Mark R. Hunter's Blog, page 25
June 22, 2021
book review: The Flying Girl by Edith Van Dyne
This one is a bit odd for me, considering The Flying Girl was published all the way back in 1911. Still, it came highly recommended, and I found it easier to read than a lot of other writing at the time was.
It's also far more feminist than you'd imagine, at least for its time. The Flying Girl tells the story of Orissa Kane, a 17-year-old in California who's holding down a job to support her blind mother and her brother, an inventor who's working on his own flying machine. To say airplanes were still new at the time puts it mildly; in fact, the author gives credit for help on the book from Glenn C Curtis, a founder of the U.S. aircraft industry and winner of the first international air meet, and Wilbur Wright, who with his brother did something even more spectacular just eight years before publication.
Orissa's brother Steve is a genius in mechanical design, but the Kane family finds itself in the middle of a dispute with two former business partners, who want to invest in the Kane airplane for different reasons. Here Van Dyne cleverly describes one partner in heroic terms and the other like one might describe a silent movie villain--then flips the script.
Soon the plane is the target of sabotage that injures Steve; and although it can be repaired, Steve is forced out of an upcoming nationwide competition by a broken leg. If only there was someone who'd been watching over his shoulder the whole time, and knew just about as much about the flying machine as Steve himself ... but who ...?
Oh, no, surely not a girl. How indecent!
To say the book's approach to a female protagonist was advanced for the time is putting it mildly. Orissa Kane jumps into the role of airplane pilot fearlessly, and meets all the many challenges that come along with it. Yes, there's a boy, and Orissa never loses her "maidenly virtues", but she's also competent and way braver than I would have been.
But what would you expect, from the same author who invented Dorothy Gale and Ozma of Oz?
Because Edith Van Dyne was really L. Frank Baum, who wrote The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and its sequels. That shouldn't come as a surprise for those who read the Oz books, which were full of strong, smart, competent female characters. (And it's how The Flying Girl came into my reading orbit. I've been reading up on Baum as I prepared to tackle writing my own Oz book.)
By today's standards The Flying Girl would be considered a young adult book, and it also works pretty well, a century later, as an historical novel. In context it's surprisingly advanced not only in its treatment of women, but in its technical aspects--it turns out Baum, who wrote science fiction and invented an early robot and miniature submarines, had an interest in the mechanical.
There's a sequel, The Flying Girl and Her Chum, and I liked this one enough to look forward to trying the second one.
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/53386...
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/192...
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
It's also far more feminist than you'd imagine, at least for its time. The Flying Girl tells the story of Orissa Kane, a 17-year-old in California who's holding down a job to support her blind mother and her brother, an inventor who's working on his own flying machine. To say airplanes were still new at the time puts it mildly; in fact, the author gives credit for help on the book from Glenn C Curtis, a founder of the U.S. aircraft industry and winner of the first international air meet, and Wilbur Wright, who with his brother did something even more spectacular just eight years before publication.
Orissa's brother Steve is a genius in mechanical design, but the Kane family finds itself in the middle of a dispute with two former business partners, who want to invest in the Kane airplane for different reasons. Here Van Dyne cleverly describes one partner in heroic terms and the other like one might describe a silent movie villain--then flips the script.
Soon the plane is the target of sabotage that injures Steve; and although it can be repaired, Steve is forced out of an upcoming nationwide competition by a broken leg. If only there was someone who'd been watching over his shoulder the whole time, and knew just about as much about the flying machine as Steve himself ... but who ...?
Oh, no, surely not a girl. How indecent!
To say the book's approach to a female protagonist was advanced for the time is putting it mildly. Orissa Kane jumps into the role of airplane pilot fearlessly, and meets all the many challenges that come along with it. Yes, there's a boy, and Orissa never loses her "maidenly virtues", but she's also competent and way braver than I would have been.
But what would you expect, from the same author who invented Dorothy Gale and Ozma of Oz?
Because Edith Van Dyne was really L. Frank Baum, who wrote The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and its sequels. That shouldn't come as a surprise for those who read the Oz books, which were full of strong, smart, competent female characters. (And it's how The Flying Girl came into my reading orbit. I've been reading up on Baum as I prepared to tackle writing my own Oz book.)
By today's standards The Flying Girl would be considered a young adult book, and it also works pretty well, a century later, as an historical novel. In context it's surprisingly advanced not only in its treatment of women, but in its technical aspects--it turns out Baum, who wrote science fiction and invented an early robot and miniature submarines, had an interest in the mechanical.
There's a sequel, The Flying Girl and Her Chum, and I liked this one enough to look forward to trying the second one.
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/53386...
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/192...
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
June 17, 2021
Writing Advertising Goes Overboard
It's said there's no such thing as bad publicity.
We all know that's not true.
Oh, it sounds like a good idea in theory. As a writer, I'm well aware that if you want to hit the best seller's list, your best bet is to get caught doing something wrong, preferably prison-sized wrong. Or to get elected, which is pretty much the same thing these days.
