Laugh at Yourself First: The Salvation Shark

Read "The Salvation Shark," and more short fiction, scripts, and very little poetry at Laugh at Yourself First.
pauljuser.blogspot.com

One day, history will tell how Napster destroyed the world. In those days, short of a magazine or book contract, the only way I could find new readers were hastily assembled chapbooks with photocopied covers. Pages were printed on my inkjet and stapled with a stapler that couldn't reach the middle of the page. Instead, I stapled each copy on cardboard boxes and closed the tines with my finger. If you're here with me in Binghamton, you might have one of those books, handed out at a punk rock show or poetry reading that probably took place in your living room. There may be misspellings, but there's a drop of my blood in nearly every single copy. These were the days you tied up your phone line for hours downloading a single song ,and streaming video was a laughable fantasy.

Technology changes, and computers became smarter. With cable Internet, whole albums could be downloaded in a few hours time, and made movies possible, first in segments, then in seamless files. CD's and DVD's became irrelevant faster than producers could stop spending money on them, leaving only Madonna proud that she remains a top-selling artist. The record companies didn't know what they were up against. Nitwits like Lars Ulrich paraded in front of cameras bullying fans to buy a new disc that was scratched in a week by those sleeves under the visor of your car. Entertainment companies met a real competition in people producing their own art. When quantity no longer matters, quality wins every time. The change has spun so fast that tyrants with weapons, armies, and money are being easily routed by a million kids with Facebook who shed only their own blood. The notion of Nation is gone, and the Bad Guys are just starting to realize they lost everything years ago with a single downloaded song. Salvation Shark chapters start March 4th. Thanks for reading.

-Paul
printisbetter.blogspot.com

Laugh at Yourself First, The Salvation Shark

Read "The Salvation Shark," and more short fiction, scripts, and very little poetry at Laugh at Yourself First.
pauljuser.blogspot.com

The groundhog lied.

I don't normally take predections from varmints, and cephalopods or pseudopods are decided on a case-by-case basis. Watching all but the last hint of snow disappear from my yard in one day was enough to get my hopes up for an early Spring. We had doors open, cats on the front porch and a jump start on Spring cleaning. The next morning was a white-out. Two days later, the snow was gone, and back in double the morning after that. As some readers may remember, Punxsutawney Phil is a close friend. We've shared corn chips. If you leave him alone with a chocolate cake, he's going to destroy your kitchen. More than that, I am a friend to the woodchuck race. Granted, the french fries my grandfather and I used to feed them in the back yard probably resulted in countless woodchuck heart attacks, but they didn't know the difference.

If you're here with me in Binghamton, you probably shoot Phil's kin off your back porch, and you certainly don't take pains to avoid them on the roads. Last year, I rescued an infant 'chuck from the side of the road, regardless of how many times he bit me. We named him Melon, but he escaped two days later when I didn't expect he could climb over a six inch brick wall without my noticing. He could. I already felt bad about keeping him in a cage, but he was well-protected from the hawks that circle overhead. We never saw any trace of Melon again. Apparently Phil lied about the Superbowl as well. There are new chapters of the "Salvation Shark" and "The Witch King's Sword" posting this week. Thanks for reading.

-Paul
printisbetter.blogspot.com

Read "Here in this Sorrow," and more short fiction, scripts, and very little poetry at Laugh at Yourself First.
pauljuser.blogspot.com

If anyone asks about my lip, tell them I was in a fight. It's better than the true story. I know what most people assume when they see the bleeding, open wound. It had to be the week the Day Job sent me to perform for preschoolers, who have no qualms about asking what happened. If I tried to perpetuate a rumor, I would have found myself delivering pizzas again. I had to tell the truth. Should you decide to visit Mark Twain Country for any reason, be sure to eat at one of the many Pudgie's Pizza in Elmira. If you're here with me in Binghamton, don't. Burning my lip on molten pizza sauce isn't very badass. Fight the truth. Tell everyone I was in a fight.

Junk food is dangerous. Science recently confirmed beyond the shadow of a doubt that feeding McDonald's to your three-year-old is guaranteed to make him a dummy. If you need an example, look no further than me. I eat junkfood all the time, and I'm barely a half-wit. Life on the road forces a person to eat a lot of egg-and-cheese sandwiches and hashbrowns. I could argue for hours over which gas station has the best microwaved bagels. I drink a lot of coffee to keep my metabolism high enough to process the garbage I devour. I don't know how the young mother I saw last week will compensate for the bottle of brand-or-off-brand-named-brightly-colored-sugar-water-flavored-drink-mix she gave her toddler. 'Round these parts, it ain't uncommon for the young'ns to have already graduated to Mountain Dew. Come back next week for new chapters of the Salvation Shark. Thanks for reading.

-Paul
printisbetter.blogspot.com

Laugh at Yourself First: The Salvation Shark

Read "The Salvation Shark" and more short fiction, scripts, and very little poetry at Laugh at Yourself First.
pauljuser.blogspot.com

Mark Twain Country is not far from me, and at some points through the year, the Day Job has me there more than my own home. In honor of Twain's 100th birthday, his surviving heirs, Tom and Huck, are being given a face-lift to show their maturity. In a move that stinks of Liberal feel-good dumbassery, the new editions will be expunged of that word that is only acceptable in rap songs and Tea Party descriptions of the President. Maybe if the offensive word is removed, the offensive history will disappear with it. I've learned the hard way that you can't use it even in the context of, "I'm so offended that person used this word." Instead, you are supposed to give hints to what word you are referring to. I'm not that swift, I get side-tracked, "What word? Nincompoops? Knuckleheads?"

A great teacher once told me, "The only offensive word is 'hate.'" It can't have any more power than you give it. While some argue Abraham Lincoln made history as an unrecognized racist, I think Mark Twain's motives were unquestionable. He was not using that word to oppress anyone, he was using that word to describe the way people talked in a segment of society he found reprehensible. If not other things, the United States is a more accepting place than it was in the time Twain was writing, but the Good Guys still have a lot of work to do. Mark Twain's books are one of the very reasons we have come so far. If he is still offending people, he done his job good.

If you're here with me in Binghamton, you're wondering why the rest of the country is so upset about this weather. The first time I ever drove in the snow, my car came within inches of T-boning another car at the stoplight on a long straight highway that went downhill for miles. I now live at the top of that hill. A few weeks later, a different storm spun me into a ditch. It wasn't until the next winter that I hit two or three consecutive patches of ice and smashed my tail light on a guardrail. You get used to it. Gas into the snowbanks. I've barely had reason to leave the house the last week, so I've dug in and fortified. I've been obsessively scrubbing bathtubs, changing toilets, and making bookmarks for The Salvation Shark. Look for them around town. If you are not in Binghamton, I'll be happy to send you a few to leave in your own town. Drop me a line at TbStarlight@gmail.com. Thanks for reading.

-Paul
printisbetter.blogspot.com