DennisLatham: Life and Fiction

Bizarre Short Tales Again...

2012-01-25T07:27:00.000-05:00

My grandson with Freddie from Return Of The Living Dead.
"Brains, live brains."

Bizarre Short Tales Again

"He was a short, kind of tall, fatskinny guy. A kinda baldish, hairy dude with blondish black hair."

Bubble-eyed Joe Mcphearson describing the guy whorobbed him.

The Confederate Army

More than a half-century after the last Civil War veterans died,a chapter in Kentucky law still offers a $50-a-month pension to any veteran whocan prove service in the Confederate Army. Confederate pensions are a legalrelic akin to the passage in Kentucky’s oath of office that requires electedofficials to swear that they have not fought a duel with deadly weapons noroffered to act as a second.

(Is Kentucky planning for the future or do they really fight duels no one knows about? Kentucky already has the highest rate of smokers in the country. Could it be the stress from duels and no one old enough to collect Confederate pensions?)

The real reason the New Jerseygovernor decided not to run for president: he looks too much like Bobby on the Sopranos.

Joke of the Day:

Federal and city officials insist that all of the 9/11dead have been properly reported and recorded. We just have to take their wordfor it. (After it was found that only 405 people were listed asdead on 911 instead of 3000.)

Quote of the Day

Rocky Merz of the Cincinnati Health Department when answering Dayton, Ohio claim that the STD is traveling from Cincinnati to Dayton. "Syphilis, like anyother disease, does not jump on the back of a semi and travel up the road. It'sspread from person to person." (So I guess it can also take a cab, acar, or the Greyhound bus.)

Still Even More Bizarre World Short Tales

2012-01-17T14:35:00.002-05:00

I'm second from the left, back in the days before I went straight, when I was an enforcer for the
notorious Clown Cartel. We extorted dues from every birthday party clown operating in Ohio, Indiana, and Kentucky.

Still Even More Bizarre World Short Tales

Andrew Jackson's Parrot

At Andrew Jackson's funeral in 1845, his petparrot had to be removed because it cussed when the preacher said anything goodabout the president. Jackson was a fighter and a drinker who loved to punchpeople bigger than he was when he got drunk. He once made the mistake ofswinging at 6'8" 275 pound frontiersmanSimon Kenton while in Kentucky. When Kenton knocked him across the room withone punch, Jackson stayed down and lived to become President. Had he pressedthe issue, Kenton would have probably killed him. A cussing parrot for Jacksonwould have been a normal pet.

(I once heard of a guy who kept a parrot in his garage and it started cussing whenever he opened the toolbox to work on a car.)

Hockey

13 out of 24 hockeyplayer deaths in 2011 were players in their 30s or under.

One could assumehockey is dangerous as hell.

Wade Belak, 35; DerekBoogaard, 28; Roger Christian, 75; Pavol Demitra, 36; Nick Harbaruk, 67; HarleyHotchkiss, 83; Jaroslav Jirik, 71; Alexander Karpovtsev, 41; Igor Korolev, 41;Stefan Liv, 30; Rick Martin, 59; Brad McCrimmon, 52; EJ McGuire, 58; EddyPalchak, 71; Karel Rachunek, 32; Rick Rypien, 27; Ruslan Salei, 36; MandiSchwartz, 23; Karlis Skrastins, 37; Sven Tumba, 80; Josef Vasicek, 30;Alexander Vasyunov, 23; Les "Doc" Widdifield, 86; Johnny Wilson, 82.

About To Get HisLife Together...

But Got Shot Dead Because He Pointed A Gun At Police Section

Pittman was no stranger to law enforcement. He had alengthy criminal record that included 12 misdemeanors, 15 felonies, 53 trafficviolations, five felony weapon charges, four felony violence charges with ninemisdemeanor convictions and five felony convictions. But...he was about to gethis life together and run for city office.

(They should have thought long and hard before shooting this productive citizen just because he pointed a gun at them. Now, they have to lay five people off who were just working on the cases created by this one person crime spree.)

Something Is Backwards

Percentage of Africa that is wilderness: 28%

Percentage of North America that is wilderness: 38%

(So how come we don't have gazelles, lions, and elephants roaming around?)

Pay Your Monthly Dues, Please

At Miami University thisorganization has everything covered:
The campus' Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual TransgenderQueer-Straight Alliance organized a "Unite Miami: Love is ourResistance" event.

We're Gonna Have Peace If We Have To Kill Everybody To Do It

In Rome, during the occupy protests, some peaceful demonstrators turned against theviolent group of demonstrators and tried to stop them by hurling bottles at them, Sky and theANSA news agency reported. Others fled, scared by the violence.

(Figure the logic in this: stop the violence by throwing bottles. Hmm, they have a funny way of being peaceful. Reminds me of the Vietnam War: In order to save the village, we had to destroy it.)

Try Something Cheap and Crazy.

Still More Bizarre Tales Of Real Life

2012-01-13T06:49:00.000-05:00

Still More Bizarre Tales Of Real Life

You would never hear someone say, "Hey, he looks like old whats-his-face" about this armed robber.

When You Die

When a person dies,hearing is generally the last sense to go. The first sense lost is usuallysight. Then follows taste, smell, and touch. That's why I'll never be cremated.Hell, you might feel it. And if your hearing is last to go, and no one knowshow long it takes because no one comes back from the dead, you may be able tohear everyone talking about you while you are in the coffin. At some pointyou'll probably hear, he looks good,doesn't he? It would suck to look better after you're dead than while youwere alive.

Passenger Screening

During the years thatthe TSA has been screening passengers, none of its employees anywhere hasdiscovered a single terrorist. I imagineit's because they are not allowed to search anyone who may fit the profile of aterrorist because they have to be politically correct. So they search oldladies and children. It should be enough to make any sane person pull theirhair out. The people in charge of this stuff are nuts.

Nutmeg

Nutmeg is extremelypoisonous if injected intravenously. Likesomeone would want to do that. There was a guy in my outfit in Vietnam whogot cans of nutmeg sent from home. I asked why because that was kind of weird.

"I mix it in acanteen of water and down it," he said. "I either get high as hell orI puke, and I never know which one will happen." The time I saw him do it,he went and puked. Now, that's a drug addict personality.

Statues

If a statue in thepark of a person on a horse has both front legs in the air, the person died inbattle; if the horse has one front leg in the air, the person died as a resultof wounds received in battle; if the horse has all four legs on the ground, theperson died of natural causes. If the horse is sitting down, the person died ofbeing married to a nagging woman.

Navy Seal Shoots Self In Head And Dies

San Diego police said the Seal had been at a bar and returned tohis apartment with a female companion, who he started showing several guns.Police said when she asked him to put them away, he assured her they were safe.He then put one pistol to his head and pulled the trigger, firing a round intohis head, police said. (After all thattraining they forgot to inform him that you never put a gun to your head andpull the trigger, especially after you've been drinking and trying to impress awoman.)

Free Kindle Books by Dennis Latham

More Bizarre Short Tales

2012-01-04T05:21:00.000-05:00

Michael In Hell

This is the back cover of Michael In Hell without all the writing on it. It's from a picture of me taken in 1994 in Aurora, Indiana. Some reader noticed when you turn the cover upside down, another kind of evil looking figure becomes visible with outstretched hands and long hair; standing in front of what looks like a large window. This could possibly be the monster part of Michael Tucker in the novel showing itself. This wasn't done on purpose and it does seem really weird. Some of the novel is based on truth. I won't admit exactly what parts beyond the Vietnam scenes that are based on my reality as a Marine during that war. I do know for sure there is a monster lurking in each of us.

Michael In Hell on Amazon

Kurt Vonnegut Short Take

Vonnegut’srelations with women were vexed from the start. When he was 21, his mothersuccessfully committed suicide — on Mother’s Day.

Sunglasses and the Secret Service

The Secret Service spends months learning how to walkin the dark while wearing sunglasses. I've discovered that they have a trainingfacility in Mammoth Cave, Kentucky where they go 800 feet below ground and turnout the lights. Seventeen men have been lost inside the cave. They also learnto sleep standing up, which is why they always look like statues when wearingsunglasses. At least half of them are sleeping because they don't get coffeebreaks or get to listen to intelligent conversation while guarding politicians.

A Rough Start To Life

Talk about arough beginning: Karl Slover, one of the little people from theWizard of Oz whojust died at 93. Slover was born Karl Kosiczky in what is now the CzechRepublic and he was the only child in his family to be dwarf sized. His fathertried witch doctor treatments to make him grow. He was buried in the backyard,immersed in heated oil until his skin blistered and then attached to astretching machine at a hospital; all in the attempt to make him become taller.Eventually, he was sold by his father at age 9 to a traveling show in Europe.