But even then it depends on what you did. There's a new reality show out about the "Queen of Meth", actor Tom Arnold's sister, who apparently made truck loads of money, got busted, and now is being paid to be on TV because she ... well, dealt drugs. But do you think she'd get a TV deal if she got busted kicking puppies and kittens? Nope.
So, it depends.
Now, my newest novel is a couple of years old now, but chances are you haven't heard of it. Yes, I sent out press releases, but I've published too many books now for the media to be all that interested anymore. I shouted out Coming Attractions on the internet, but social media is now designed so people aren't likely to hear about it unless the writer forks over some money, first.
So I forked over some money.
There are web services that promise to shout out your book, get people interested, land you sales, make them money ... you too, hopefully. I've used them sparingly before and found they gave me a bump in sales, if not a big one.
Now, I believe in Coming Attractions. It's a fun story, if I do say so myself.
But frankly, it landed with a snooze.
It's received only four Amazon reviews, the most recent one a year ago. It was self-published, but these days almost all authors have to help promote their work, even with a traditional publisher ... unless their name ends in King, Koontz, or Rowling. It was as if one of my children went on stage for their first role, and found the theater occupied by three winos and the janitor.
I have ideas in other areas, but for starters I decided to try one of the publicity sites again. Among other things they put the book up on their website, and send it out to their newsletter subscribers. They also Tweet links to it. You've heard of Twitter: That place where you have very little space to say a whole lot of things. I'm a novelist--Twitter and I are not friends. But I've met a lot of great people there, and some of them read.
Some attention, right? At the very worst it would just be a little wasted money.
Then I saw the first Tweet.
A literary masterpiece. #books #RomanticComedy #MarkRHunter
@MarkRHunter
Wait. What?
Then came the next one:
A dynamic, explosive, page-turning epic. #books #RomanticComedy #MarkRHunter
@MarkRHunter
Um ... are we talking about the same book?
Don't get me wrong: I really do think it's a good story. But it's a romantic comedy. Early Tom Hanks, Sandra Bollock stuff. It is not, nor was it meant to be, a literary masterpiece. Nor is it the kind of story that would be called explosive, or epic. My characters are not returning a magical ring, or saving the planet.
With what I paid them, I didn't expect anyone at the company to actually read the book--but they did have the back cover blurb, for crying out loud.
Over the next several Tweets, I learned Coming Attractions was inspiring, intriguing, riveting, and the Best Book They've Ever Read! Also, after making all those promises, they said it lived up to every promise. Promises they made.
Oh, and it's also "One of the most original, powerful, and mind-blowing books you will ever read about human consciousness."
No. No, just ... no.
Finally, it's "The perfect book for all book readers".
Oh? What if you only read horror? Or thrillers? Or stuff recommended by Oprah?
I was horrified.
I would have been horrified but kept my mouth shut, if it actually did bring in more sales. But I kept imagining potential book buyers would read this bombastic bragging and be reduced to helpless, knee-slapping, non-buying hysterics.
That must be what happened, because during the promotion period Coming Attractions made exactly zero sales.
Ah, well. It wasn't much money--if it had been, I wouldn't have tried it to begin with--so I can only complain a little. And after all, I'm competing with the 1.7 million other self-published books released that same year, so maybe shouting big words from the rooftop was worth a try. It beats walking up and down the street wearing a sandwich board sign.
Which did get me two sales, so who am I to say?
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
We all know that's not true.
Oh, it sounds like a good idea in theory. As a writer, I'm well aware that if you want to hit the best seller's list, your best bet is to get caught doing something wrong, preferably prison-sized wrong. Or to get elected, which is pretty much the same thing these days.
But even then it depends on what you did. There's a new reality show out about the "Queen of Meth", actor Tom Arnold's sister, who apparently made truck loads of money, got busted, and now is being paid to be on TV because she ... well, dealt drugs. But do you think she'd get a TV deal if she got busted kicking puppies and kittens? Nope.
So, it depends.
Now, my newest novel is a couple of years old now, but chances are you haven't heard of it. Yes, I sent out press releases, but I've published too many books now for the media to be all that interested anymore. I shouted out Coming Attractions on the internet, but social media is now designed so people aren't likely to hear about it unless the writer forks over some money, first.
So I forked over some money.
There are web services that promise to shout out your book, get people interested, land you sales, make them money ... you too, hopefully. I've used them sparingly before and found they gave me a bump in sales, if not a big one.
Now, I believe in Coming Attractions. It's a fun story, if I do say so myself.
But frankly, it landed with a snooze.
It's received only four Amazon reviews, the most recent one a year ago. It was self-published, but these days almost all authors have to help promote their work, even with a traditional publisher ... unless their name ends in King, Koontz, or Rowling. It was as if one of my children went on stage for their first role, and found the theater occupied by three winos and the janitor.
I have ideas in other areas, but for starters I decided to try one of the publicity sites again. Among other things they put the book up on their website, and send it out to their newsletter subscribers. They also Tweet links to it. You've heard of Twitter: That place where you have very little space to say a whole lot of things. I'm a novelist--Twitter and I are not friends. But I've met a lot of great people there, and some of them read.
Some attention, right? At the very worst it would just be a little wasted money.
Then I saw the first Tweet.
