught, the honor students, the autistic kids, the kids who loved to sleep in class, the classroom clowns that tried to keep them awake, the kids who loved my class, the kids who hated my class, the times I was a really stupid teacher, the times I achieved some real milestones for some wonderful kids, the kids I still love to this day, the kids I tried really hard to love, but…. (well, some kids not even a mother could love), the drug dealers I had to protect my class from, the kids who talked to me about suicide and abuse and horrible things that still make me cry, the kids I lost along the way, and, well, the list goes on and on but this is an epic run-on sentence and the English teacher inside me is screaming at the moment.
You get the idea. Like most writers… real writers, not hacks and wannabees, I write because I have to. I don’t have a choice. No matter what it costs me. And what do I have to talk about in writing except being a school teacher and the almost infinite lessons that experience taught me?
I loved being the rabbit holding the big pencil in the front of the classroom. And that metaphor means, as crazy as it sounds, I loved being a teacher.
Filed under autobiography, commentary, education, humor, kids, Paffooney, teaching
How the Story Ends
How the Story Ends (a poem of sour grapes)
This is how the story ends…
When fox plus grapes make themes.
It tells you all the grapes are sour…
So give up on your dreams.
But that is not the fox I know…
At least, not how it seems.
The fox who knew the little Prince
Knew love will live in dreams.
The fox I know would think of ways
To live and work in teams
He’d find a farmer, kind and large,
And share with him the dreams.
The fox would learn to plant and grow
Grape seeds in warm sunbeams,
He’d tend and also harvest
And then he’d have his dreams.
And so, when thinking the story ends,
And not accepting themes
Remember that stories never end
If you don’t deny your dreams.
Filed under Paffooney, poem, poetry, strange and wonderful ideas about life
Aeroquest… Nocturne 3
Nocturne 3 – At the Community Bath
Junior Aero was relaxing in the hot bathing pool in the Palace of One Thousand Years. The concept of community baths was definitely new to him, but he had seen so many changes in his short life that he could get used to anything quickly. The warm salty water felt good on muscles made to ache by Ged’s intense martial arts training. His small body was not meant for such vigorous exercise. Still, anything that Ged taught was the word of God to Junior Aero. He needed Ged to believe that he was to be Ged’s faithful disciple.
Across the patterned mosaic tiles of blue and white walked young Sara Smith. She came directly towards Junior wearing nothing more than a towel around her neck and a sweet, shy smile on her face. She was lovely with golden-peach skin and brown eyes like a doe in the forest.
“Umm… uh… I’m naked here,” warned Junior.
“I know. I’m naked too.”
“Aren’t you supposed to bathe somewhere else when I’m here?”
“No. I came to bathe with you because I like you and want to get to know you.”
Her open-faced charm was irresistible. Junior was still too young for this boy-girl bathing to be too dangerous. He decided it would do no good to protest.
“I’m curious,” said Sara, “does a blue-skinned boy have a blue penis? Stand up and let me see?”
Junior was astonished. “Doesn’t anything embarrass you?”
“Why should it? I’ve been bathing in public baths all my life. I’m used to seeing humanoid bodies with no clothes on. Besides, I like how your body looks. I will probably marry you when we both get older.”
Junior shrugged. He stood up in the knee-deep water and offered his hand to Sara Smith. She took hold and drew herself up close to him. Together they settled down in the warm water.
“What’s he like? Your White Spider, I mean?”
Junior looked into Sara’s huge brown eyes. “Ged? He is a very good man. He and his brother rescued my mother and me from slavery. I was born a lowly slave, and he has always treated me as a member of his family, even though I am obviously not. I will serve him all my life.”
“He sounds wonderful,” said Sara. “My Daddy is like that too. He’s an Immortal, you know. He cannot die of old age and it would take a sudden and complete destruction to kill him. He protects this world from evil, too. I can’t think of a better man anywhere.”
“Does he treat you well?”
“Oh, he treasures me. I have always been the most important thing in his life, at least, since I was born.”
“Do you have a mother?”
“No. She died when I was born. Daddy blames himself. He thinks the disease that keeps him alive may have caused her to die. That’s nonsense, though. How can something like that help one person to live and kill another?”
“That’s very sad. I still have my mother. She doesn’t really love me, though. My father was one of her slave owners. She hates me for reminding her of her life as a slave.”
“Ooh, that’s even sadder!” Sara kissed him on the cheek as she reached around him and began soaping his back. “How could anyone not love you?”
“I never really thought about it,” Junior said. He reached over and put soap on Sara’s neck. His hands caressed her shoulder. “I was worried about survival before. Life was hard. Now that I don’t have to worry about how to stay alive, I have Ged and you to love me. I really don’t think about her much anymore.”
“That makes me happy to hear,” said Sara. “You’re a telepath, aren’t you?”
“You can sense me the same as I can sense you,” said Junior matter-of-factly. “You know what we both are.”
“Yes. But I’ve never had another telepath to play with. Have you ever thought about what you’d do if you met one?”
“No. What do you mean?”
“I want to join minds with you.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“You don’t want to?”
“I don’t know how.”
“I can show you. You put your hands on my temples as I put mine on yours.”
Both children came together at that moment as only a pair of Psions ever could. Two bright and beautiful minds flowed together and combined. Together they could see not only into each other’s personal minds, but they could see the future, and the past before their births, together. They could see a time when they would be man and wife. They could see each other’s powers, Junior’s techno-telepathy, and Sara’s healing telepathy. They saw their time as Ged’s students together and their time as teachers, and of course, much of the dark and troubled times ahead. Someone else looking upon them at that moment would never truly be able to see the miracle of a naked boy and a naked girl holding each other tightly, mind to mind, in the bathhouse of the Palace of One Thousand Years.
Filed under aliens, humor, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney
Catch a Falling Star 
Predictions Using Mickey Math
Mickeys are by their nature pessimists. When mostly bad things happen to you in your life, you learn not to expect good things, only be pleasantly surprised by them. And bad things happen only when you are prepared for them if you are expecting only bad things to happen. In fact, the bad outcome will probably seem good in comparison to the terrible thing you were planning on happening to you.
For example, my car is in the shop being fixed for accident damage that prevented me from earning extra money through Uber for a month and a half. I was told on Thursday that the car doors were fixed and it was in the paint shop. It was possible I was going to get it back Friday afternoon. I was not upset or surprised that I never got the call Friday. In fact, I fully expected somebody had dropped the car off a lift or painted it neon puce or something and that it will take another two weeks to fix the new damage. So if it turns out to be ready tomorrow, which I sincerely don’t expect due to Mickey Math, I will still be pleasantly surprised. I might even go into happy shock. After all, I clearly remember one time watching a tow truck operator load my malfunctioning car onto a flatbed tow truck, only to see it roll off the front of the truck to further damage it because he had not properly secured it. That yielded happy shock because the body shop owner who also owned the tow truck ended up repairing my car for free.
What is the science behind Mickey Math, you say? Oh, you didn’t say anything? Well, I will tell you anyway. In a world where 2 + 2 = 4, if Mickey desperately needs the answer to always be at least 4, you can be certain by experimental proof and past experience that it will surely come out as 2 + 2 = 3. Life and physics always disappoint Mickey one way or another. So the science tells Mickey to always be prepared for the worst.
That being said, here are some predictions for the near future figured out via Mickey Math.
Now, it is quite possible that things will fall short of most of these dire predictions, but that is how Mickey Math secures happiness from a miserable life.
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Filed under angry rant, autobiography, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Paffooney, pessimism, self pity