Dennis Latham's Bizarre World Short Tales

2011-12-23T06:49:00.000-05:00

(Zombie Gummy Bears)

73 Killed and 175 injured from falling bullets inLibya. Rebel leaders tell troops just to say Yippee instead of firing weaponsstraight up.
(Now you know why American troops never fire weapons in the air.)

The importance of proper spellingand understanding language. (From a WCPO/Cincinnati report)
"According to Police Chief James Craig, an officerapproached one of the groups after noticing a man holding something near hiswaste. "
(I guess the guy took a dump on the sidewalk.)

I can actually use handwriting,which is now like a new code language. Since they don't teach it anymore, mostkids can't read it.

The three most thrilling things inlife: sex, chocolate malts, and being shot at. If you've experienced all three,you know all there is to know about the human condition.

Christmas And Beyond

2011-12-22T06:03:00.001-05:00

Taking time off from writing for Christmas (you don't see the word Christmas much anymore and it's a shame) to concentrate on singing in the studio. I go in on the 27th to record about seven Sinatra songs for a CD and a demo for possible big band work. I've had a bad head cold, and I'm working on a Z-pack to knock it out, hopefully by the 27th.

The Kentucky Ghost Hunters are coming back in February to spend the night at my house. Holidays always seem to spark some activity among our live-in other dimension friends, if they can be called friends. We are supposed to have a man, woman, and child spirits, and one of them is angry all the time. Their activity doesn't seem to be on any regular schedule. It has never been aggressive, but is more to let us know they exist, with thumps, crashes, flitting images, lights on and off, and whispering.

Yesterday, another one of my childhood friends, JC, reached the 65th snow mark. None of us thought we would live this long, given the wars and the lifestyle of our generation. We're glad to still be around, but we're at the age where we know many more dead people than live ones. We meet every Thursday for breakfast.

Back in 1998, three out of five members of our then breakfast group died within two weeks at age 50. JC and I were the two left, and the odds against our survival seemed pretty slim. People looked at us like we were angels of death. But we're still here almost 15 years later and have added a few more members.

Lord of Homicides is one of my favorite novels. I love writing bizarre humor to explain weird events, and I had a blast with it. The Kindle version cover is above. I truly believe there is a parallel dimension that crosses into our lives at certain times and we have contacts from beyond. It's kind of like dealing with DC politicians.

All My Books and Stories To Date

2011-11-22T06:09:00.001-05:00

I'm kind of at the end of a long writing journey that began when I was a Marine in Vietnam. I've never had what a person would call an amazing output in terms of volume. Some writers can write a story in two days and a novel in a week. I worked on Lord of Homicides for two years before the rewrite. Since I rewrite each day when creating the novel, my rewrites were never too difficult, but they were time consuming. Michael In Hell and The Bad Season each took about six months. Last Chance of a Crazy Virgin, Waiting For An Open Bed, and Sudden Victims took years of collected writing. Bad Night In The Holding Cell took less than a year.

My absolute favorite is Last Chance of a Crazy Virgin. I had a ball with this comedy. I wrote the first sentence in 1976 and probably finished the novel in the 80s. It made a final marketing meeting at Bantam "over the transom" and was rejected in favor of a book by a more famous writer. It was originally published as Driving With Ace with a promise of promotion that never appeared. My timing as a writer has never been the best and neither has my promotional ability. I have crossed eyes, a twitch, and a hump on my back. I would make most male writers at a conference look like movie stars, and that would be very hard to do. I don't really have those physical things wrong with me, but I often feel that way as a writer.

My favorite story is Crossings. I don't know why. It's a sad, post world destruction story of love and regression to violence. Maybe because it's the last story I wrote. I figure that maybe some day after I'm gone, people will begin to notice I had something to say and my books will become popular. I imagine every writer feels that way if they aren't one of the chosen few. I'll be 65 in a few weeks, and I no longer know if I have the patience or the will to say anything else about the human condition. So, I've included a collage of all the covers I've created for my books and stories. I also had a ball doing the covers, which is a difficult task for anyone, especially, a guy who can't even draw stick men.

If I do finish more books, I'll get them out there. But if not, it's been both depressing and a lot of fun at the same time.

Vietnam: The Liberty Bridge

2011-04-04T08:17:00.000-04:00

This is the Liberty Bridge (click to make larger) in Quang Nam Province in Vietnam during July of 1968. Of the 14,000 Marines killed in Vietnam, 10,000 were killed in Quang Nam Province. (Figures in comment section show a little under 7000 KIA in Quang Nam.) This was late in my tour on July 2. The bridge had been blown once again by the enemy to isolate the Marine base at An Hoa. I was a 50 caliber machine gunner on a convoy to resupply the An Hoa Firebase.

I called this the River Styx because it had a ferry boat. Once you crossed the river you entered a nightmare hell on earth called the Arizona Territory. It was a free fire zone, meaning you could pretty much kill anyone of military age who wasn't a Marine. Enemy bodies and wreckage were scattered along the six mile choking dust road to An Hoa. This was bad country. The convoys were most exposed while crossing the river. We had to cross one truck at a time on the ferry boat. On this day, while waiting to cross, we spotted several NVA setting up a weapon on the river bank about 900 yards up river. Lance/Cpl. Harry Faudree, displaying incredible ability, dropped two of them and scattered the rest with a burst from an M-60 machinegun.

Upon reaching An Hoa, we were locked in for the night. The enemy had a nasty habit of surrounding the place after dark. We would set the gun trucks right behind whatever grunt battalion was on the perimeter and wait to be overrun. A few choppers would come in and out at night, but they took fire. We would watch the show of green tracer bullets going up and our red tracers going down. Mortar units fired rounds all night around the perimeter to discourage the enemy from coming close. This was the Arizona and the Indians were nasty. Probably two of the best books on the Arizona are James Webb's Fields of Fire and Sand In The Wind, written around 1970.

My life would be spared and my best friend would be killed here less than two days after this photo was taken.

(A Marine from B Company of 7th Motors has some recent pictures from Vietnam, and I believe he has some from An Hoa and the bridge. If I can get access to some of the pics and post them here. I welcome all comments from anyone who served there. It's important to keep our oral history alive. Semper Fi.)

Vietnam: Walking Through A Minefield

2011-03-29T16:34:00.000-04:00

The picture shows a killer called the "Bouncing Betty" anti-personnel mine. When tripped, the mine bounces up at least chest high before exploding. The one who trips it will probably die or be maimed, but often in the great mystery of war, the one who trips it may survive while others die. This was the case around November of 1967 in the Street Without Joy in the I Corps of South Vietnam.

My Marine battalion 1/3 was nearing the end of an operation. I was with H&S Company as part of an S-2 field interrogation unit. I usually had a tethered prisoner to push along in front of me while I followed in his footsteps. At times, we had tracked vehicles with us on flat ground. This was a bonus because I could walk in the trail left by the treads and not worry about tripping a mine. I didn't have either one on this day on the right flank, moving over hard bare ground. Real war isn't like the movies where troops bunch up and tell jokes or walk in a big cluster giving their opinions about life in general. The Marine Corps was strict on interval, at least fifteen paces between each man, because of things like the Bouncing Betty. If you bunched up, people died.

Something exploded up front. We froze. Word passed back that we were in a minefield. The officers were pissed because several grunts had bunched up. One tripped the mine, but the Marines behind him took the blast: one KIA and two wounded. (The KIA appeared untouched, but a pinhead piece of metal pierced his heart and he didn't even bleed. They had trouble finding the entry wound. His flak jacket was open or he would have probably survived.)

Walking through a minefield will age you. Everything, everyone, or every nightmare you have ever known flits through your mind. The Marine way behind me looked ready to puke. The one in front of me seemed miles away. This was a perfect place for an ambush, with a treeline on our right, slightly uphill. If they hit us, mines would help wipe us out. I wanted to sit and stay there. The ground was dry, cracked hard mud without footprints to follow. Staying there was not an option. I either lived or died, but I had to move forward and watch the ground for each step while checking the treeline for the ambush.

I cracked under the strain and ignored the treeline. An ambush was the least of my worries. That was the longest half hour I've ever spent in my life. It could have been longer, but I didn't have a watch and a combat scenario makes your mind alter time so you really don't know how much time has passed. I checked the ground, looking for imperfections or any sign the Marine in front had left where I knew I could safely step. I found nothing. I knew each step was my last as each foot put pressure on the soil. Sometimes, I closed my eyes just as I took a step and hesitated, waiting for the blast. When I finally cleared the field, I had much deeper appreciation for the little things like breathing or taking a step without fear of being blown up. Today, when I see bare ground with a treeline just beyond it, I'm right back in that minefield all over again.

Bad Night Monster Librarian Review

2010-08-30T16:47:00.003-04:00

I just received notice that Bad Night had been reviewed by Monster Librarian. Maybe it will help me reach more readers. Those who have read it finished the book in one session. A writer can't ask for more than that. Below is a link to the review. Look in the What's New section.

Bad Night Review from Monster Librarian

2009-01-01T06:27:00.005-05:00

February 2009

What others say about Last Chance:

“Latham's style is lean and mean, tying all these divergent elements into a slam-bang, satisfying conclusion. As wild and improbable as these characters seemed, I hated to let them go at book's end, like a bunch of quirky favorite uncles or aunts whom your family never talks about. A somewhat twisted and very funny read. Highly recommended.”
Walt Hicks, Hellbound Books

“I almost got fired for reading it at work because I was laughing so loud.”
Pat Rencker/Cincinnati, Ohio

“I didn’t get any sleep for three nights while my wife read it in bed. She kept laughing and waking me up to read parts of the book out loud.”
Dave Beinkemper/Fort Walton Beach, Florida

“I began wondering who would be the best person to play each of the characters in the movie. I seriously believe it could be turned into a very funny, but strange, movie. You don't have to have a twisted sense of humor to enjoy it, but it helps.”
Jim Whittenburg/Cincinnati, Ohio

“During the Jurassic Period, the Stegosaurus roamed North America. It had a massive torso, a long narrow skull, and a brain like an acorn. Lacking capacity for quick response, you could set fire to its rear end and the pain signal wouldn’t reach the tiny brain for ten minutes. Yet, it survived for millions of years because it was unique and different. This pretty much describes Mr. Latham and his work from my point of view.”
Ernst Krisinsky/Director Sunnyvale Mental Rehab

Living With Ghosts As I Write

2008-10-25T05:41:00.004-04:00

Got a call from the ghost hunters (PINK) in Kentucky last night. They spent the night at my house in March and picked up the most EVPs they have ever recorded. Last week they did a presentation at the Independence, Kentucky Library and had a crowd of 100 people. They are using an EVP from my house, among others, where a voice says "Glad I'm dead and they get mad," after the question as to why they haunt my house.

Among things we've experienced: I've been poked, slapped, had my hair yanked, had something crawl into bed with me almost every time I take a nap, and watched my Christmas tree get torn down one year by something I couldn't see. Lights go on and off, exercise equipment starts by itself and runs full tilt, crashes, bangs, and thumps all the time. I called PINK because something hit my big screen television so hard it moved the entire stand sideways and terrified my cats and dog. I've seen the woman pass through the dining room. We have three distinct spirits in our house and they make their presence known at times. The male makes it clear he doesn't like us being there. The woman makes physical contact (pokes,light slaps), and the child makes very little contact. The thing that bothered me the most was the long ringing of the phone: one short ring and then one continous ring until you picked it up to get a dial tone. It did it all night one night until we unplugged all the phones. The Christmas tree was the most bizarre thing I've ever seen. The branches bent down from top to bottom in a wave like someone walked on them. Ornaments flew everywhere and the lights and television made an electric short circuit sound while the tv screen went all static.The house is Victorian, pre-1900, probably around 1870, no one knows for sure. At least one past resident has been murdered, and it used to be a doctor's office at one time.

Channel 19 in Cincinnati is coming to film the outside of the house for their morning show on PINK October 31. I guess it will also feature some of the EVPs from my house, and a place called the Loveland Castle in Loveland, Ohio. I'm not real sure how much of their visit here will be on the show, but PINK tells me our EVPs are the big hit of their presentations.

Lord of Homicides Review

2008-05-06T06:50:00.003-04:00

Never before has a reviewer not only reviewed my book, but also pretty much described my real life at home.

The Hellnotes reviewer sums up my latest book:

"Overall, if you want an entertaining story, that doesn’t take itself too seriously, sprinkled with vulgarity, sacrilege, blasphemy, satire, and brine shrimp, then Lord of Homicides will satisfy your needs."

Lord of Homicides Review

Michael In Hell Review on Horror Web

2008-02-11T05:44:00.000-05:00

Created from a short story I wrote in 1973, Michael In Hell has a long history. I sent the story to Issac Asimov, and I was shocked when he actually wrote back to tell me he liked it and I should turn it into a novel. I did twenty years later. In 1995, I signed on with AEI a new agency in Los Angeles, along with author Steve Alten (MEG). Michael made it to a final marketing meeting at Bantam, where it was rejected (they had one opening slot) in favor of a famous writer because I was an unknown. Close but no cigar. Other majors rejected it because it was too bizarre and brutal during one of the periodic violence in media purges.

The Vietnam combat in the novel is in part from my experience. Several incidents are based on events that happened during Operation Shelbyville and Operation Ballistic Charge during late 1967 in Quang Nam Province. Of the 14,000 Marines killed in Vietnam, 10,000 died in Quang Nam Province. It would have made Dante's Hell seem like Disneyland.

The novel scares women for some reason beyond my understanding. My wife read it while we were going together and told her family she could possible be in love with a serial killer. Most readers report nightmares, loss of sleep and uneasy feelings. In a previous version, Brian Knight, Walt Hicks, and Tim Pratt added great reviews. This new version has picked up great reviews so far from Hellnotes, Monster Librarian, the University of Cincinnati, and the latest is from Zombie Brat at Horror Web, which was a pleasant surprise. The review link is below.

Michael In Hell On Horror Web

Help Solve This Murder From June 2000

2007-12-05T08:40:00.000-05:00

At home, George Gibson, age 47, is found dead inside the tiny first floor bathroom, as if trying to escape his killer. A veterinary pathologist and a twelve year employee at Proctor and Gamble, he appeared to be caught by surprise while at the kitchen table and tried to escape into the bathroom. Gibson was shot nine times, seven small caliber bullets to the head and two to the chest.

One of his three pet Bernese mountain dogs was shot to death on the first floor. A second was shot in the basement. The third dog in the basement, with a puppy litter, was spared. According to police, the intruder slipped into the house through a basement window. Police rule out robbery because nothing was taken. But items had been moved around as if someone tried to find something. Police haven't released whether they think more than one person was involved, they haven't found the small caliber pistol, and they won't say whether the dogs were killed with the same gun. (Makes it hard to get theory from outsiders when they won't release all the information.) The FBI came up with a generic profile on the killer, which didn't help.

Gibson was married for fifteen years to Paige Smith, another P&G scientist. They had no children. Gibson baked bread, raised chickens for meat, tended an organic garden, organized Boy Scout camping trips, and treated his dogs like they were his kids. Gibson was the only homicide in Westchester, Ohio in the year 2000. Police interviewed animals-rights activists (because of his animal testing job) and a woman who says she had met Gibson through a telephone dating service. The leads all went nowhere.

On Thursday June 22, Gibson says goodbye to his wife as she leaves for the airport, where she will board a private plane for Norwich, New York. They had transferred from P&G in Norwich to the Cincinnati Lab. He leaves work at 5:00 to go home. His wife calls from New York that night and gets no answer. George doesn't show up for work on Friday. His wife makes calls and returns home. The neighbors, police, and his wife find him dead at 12:32 p.m. on Friday.

Police interviewed friends and neighbors. The couple seemed happy. Leads shriveled about two months into the investigation. Paige, the wife was cleared, and she sold the house the next April and eventually moved back to New York. She offered a 10,000 reward, but police do not whether the offer still stands. The crime remains unsolved.

(Last year, I wrote a profile on the Phoenix, Arizona Baseline Killer, which the police used. They have a man in custody, and it remains to be seen how much of my profile was accurate with the information I had to use. I have my own theory on the George Gibson murder because I believe several clues stand out. I would be interested in what others think about this unsolved crime.)

New Terror Alert: PEAF

2007-11-11T06:22:00.000-05:00

The Smart Guy

(Update on the world of domestic intelligence. I reported on this last year but the project failed to receive budget funding. This time it should go into effect so watch out.)

New Terror Alert Takes Effect In February 2008 After Delay In April 2007

Concerned that terrorists may abandon suicide vests, an alert was issued today under the heading PEAF for all United States public transportation. PEAF stands for Plastic Explosive Anus Filler. Most people are unaware that Homeland Security agents investigate possible instances of any terrorist activity involving an explosive packed anus. The new screening procedure was supposed to have taken place April 1, 2007 but was stalled due to funding. It is now part of the new corporate tax break law that requires the President’s signature.

Such explosives are easily made using potassium chlorate and petroleum jelly. Potassium chlorate can be retrieved from common household matches and mixed with Vaseline to make an explosive paste that can be detonated with almost any type blasting cap. Beginning February 1, commercial airline and other public transportation passengers can expect random rectal explosive checks before boarding flights, trains, or buses. Rectal checkers will be in place at all major airports. Trains and bus terminals will follow with random checks a few weeks later.

There is some question as to how much damage a terrorist can inflict by such explosives since any shrapnel would first have to penetrate the large buttocks muscles. Some experts think only the most hardcore terrorists would be able to walk normal with an anus packed with say roofing nails or broken glass for shrapnel. Such ability would only be possible after months of practice inserting large objects in the anus. PEAF checkers say the most likely candidate for such terrorist suicide acts would be athletic females (higher pain tolerance), possibly ex-porno stars, between the ages of 18-45. "We're prepared to check every one of them," a male agent said. "We'll also do random checks on the general public."

Many explosive experts agree the new checks are a total waste of time and money. The terrorist would likely be the only one to die without causing much damage other than making victims smell real bad. The random checks are scheduled to begin at 12:02 AM on February 1, 2008. To date, 17000 men and 200 manly women have applied for 460 screening jobs.*

* Job requires experience with jackhammer or other prying device such as tire tool or chisel. Must be able to work while wearing cool sunglasses. All criminal searches are filmed for later review by supervisors and possible video release for new law enforcement reality show Anus Checkers.

+++++++
Lord of Homicides got a great review at the fantasy and horror magazine The Harrow.
The Harrow Review

LOH on Amazon and B&N

Owning Your Own Killer Tank

2007-11-03T07:03:00.000-04:00

This is Elizabethtown, Ohio. The town doesn't have a store or gas station. It has a bar, a bowling alley, a scrapyard, a gravel pit, a school, and what Ohio people call a drive-thru Pony Keg. It also has six working military tanks. This resident owns a tank. He keeps it in front of his house, and I know it moves because it's gone at times. I wish I had my own tank. People don't screw with you much when you have a working tank parked in front of your house. I believe it's an Iranian tank, captured during the war with Saddam back in the eighties. Such advanced technology (so advanced it scares Mr. Bush) will enable Iranians to compete with our technology in the next three or four hundred years, after they develop a slingshot with a long enough rubber band to launch their nuclear weapons.

I did some checking and found out there are 994 working tanks owned by private citizens in the United States. There were so many that the Bush Administration once considered shipping all of them to Iraq and making their owners private contractors. You need an FFL Collectors License to own a tank if it can shoot rounds. Last year, police reports indicated that 41 of these tanks have been fired in anger, killing three people. Six people have been killed from exploding tank barrels, five have been run over by their own tanks, five more drowned when their tanks slipped into lakes and rivers while fishing by tank fire, and four died when turret covers fell on their heads. This means that it is much more dangerous owning a tank than it is to have one fired at you. Still, is it impressive to have a tank parked in your front yard, even if it doesn't work. Add a few junkyard dogs and you have created a real fortress.

(This structure was destroyed due to friendly tank fire from inside building.)

The main thing to remember when checking into owning your own tank is to never fire it indoors and make sure you have the proper ammunition and FFL. The most important thing is to never believe a story created by a fiction writer.

Try a real killer.

Michael In Hell

Allow Me To Quote Myself After 60 Years

2007-08-25T08:48:00.000-04:00

After 60 years, each person should be allowed to make some observations on life and current events. Sixty doesn't seem that old, but I've reached the point where I know more dead people than I do live people. The belief for men is that if you make it out of the 50s, you have a good chance of reaching 80 or beyond. That remains to be seen. One of my old friends just turned 90 and he still plays golf each morning. It can be done...but just in case I don't make it anywhere close to my century mark, here are a few of my quotes about life and current events taken from my vast experience of having survived (as the Indians would say) 60 snows.

On Credit Cards

"When people used to ask me if I worried about credit card theft, I would say no because I keep mine all spent up to the limit. A thief couldn't buy bubblegum."

On The Military

"I believe most young men join the service hoping for war to prove themselves as men. The military trains you to kill. That's what the military does. Some people, especially politicians, spout high ideals for war. They can do this because most don't have to face combat. There are no high ideals in combat. It's a bunch of strangers trying to kill each other for somebody else. Had circumstances been different you may have gotten along fine with the person you're trying to kill."

On Combat

"I've been in combat. It's addictive, but you pay a price. You have no past or future but only the moment because you can't plan beyond it so you experience life like you never will again. Many people spend the rest of their lives trying to find that combat high again."

On Using The Senses

"I always thought one of the most exciting sensory things in life was a chocolate malt, followed close by being shot at. Malts won the title."

On The Bush Years

"Everyone distrusts their neighbors because they may be terrorists or traitors because they may not be Republicans."

The Government

"The way the government runs is like the horse track, only maybe a lot more shady at times, and a lot more costly."

On Vietnam

When I went to Danang to go on R&R, I saw a guy with skin white as a sheet wearing a Bronze Star with a combat V on his tans. I knew this guy had not been in the field. I asked him what he did to get the Bronze Star. He said he worked in a computer bunker and during a rocket attack he reached up and turned the lights off."What the hell difference did that make?" I said. "They can only aim rockets in the general direction anyway." He just shrugged, and I shook my head at the absurdity of it all.

On Divorce

"I predicted that each time I got married, I would get divorced and get cleaned out. I've been right three times."

THE BAD SEASON

A Letter From Kurt Vonnegut

2007-04-14T20:33:00.000-04:00

My third novel (the first two were throw aways) was called I Guess You're Still A Virgin. It was published years later as Driving With Ace. After I finished it, I wrote to Kurt Vonnegut to see if he would read it because someone told me it reminded them of his writing. I liked his writing and thought I would attempt to write to him through his publisher. I received the above response on onion skin paper on his old typewriter. It shows some of what he thought about New York publishing. I was surprised I even heard from him. Now that he is gone, the letter has more meaning to me.

My Big Fat Operation or (Hmm, I'll Bet You Snorted Cocaine)

2007-04-05T05:08:00.000-04:00

(What I imagined the operation would look like after I was out and having a nightmare.)

I had an operation at the Cincinnati VA to remove something called a papilloma from my right nostril. It’s basically a wart. I had two of them, one on the outside of the skin inside the nose and one called an inverted papilloma, with roots that dig under the skin inside the nose. It sounds gross as hell and I’m glad I didn’t have to see the things. They are supposed to be common, but I’ve never heard anyone say they ever had one. The inverted kind can turn into cancer, (10% chance) and no one seems to know what causes them.

(Before photo at left)

I’ve never been operated on except for my tonsils as a kid and ten years ago when I had another papilloma removed by a civilian doctor. The VA doctors also decided to fix my screwed up septum, since my nose has been broken several times. I went weeks ago in February for the operation and was put to sleep, but when I woke up, I found out that they didn’t do anything because they wanted to bring in a specialist to look at the inverted papilloma. That kind of pissed me off. I hate been put to sleep because it’s dangerous and I’m out of control of my body. I had the operation March 20. Like some damn nut, I had also decided to quit smoking in the same week. I figured since I couldn’t smoke while getting an operation, it would be a good time to stop.

My blood pressure dropped bad during the operation and I guess I was close to checking out. (They didn’t tell me how close.) But they gave me shots of something and my BP came back up, but it came back up too high. Being put to sleep is dangerous as hell and I hate it. I spent 18 hours in the ICU for what was supposed to be same day surgery. I couldn’t sleep because I was spitting blood and they took my blood pressure every fifteen minutes and gave me shots to bring it back down from about 224/108. (It had never been that high in my life.) They also gave me shots in the stomach to prevent blood clots in the legs from not being able to walk after surgery. They said they do that with all surgery now.

I’ve been going nuts ever since. I can’t sleep because of the screwed up nostril and I’ve been depressed and nasty while trying to stop smoking. It’s two weeks later and I’m still sore as hell on my right nostril. What is amazing to me is how much time slows down when you try to quit smoking and you’re in pain. Each day seems like it’s about a week long. (So in case anyone has sinus problems...have your nose checked out. I had these papillomas for years and didn’t even know it. I just thought I had clogged sinuses all the time. If one of them turns to cancer, it would be too close to the brain for a good prognosis. )

I can’t say the operation is worth it, but the growths should be removed. Besides, I always get the weird stuff. I also found out that when you tell people you had nose surgery and they worked on your septum, they automatically assume you used to snort cocaine. I’ve never done any drugs, but no one will believe you. They just kind of give you a sly look like they know one of your big secrets. (After photo below. Kind of swollen, but this could be a new look for me.)

Why I'm Not Allowed To Groom The Dog

2007-03-19T07:45:00.000-04:00

We have a list in our house of things I'm not allowed to do. I'm not allowed to touch the laundry. I can't cook, run the dishwasher, iron clothes, fix anything that breaks because I slam it or beat on it, and now I'm not allowed to groom the dog. Genetics made me a hunter-gatherer. It's not my fault. Like a male lion, I growl and stumble to the food, provide protection, and pretty much stay in a prone position. My wife likes it that way because objects remain intact.

Last year we took our dog Scarlet (Australian-Shepherd mixed) to a groomer. They charged 70.00 and didn't do anything I could see except douse her with stinky perfume. She has triple-canopy hair, and once the weather warms, her armor begins to shed in piles. I bought electric clippers and did a good job of removing three bags of hair. But I fried the clippers. So I wasn't allowed to buy a new set of clippers. My wife said she would buy them. (Before picture above)

She bought me battery operated clippers, and this year I went to work on the dog. You have to plug them in to recharge. It's a lame system for a hunter-gatherer. The battery started to go after about twenty minutes. I had to recharge it for at least an hour to make it work for five minutes. By the time my wife came home I wasn't half finished. I called her to warn her Scarlet looked different. It didn't matter that she had bought inferior sissy clippers when I need industrial strength sheep shears. When she saw Scarlet, she collapsed to a sitting position, and Scarlet looked depressed and kept her head in my wife's lap, whining. I was the cursed one.

I didn't know what to do so I offered to cook dinner, and that made her jump up fast. (Scarlet after my cut job below. My wife is on the phone telling our daughter about the nightmare I had created. Click to make larger.)

We ended up taking her to a different groomer. They did a great job for another 70.00. My wife said that I was the big topic as the professional groomers tried to figure out what I did. All the customers had a great time at my expense. Things are back to normal. I'm a lounging lion, the dog is happy, and my wife is happy (but still shakes her head when she looks at me.) With Spring coming, all I have to do now is figure out how I can screw the yard up so bad that my wife will cut the grass. Then I will be a true hunter-gatherer.

(Scarlet after groomer below. Enlarge to see four military type hashmarks on her that the groomers couldn't remove. I tried using scissors at one point.)

PTSD: The Endless War

2007-02-13T08:10:00.000-05:00

The picture is me at age 20 as a Marine on the deck of the helicopter carrier USS Okinawa off the coast of Vietnam sometime in October 1967. I don't remember being so young or what was in my mind at the time. I didn't plan for a future because I expected to die before age 21. The night before I left home I got a drag racing ticket about two in the morning. The cop told me I would have to be in court in July. I told him I would be in Vietnam.
"We'll be waiting at your door when you get back," he said.
"If I make it back, I'll be glad to see you."
I had a real world fatalistic attitude. I tore the ticket up before he drove away and never heard anymore about it. Maybe the judge figured I was in enough trouble.

This morning I saw an article about a 25 year old veteran who killed himself after the VA turned him away when he sought help for PTSD. I usually never tell anyone except other veterans that I'm 100% service-connected for PTSD. I have been for years. Based on my service records fromVietnam, the VA agreed that my life had changed forever. I wasn't me anymore. I went to one-on-one therapy for so long that my doctor grew old and retired. Nothing changed. I had the same nightmares, slept in two hour shifts, the same job problems with authority, multiple marriages, and a ferocity without conscience toward strangers who threatened me. Strangers were the enemy; the enemy are objects, not people. The only thing I lacked was the tendency toward alcohol and drugs. I probably would be spending my life in prison for a violent crime because I'm dangerous under the influence. I was lucky enough to realize this and keep iron control at all times.

After reading the article this morning, I sat in the dark before dawn and the jungle nights returned. It doesn't take much, even after 40 years. I guess some could say this is our fate. War changes the warriors. Most people don't understand how severe that change can be. The endless war in our minds is not a disease or a mental illness, as the media machine seeking stories often make people believe. We are not psychos. We experience a long term reaction to events outside the ordinary scope of life. The only way to remove the memories is to remove the brain. The Endless War never goes away.

Entering The Body...A Memory

2007-01-08T07:34:00.000-05:00

(A picture of me I had used for a CD cover.)

(Someone spotted a strange figure when you turn it upside down.)

(The Spirit Web posted my story some years back. I've edited it some for an update and posted it below. I still don't know why I have such recall of this event, but I know it happened. )

Entering the Body - A Memory

I floated in the dark, pitch black. I didn't know how I got there or why, and I don't know how much time passed. I was aware I existed and I had adult intelligence. That is one of the hardest parts to explain. I wasn't conscious of a body, but I know I had adult intelligence. It wasn't frightening. It wasn't anything. It was kind of like just passing time. It seemed I had just blinked on.

Suddenly, I saw bright light and things came into focus. I stared down at the back of the head of a small child sitting with his back to me. His arms moved something between his legs. He had blond hair, wore blue overalls and had a plaid short sleeve shirt. I remember staring at the child as a predator, like a stalking lion, without knowledge this was a child. The child went stiff and stopped moving. Then he turned and looked up toward me. I concentrated on his blue eyes, locked on them. This is the really weird part. I changed into something like a lightning bolt and streaked into those eyes. The eyes became huge as I flew into them. The form I was in must have been pretty small, and I don't know what he saw.

Then it was dark again for a moment, and when I could see, I was that child moving a small red truck on the floor between my legs. I heard gurgling and looked up. I saw orange shrimp boiling in a glass pot on the stove. I knew they were shrimp, but didn't know. It seemed like all the knowledge faded quickly, and I had to learn all over again, but I never forgot how I came into the body. I was probably eighteen months old at the time.

When this happened, we lived on the third floor of a coffee factory in Cincinnati, Ohio. In order for me to be looking down at the child, I would have been floating above and outside the kitchen window at least thirty feet off the ground. When I was about fourteen, (the year I fell 100 ft. and survived) I told my mother what had happened. She told me never to speak of it again, and I never really have. I told my sister, but she just looked at me like I was nuts, as do most people. I'm sixty now, and I remember it as if it happened yesterday.

I do believe I have psychic ability, though, I don't know how to use it. Things just happen. When I get really nervous or agitated, someone I know usually dies or experiences something traumatic. While I was a Marine in Vietnam, I felt like an electric wire had been plugged into my body one night. I got out of my fighting hole, made sure everyone in my outfit was alert and told them we were about to be attacked. They thought I was nuts, but within four minutes of my warning we came under attack by an enemy unit.

One night while married to my second wife, I woke her from a dead sleep and told her to call her brother in Denver because something had happened. I never thought of her brother before except in passing. I didn't know him very well. She called after I begged her, and he had just been in a car wreck a few hours before and was in the hospital. He survived.

My current and forever wife has psychic ability, and early on in our relationship, we experienced some frightening events in our house. I have seen ghosts on several occasions, but other than that, my life has been fairly normal. By normal, I mean free of constant psychic experiences. My life has always been kind of weird and uncommon. I just don't know how to explain the memory of going into my body or why I remember it.

(So all I can figure is the place you go when you die is dark without any concept of time or form. You stay there with adult intelligence until you find another body. Then all past life experience and adult intelligence goes away quickly and you learn all over again. I never felt any other presence in that void with me, but I know it's not over when we die.)

The Helmet

2006-11-21T06:45:00.000-05:00

The picture is me on the deck of the USS Okinawa, an LPH (Landing Platform Helicopter) probably around September of 1967. I still had an M-14 rifle, which I consider to be the best combat rifle ever made. I had traded my M-16 to a sergeant who didn't want to carry the weight. They took the M-14 away from me not long after this picture and made me get an M-16. I had three different M-16 rifles in Vietnam and they all jammed every third round and would only work with seventeen rounds in the magazine instead of twenty. The defects in those early versions were paid for with American lives.

The picture also shows my second helmet. My first helmet had contained a morbid surprise. I had arrived in Danang from Okinawa aboard a C-130. I was assigned to the 1st Battalion Third Marine Regiment. The battalion rear was on Hill 327, but they were getting ready to go on float aboard the LPH. From Hill 327, we could see for what seemed like miles of super-heated ground in a hazy and humid mist. My skin felt like it had been dipped in motor oil. Everything was covered in a bronze colored dust. I felt like I had been dropped into some prehistoric world like the one in Conan the Barbarian stories. I was a stranger in a strange land. I couldn't imagine making it through a year in this place. Since everything in the military is hurry up and wait, they lined us up to get our 782 gear: helmet, pack, cartridge belt, etc. When it was my turn, the supply guy handed me a helmet. It had a small hole in one side and a large blowout hole in the other.

I told the supply guy that my helmet had a bullet hole in it. "That's good luck," the guy said. "it won't get hit again."

I walked over and sat next to another new guy. When I turned the helmet over to adjust the liner, it was a cracked mess of clotted blood mixed with red tinted beige scrambled egg brains. "Jesus," the guy next to me said. I felt slimy all over. I had been hit in the head with rocks as a kid, but I couldn't imagine the instant shock of a high velocity bullet to the skull. Holding the helmet like a hot soup bowl, I walked back to the front of the line and showed it to the supply man.

"This is full of brains and I can't wear it."

"Sorry about that," he said, and tossed it over his shoulder into a pile of gear I hadn't noticed before. The pile contained bloody 782 gear: packs, helmets, and even one bloodstained boot. I kept wondering if there was a foot inside. The supply man saw me looking at the pile as he handed me another helmet. "You'll get used to it," he said. "It happens all the time."

I never did get used to it. I'm glad I didn't put the helmet on before looking inside. Because I'm a writer, people often ask me if that little incident is fiction. No. It actually happened. The supply man was in a hurry and didn't bother to check the gear. I never knew who that Marine was, but he's been with me ever since...

Is That You, John Wayne?

2006-11-09T07:30:00.000-05:00

This is one of my favorite Vietnam photos. The Marine in the photo is Bud Lemoyne from Texas; a funny guy who could make you laugh at most anything. I've always thought it would make a perfect poster or a Life Magazine cover for what the troops thought about the Vietnam War.

A Marine Gives His View On The Vietnam War

I don't remember the circumstance behind the photo, but it probably had something to do with the fact that he didn't have a magazine in his rifle. Somebody probably asked him if he thought he was John Wayne or Gomer Pyle.

Most people don't know the Marine Corps had a strong dislike for John Wayne and Gomer Pyle. Actors playing Marines, who were never actually Marines, are never accepted by the Corps. Only Marines and Navy Corpsmen attached to the Marines can represent the Marines. That's how it is. It's not that the Marine Corps disliked the actors as people. They just did things real Marines would never do: pull grenade pins with their teeth, etc.

I once lived with a guy who was in the boot camp platoon they used at the beginning of the Gomer Pyle Show. I can't repeat here what their drill intructor said about being forced to be part of that show. During training, if you got caught carrying your rifle in one hand, you had to run around the outfit yelling, "I'm the baddest motherf--ker on earth. I'm John Wayne. I can carry my rifle in one hand." The Marine Corps accepts no substitutes, ever.

Horror World reviewer Dennis Duncan rates The Bad Season as his favorite horror novel of 2006. I really appreciate it, and the review should be out soon.

Amazon B&N Shocklines

A Gambler, a Dog, and the Demons is now out in a collection DeathGrip; Exit Laughing from Hellbound Books. The story is from my yet unpublished novel Lord of Homicides. There are some twisted stories full of dark humor in this collection from some fine horror writers. Publisher Walt Hicks asked me to submit a story last year, and I'm proud to be included in the collection. My column Ask The Smart Guy in John Cullen's Far Sector Magazine explores what can happen when a rather deranged smart guy believes he has telekinetic powers.

(You can now post comments on this blog since I finally figured out the settings buttons.)

Korea And How The U.S. War Will End In Iraq

2006-10-21T09:14:00.000-04:00

I took a lot of heat a few years back from the fanatic (you're with Republicans or you're a traitor) people when the war started because I said it would be another Vietnam. Turns out I was right. But that was a no-brainer for someone who had been in military combat. There are no real surprises during war; there are only options, and those options are always limited. Why they couldn't see that in Washington is beyond me? Guess it was because none of them had actually been in combat or active military. They just didn't have a clue...

Each time things go bad (or get worse) in Iraq, Korea rears up and draws attention away from just how bad things are in Iraq. Sudden numerous terrorist threats infect the news. Our government scares us with information that North Korea may sell nuclear devices to terrorists. Using common sense, a person could figure that if the terrorists wanted nuclear bombs, they could get them in Pakistan, where they operate base camps and you can buy almost anything. They sure don't need North Korea. Another argument states that if North Korea remains nuclear other countries will suddenly want to go nuclear, like other countries haven't thought of going nuclear before the North Koreans.

North Korea is a Chinese puppet. The Chinese hate us, and they have endless patience. We fought the Chinese during the Korean War. In the field in Vietnam, we listened to military advisers speaking Chinese while operating with Vietnamese units. Go to any Walmart and try to find something not made in China. Well, go almost anywhere and try to find something not made in China. North Korea takes the heat for China because our economy depends on China and they could pile up enough people to make a land bridge to America. Common sense should make everyone see that North Korea can't afford to mess with another country (using nuclear weapons) unless they want to be squashed like a bug. So, Korea is convenient to serve as a front for failures in Iraq to take the heat off those failures.

There are only two options for Iraq. The first has already failed. We tried to buy out Muqtada al-Sadr. We were going to kill him. He had arrest warrants for murder, etc. Then he said he would join the government and stop fighting. We said okay because our leaders were frantic for a solution while Sadr took our money and bought time to rebuild a massive force. Only in politics do people get burned over and over with the same lies. Maybe because all politics is based on lies...hmmm.
The second option will more than likely happen. I predict the end of U.S. involvement in Iraq will have to go down this way...

The leaders of the new Iraq government will be taken out by unkown insurgents, either through ambush or some kind of massive explosive, collective heart attack, or a plane crash. (Every time I see Malaki, the head of the U.S. backed government on the news, I just know I'm seeing a dead man.) The United States will take the position that since there is no more government, the mission can no longer be fulfilled. It will be stated that since the Iraqi people refuse our help, they will have to work out things on their own. We will start pulling troops out, leaving some near the borders, supplemented with UN troops to protect oil integrity, but we will no longer actively promote or participate in a Civil War. We will abandon all the cities. It will not be a defeat; we'll just say we can't help people who don't want to help themselves. Iraq will fall in behind Somalia, Haiti, and Lebanon as places where you wouldn't want to visit to promote a healthy lifestyle.

This is not an indictment of any particular person or policy. As Robert E. Howard, author of Conan the Barbarian concludes: war is the natural state of mankind. This is the natural progression of the situation to reach a resolution.

The Scary Guy Gets Mellow

2006-10-15T05:14:00.000-04:00

People often say I'm a scary guy. My youngest daughter always tells me how all her male friends were terrified of me. I grew up rough, in the tenement Bottoms and Over the Rhine in Cincinnati. By age six, I had fought in over 100 street fights, had been slashed three times with a knife, and had broken my nose in a fight where the other boy almost died from head injury.

My Italian mother often fought in the street. She made me fight my first battle at age five: some shoeless kid wearing a womans' stocking on his shaved head because he had ringworm. I didn't know why he wanted to hurt me. I was afraid of him because of the ringworm. The kid kept pushing me. My mother came down, grabbed my arm and pushed me forward. Something snapped inside and I went after him. I punched him down fast and kicked him several times in the head with my heavy shoes. It was over quick. I had won my first fight.

My father was ox strong and a street fighter from the West End. My grandfather, Tony Marino, was a gun-toting ex-bootlegger who owned a bar at Third and Sycamore Streets. I fired my first gun at age five, a cop's gun, at beer cans in a drugstore on Main Street after closing time. Julie Montessi, the big local bookie, let me drive his big Buick along the cobblestone waterfront at age six. Cincinnati and Newport, Kentucky were considered neutral territory for the Italian Mob during that time, but still had its share of gangsters. We were Italian Catholics, except for my English-Irish father. The only grass I ever saw was in Washington Park, unless we took a rare trip to Coney Island, until we moved to the suburbs.

When we moved out of downtown, my mother mellowed out. I did, too, somewhat. By age 17, I only had four assaults (among other things) on my police record, all from fights. I had broken my nose two more times, been cut again with a knife, and had, according to the family doctor, at least seven indents on my skull that should have had stitches, all from being struck from flying objects (mainly rocks or bottles) during fights. Guns in street fights were rare back then. I loved gang fights and bar fights. I liked to get in close and use what was available. Bar stools and tire irons were my favorite. Whatever I had, if you were my enemy, I would hit you with it, up close.

A lot of people can't fight up close with weapons. They hesitate because they fear injury. That was all I needed to win.

That was my life. If Vietnam never happened, I would probably be in jail today. I didn't know any other way until the Marines. It's funny how the Marine Corps shows you how to be a killer while teaching loyalty and a respect for all life. I was the top killing blow bayonet fighter in my three-platoon series in boot camp. I guess I would have made a good front line Roman soldier. (The picture above is Over The Rhine in Cincinnati pretty much like it was when I was a kid.)

It comes out in my writing. Michael In Hell (currently out of print but an e-book) is a tragic record of what could have been my life had I gone the way of my childhood.

The Bad Season is a glimpse of my good side facing ultimate evil.

Shocklines Bad Season

Driving With Ace (currently out of print but an e-book) and my just completed manuscript, Lord Of Homicides, are bizarre comic studies of our absurd human condition.

I'm currently working on the sequel to Michael In Hell with the working title Infamis, in Latin it basically means the social dead. This continues the tragedy of serial killer Michael Tucker (his face dyed red from the neck up) and his life as a state executioner for the psychotic Warden Burdeck in my fictional world of 2007.

My fighting days are long over. I turn 60 this year. I'm the oldest male left in my Italian family. I never did consider myself to be scary looking. I get along great with children (probably because I've never grown up), my wife thinks I'm a big funny kid, as do my children and grandchildren. My neighbors know me as the writer with red boxing heavy bag hanging on the porch. I guess I'm just a scary guy who laughs a lot.

Vietnam: Psychic Precognition and the 122 Rocket Attack

2006-10-03T06:36:00.000-04:00

Near the finish of my Vietnam tour, I was with B Company 7th Motors at the north end of a small firebase called Camp Books. We were separated from the main base by water, pretty much isolating our group except for an access road. I had it good by Vietnam standards, compared to when I was with the grunt battalion. We had plywood buildings to sleep in when we weren't in fighting holes. Every other building had a bunker. The problem was I spent most nights in a perimeter fighting hole.

While with B Company, I was on the receiving end of at least 300 rockets. The 122mm rocket is a killer. The enemy still uses it on our troops in Iraq today. You just don't hear about it much. The 122 is six feet long and carries a 40 pound TNT warhead up to six miles, fired from portable launchers. The 122 is unstable and cannot be set to strike a specific target. They aim it in the general direction and hope to kill you. Many times they did. The rocket can be set for a delay, an airburst, or set to dig in several feet before exploding. The blast always goes forward during an impact, but the blast concussion can also cause severe damage or death.
(The picture above shows the result of a plywood building after being hit with a 122 rocket. The result was two KIA Marines and several wounded. Click photo to enlarge.)

At night, a 122 rocket launch will begin with an orange glow, usually about one mile away. It's about the same as if you were firing bottle rockets only a lot bigger. They sound like a freight train coming with an added evil whoosh noise. All you can do is hope they pass over you. If the freight train whoosh noise stops before you can hear the sound of its passing, you could be in major trouble because it's on top of you. (There is truth to the old saying that you never hear the one that gets you, but it doesn't apply to the 122 rocket.) It may be true for artillery and mortars, but rockets are a bit slower and you always hear them coming. The worst part is not being able to strike back. You get a total helpless feeling mixed with homicidal anger. You have to cringe into a ball and hope the rocket doesn't hit near you.

One night around two in the morning in June 1968, I was in the plywood barracks. I awoke in sudden panic, as if I had been plugged into an electric outlet. I didn't know what had happened. I couldn't shake it. Then, I knew. I ran out to the perimeter where my best friend, Chuck Searles, stood watch in a fighting hole. I told him we were about to be hit and to stay alert. I went to every perimeter fighting hole. They thought I was nuts. Then I ran back to the barracks and started waking everyone. Some of them wanted to shoot me.

About three minutes later, the first orange glow lit up the jungle as a rocket launched. An empty bunker took a direct hit (those marines had gone farther north that day) and we had barracks and truck damage, but no deaths because everyone was up and dug in. Most of the barrage passed over us to the main base where marines from the picture above were killed. We expected a ground assault to follow, but by then we were prepared for it. It never came that night. B Company thought I was Mr. Wizard or something. I can't explain how I knew about the rocket attack. It was my first severe experience with psychic precognition.

The Bad Season on Shocklines

A Marine on The Bad Season

"Dennis, I just finished the Bad Season. Great read. As I read I was wondering how you were going to end. How you were going to kill something that couldn't be killed. Good job!"
Semper Fi
Wayne Hughes

Far Sector Magazine

The Baseline Killer, Plumber Bob, and Military Magazine

2006-09-20T18:50:00.000-04:00

I became interested in the Baseline Killer a few months ago because my daughter moved to Phoenix to attend school. The police have been trying to catch this monster for a year. He's responsible for eight murders, two dozen robberies, a dozen rapes, and is known to wear different disguises. I had the DC snipers figured out within a few days, but was ignored by the police and FBI. My profile could have saved lives. This time, I used limited available information and created a profile on the Baseline Killer and sent it to the Phoenix police. I felt I could add a new angle that the overworked police may not have considered. Sometimes a fresh outlook can open new direction.

I was shocked yesterday when my phone rang and it was Commander Frank Sweeney of the Phoenix Police Department. He told me he liked my profile, believed it was plausible, and he was going to make sure the Homicide detectives working the case got copies. The odds are slim that I'm right (mainly because I don't have inside information and have to assume many things) but I seem to have a knack for profiling monsters. I must have assumed a lot of things right for the police to give me serious consideration. I hope my profile helps catch this guy. Only time will tell, and I hope they get him before he murders again.

The Bad Season made Plumber Bob's top 18 books on Amazon. It's in with some big time writers. That was a surprise. The book is up and down this week.

My previous blog entry about the VC flag will be published in the December print issue of Military Magazine. The editor contacted me yesterday and wants to use it. It's been a productive week.

A Bomb, An SKS, And The Viet Cong Flag

2006-09-14T05:41:00.000-04:00

In Vietnam we had the Phantom Jet for close air support. While on operations, the jets would drop bombs in front of us, especially if we were about to enter a VC village or enemy soldiers were in the open. Close air support was often an understatement. The pilots had to be good to keep from killing us along with the enemy.

The Phantom would scream over, tilt up and drop a 500 pound bomb that looked like a wobbling cigar. A black smoke cloud would rise, and then the shock wave, a living thing, would ripple outward. You could see it coming, like an ocean wave, right before you heard the heart rate altering blast. Then shrapnel would patter down on your head, often mixed with minute fragments of anything else the bomb destroyed, including people. It was the only time I ever felt sorry for the enemy; humans should never be exposed to such destructive power. That's how I got the paper VC flag in the picture.

An enemy soldier ran out of a straw hootch just as the bomb landed on him: talk about bad timing. In the great mystery of war, he was vaporized all over the trees , but his SKS rifle survived with just a crack in the stock and a piece of tattered pocket contained the VC flag. I put the flag in my pack, but an officer came and took the rifle from me, after saying I would get it back once we left the field. I never saw him or the rifle again. How the enemy soldier completely distengrated and this paper flag survived is something I've never figured out or could even begin to explain. But it is one of the few artifacts I managed to bring home.

Combat PTSD

The Nuclear Heart Test and The Bad Season

2006-09-12T07:28:00.000-04:00

I turn 60 in a few months, and I guess I've been lucky healthwise, despite feeling like I was born smoking. I actually started smoking at 14 and have never quit, except for the first five days in Marine Corps boot camp when I didn't have any cigarettes. Everyone else I grew up with started at age five. (Some are dead, but no one I ever knew died from lung cancer.) No one in my family has ever died from cancer. We all get heart attacks and strokes. If you don't get cancer, chances are strokes and heart attacks will take you out eventually. I've been a light smoker and really have never had problems with breathing, no bricks on the chest, cough, etc. That could be bad because I haven't suffered for it.

I've lifted weights all my life, and I've been taking blood pressure medicine for the past five years. But that's about it. Every time I go to the doctor my blood pressure is high. I take it at home and it's normal. I go to the doctor in the afternoon and it's high. They told me I have White Coat Syndrome, meaning each time I go to the doctor I get so nervous my BP rises. My doctor ordered a Nuclear Stress Test. They shoot radioactive dye into your arteries while you're on a treadmill, once your heart rate reaches the target level. My target level was 136. You have to sign a statement saying you understand that this test might kill you. The odds are 1-2500. It's like playing a lottery you hope you don't win.

Before the test, my blood pressure was 122-87: a little high on the low end but normal for a 60 year old man. This amazed me. You would think when I'm about to be lit up like a Christmas tree and I could croak during the process, that I would feel more stress than going to the doctor for a routine visit. I guess that's the Marine in me; we are more relaxed when faced with possible death. I also noticed the nurse took my blood pressure the right way, with my arm elevated level with my heart. Not many nurses bother to do it right, and your blood pressure may read higher than it is. (Makes me wonder how many people take BP medicine who don't need it.)

I got up to the target heart rate in seven minutes. They injected the dye and I didn't die on the spot. Then I had to be on my back in something called a Gamma machine that took pictures for 45 minutes. You can't move other than to breathe. Of course, my nose started itching and then my back. Not being able to scratch takes discipline, but I didn't want to go through the test again. They sent me to lunch and then back again for more pictures. The stuff stays in your system for a month.

I had to wait to see the doctor. That's the bad part. I told my wife they were probably going to tell me that my arteries looked like a series of beaver dams. The doctor told me I hid my age well and that my heart was totally normal with no blockages anywhere. Then he reamed me out for twenty minutes about smoking. I plan to quit by my birthday this year. That nuclear test was stressful, but the relief of finding out that I wasn't going to die any second from a heart attack was worth the risk. My need for BP medicine is probably heritage combined with my age.

------------------------------

My latest novel is still doing okay. John Cullen of Clocktower has sent several copies to my old college, the University of Cincinnati, stressing what he believes is the underlying psychological statement of war veteran persecution in the novel. I don't believe that was my intention when I wrote it, but if it came out that way for some readers, that's fine. I want to thank my wife and daughter, my lifelong friends, and those readers who keep pushing the book through word of mouth. The novel is doing well for having no advertising budget.

What some others have said about The Bad Season
"a harrowing tale of a Marine vet who travels to Owenton, Ky., to help a lifelong friend but stumbles onto a corrupt sheriff who's heavily into the marijuana trade, and a thing that kills for kicks -- including the friend he came to help."
Cincinnati Enquirer

"I just finished the Bad Season. Great read. As I read I was wondering how you were going to end. How you were going to kill something that couldn't be killed. Good job!"
Semper Fi
Wayne Hughes

Amazon Bad Season
Skocklines Bad Season Signed

More on Vietnam in next update.

Fiction Update and Vietnam Story Continued

2006-09-06T08:35:00.000-04:00

I get to exercise my psychosis this month with a new entry for Ask The Smart Guy in John Cullen's Far Sector Magazine. This time it's about government grants. Driving With Ace my bizarre out of print novel that made Trish MaComber spray coffee from her nose, and is one of the favorites of my long range friends Brian Knight, and Walt Hicks at Hellbound, is always checked out at the Cincinnati Public library branches and one copy was passed to the entire DHL nightshift at the Greater Cincinnati airport. Too bad it's been out of print four years. It will make a return under a new title in the future. The Bad Season is becoming known as the airport book. The kind you read at one sitting, on a flight, so you don't think about all the horrible stuff that can happen on a plane. It's spreading by word of mouth in a growing circle in my region. I hope it keeps going.

Vietnam Continued...

The picture above was taken July 4, 1968, the day I should have died. It was taken from the back of a gun truck in a B Company 7th Motors convoy about to start for the Marine Firebase at An Hoa. Charles (Chuck) Searles, my best friend, was the gunner, and David Nelson was the driver. Chuck and I were going home together on July, 19. He was from Burbank, California and I was going to meet his parents. I had been the gunner on the truck on July 2, and I was going along on this convoy as Chuck's A-gunner, and to keep him and David company.

Not long after this picture, our company commander, Captain Maggio, told me I would have to get off the truck because he didn't want two short-timers going out at the same time. Since I had been the gunner on July 2, and wasn't needed, I was ordered off the truck. I tried to argue as much as I could, but an enlisted man can only argue so much with the commanding officer. I shook Chuck and David's hand, told them to be careful, and watched them leave. I had a bad feeling, which is why I wanted to go in the first place.

As they left a Marine compound near Liberty Bridge, the lead truck broke down. Chuck's gun truck went around it, and that's when the enemy opened up their ambush. The truck was hit with RPGs and stopped dead in the road. Chuck died in the initial blast. An enemy soldier came out of a ditch and dropped a grenade in David's lap, killing him. A grunt in another truck killed the enemy soldier with an M-79 grenade round before he could escape. Then a running battle began. A sweep by an infantry unit the next day found something like two dozen enemy dead from return fire from the trucks and the compound. My outfit had two KIA and several wounded.

Had I been on the truck, I would have died in the initial ambush. It wasn't my time. The Captain has saved my life. I never met Chuck's parents because I didn't know any way to comfort them. Years later, Jimmy Englert's mother (he was a childhood friend KIA in Vietnam) told me she wished she could have heard from some of the guys with him. I saw her anguish and realized once again just how much those at home suffer during war and its aftermath. I tried to reach Chuck's parents. They had moved east and I never did find them. About a year ago, David's brother found me through a post I had made about David on the Virtual Vietnam Wall. No one had ever told him how David died. I had to be the messenger, 37 years later...

This tiexercise my psychosis with a

My Quote of the Day and Writing News

2006-08-30T01:28:00.000-04:00

The Bad Season is hanging in there with sales and some good comments from readers. I'll be having two signings at some point in the near future. One is at Boswells, a restaurant-bar in the Northside neighborhood of Cincinnati, and the other will be the Mack Bookstore in Harrison, Ohio. I will also probably be speaking on writing fiction at my old high school, Aiken, in Cincinnati. I was in the first graduating class from Aiken in 1964. I'm also starting a huge editing project (three books) for A-1 Editing Service, finishing up another, re-editing my own Lord of Homicides, just finished my Ask The Smart Guy column for Far Sector, and read and made minor edits and comments on a really cool novel by John Cullen called Dead Move.

How do tell a young person about the reality of writing fiction? How do you motivate someone to write? Some may argue you can, but I believe you write because you have to, not because someone gives you motivation. I think most writers would have made good Marines or standup comics. You have to put up with years of struggle and rejection with little or no pay. Some people are going to tell you that you suck no matter what. If you can stick with it, you may get somewhere, but then you may not. It's the nature of the beast. Most people can't hang in there. Hell, I don't blame them. For the most part writers get treated worse than starving peasants.

Check out Ask The Smart Guy in Far Sector Magazine for September. I may have a job for you.

My Writing And Vietnam

2006-08-28T07:02:00.000-04:00

The Owenton, Kentucky newspaper did a story on The Bad Season last Wednesday. I used a fictional version of Owenton in my novel. David Larkins, the lead character, is a Vietnam veteran. Lord of Homicides, the novel I just finished, has Nathan Bright, a Vietnam veteran. Maybe I deal with my own war experience through my characters. Vietnam combat doesn't appear in either novel like it does in my out of print novel Michael In Hell, but the characters react based on their war experiences. War has a sneaky way of altering your personality forever. All combat veterans return home different. My mother used to look at me and cry because I was emotionally cold and hardened toward life. Basically, I was a young man with the mind of an old man. I had seen too much of the real world while too young. I could never go back to my innocent days.

The picture above is an H-34 lift off from the deck of the USS Iwo Jima, probably in December of 1967. The crew chief gunner is to the left. The Marine to the right is sitting on his helmet. Some guys did that, believing it would save their private parts if the chopper took fire. I never bothered sitting on mine, unless the door gunner began firing. Usually, by then, we were getting out anyway. The first time I went into an LZ, I saw gunships firing rockets and the doorgunner opened fire. This is it, I thought, I'm gonna die.

I had so much gear that my pack got stuck in the top of the hatch. The gunner had to boot me out and we were four feet above the ground. I landed upright and ran forward with several other Marines. We hit the ground, facing outboard, ready for a fight while the chopper made a fast exit. (It would have looked great on the news.) When nothing happened, we looked around. A group of Marines sat twenty feet away smoking cigarettes while waiting for resupply. All the action had been going on the outer perimeters. The LZ was secure. "Go get'em, John Wayne," one of the Marines said, and his group laughed. We stood, embarrassed, and all we could say was, "screw you guys."

The LPH (Landing Platform Helicopter) USS Iwo Jima is still in service and currently operates with Marines in the Iraq/Afghan Wars.

My Quote Of The Week

2006-08-26T05:54:00.000-04:00

"When I was in Vietnam, we all threw our gas masks away just to get rid of the weight. The VC and NVA weren't about to open that can of worms to leave themselves eligible for chemical payback. But they made us wear our flak jackets. Only problem was mine had most of the plates missing because Marines very seldom got new equipment. We survived on discarded Army gear."

(The picture was taken during what I believe was Operation Ballastic Charge around November 1967, heading for the Street Without Joy while I was with the 1st Battalion 3rd Marine Regiment in Vietnam. The helicopter is an old H-34. Most were shot full of holes and I was terrified each time I got in one, more so over water than land for some strange reason.)

The Jesus Moth and The Bad Season

2006-08-23T06:45:00.000-04:00

I had just gone over the first print copy of The Bad Season on July 22, 2006. I walked over to the window and saw this moth on my outside air conditioner unit. It was the most bizarre thing I had seen in a long time. I retrieved my digital camera and snapped a picture through the glass and the window screen before going outside in a failed to attempt to capture the moth.

I contacted a moth expert. He told me what kind of moth it was, but added that he had never seen one with a cross on its back like this one. I call it the Jesus Moth, the Crusader Moth, or maybe the Infidel Moth. The syndicates wanted me to give it to them for free. They said they don't take pics from non-employees because "we would actually have to pay you for it." I offered to swap for a syndicated store about my book. They refused. So I copyrighted the entire pic (the one above is a fragment from that pic) along with some of my other strange digital photos.

The Bad Season seems to be selling at a steady pace for a book from a small publisher with no advertising budget. POD-DY Mouth has mentioned my novels twice in the past year. Considering the volume of submissions she receives, I'm thrilled about being included.

Shocklines has included it in the Guaranteed Good Reads for New Voices. I've had to get kind of creative with publicity, some of which I'll mention in the next entry. John Cullen at Clocktower Books has been a good friend to me over the years. We've both had our ups and downs, but we always keep the goal in focus.