A literary masterpiece. #books #RomanticComedy #MarkRHunter
@MarkRHunter
Wait. What?
Then came the next one:
A dynamic, explosive, page-turning epic. #books #RomanticComedy #MarkRHunter
@MarkRHunter
Um ... are we talking about the same book?
Don't get me wrong: I really do think it's a good story. But it's a romantic comedy. Early Tom Hanks, Sandra Bollock stuff. It is not, nor was it meant to be, a literary masterpiece. Nor is it the kind of story that would be called explosive, or epic. My characters are not returning a magical ring, or saving the planet.
With what I paid them, I didn't expect anyone at the company to actually read the book--but they did have the back cover blurb, for crying out loud.
Over the next several Tweets, I learned Coming Attractions was inspiring, intriguing, riveting, and the Best Book They've Ever Read! Also, after making all those promises, they said it lived up to every promise. Promises they made.
Oh, and it's also "One of the most original, powerful, and mind-blowing books you will ever read about human consciousness."
No. No, just ... no.
Finally, it's "The perfect book for all book readers".
Oh? What if you only read horror? Or thrillers? Or stuff recommended by Oprah?
I was horrified.
I would have been horrified but kept my mouth shut, if it actually did bring in more sales. But I kept imagining potential book buyers would read this bombastic bragging and be reduced to helpless, knee-slapping, non-buying hysterics.
That must be what happened, because during the promotion period Coming Attractions made exactly zero sales.
Ah, well. It wasn't much money--if it had been, I wouldn't have tried it to begin with--so I can only complain a little. And after all, I'm competing with the 1.7 million other self-published books released that same year, so maybe shouting big words from the rooftop was worth a try. It beats walking up and down the street wearing a sandwich board sign.
Which did get me two sales, so who am I to say?
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
June 8, 2021
Yesterday I Couldn't Even Spell Ciprofloxacin
As we enter the second month of sinus infection, hope among CDC personnel of a cure is beginning to fade.
Yes, I still have that same super-powered sinus infection I wrote about several weeks before--kind of the Death Star of nose germs, it's been lasering the inside of my head.
No, I haven't been writing much about it. There are only so many ways to poke fun at sick sinuses before the joke grows as tired as ... well, as being sick. Besides, I used to get sinus infections like politicians get bribes, until I had surgery. Now there's one every year or two, at about the same rate Godzilla destroys Tokyo.
I'd been healing, more or less, I thought. Until this past weekend. We spent about four hours sitting outside along a gravel road Sunday, so it's possible the dust and pollen contributed ... but Saturday I felt so bad I couldn't even write, and that's going some.
There are ways to tell if a sinus infection is getting worse. If you tap your cheekbones, and the back of your head bulges out like something out of an "Alien" movie. Another sign is the color of your ... well ... mucus. You know. Nose stuff. It's supposed to be clear, apparently, but this weekend mine took on the same greenish-yellow tone as my first car, only without the fun of driving too fast.
We'll speak no more about that.
So on Monday the Doc decided to up the game. The little booger bugs seem to have gotten used to the antibiotic that worked before. So we would continue with the neti pot --please don't ask for details--extra vitamin C, lots of vitamins, a nose spray, plenty of rest, and a brand new antibiotic.
"I don't want to take more pills," I whined, stamping my feet. But the truth is, by Monday morning my balance was off, my throat was scratchy, and overall I looked like I'd spent the weekend doing something fun, which I hadn't.
So, introducing Ciprofloxacin.
No, I can't pronounce it.
"Take this with food," the Doctor ordered, "or you'll regret it."
No problem, I'd mix up a tall glass of chocolate milk. Any excuse to break out the Nestle's Quick.
Then I read the instructions. Do not take with milk, calcium fortified beverages, yogurt, antacids, or anything containing calcium, iron, or zinc.
So what, now I have to pay attention to what's in my food? Ignorance, like chocolate, is bliss.
That made me curious about the information page they include in medicine. Generally the more print, the more you have to worry about, so I borrowed a microscope and scoped it out, and I am so, so sorry I did.
but at least now I understand where the nausea, dizziness, lightheadedness, and headache came from. Another symptom is sun sensitivity, but I have the schedule of a vampire. Oh, and then there's the possibility of serious nerve problems. And liver problems. Vision changes. Seizures, irregular heartbeat, hallucinations, diarrhea, and, oh yeah, mood changes, which I did indeed get after reading the warning sheet.
Plus it can interact with caffeine to make you even more caffeinated, so maybe it's not all bad.
And how do I feel about all this? Thankful. Without modern medical stuff, I might have to walk around the rest of my life with a severe sinus infection, which is kind of like a normal sinus infection, only with thunderbolts and lighting ... an idea I find very frightening.
So yeah, it's going to be an unpleasant week, but I can still walk, even if it's sideways. I can still breath, through my mouth. Not only can I eat, but I have to, every eight hours on the dot, whether I want to or not ... even if the foods I can take with Cipro are limited to salt-free soda crackers and celery sticks. And that's the last time I'm going to talk about it.
Until next time.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
Yes, I still have that same super-powered sinus infection I wrote about several weeks before--kind of the Death Star of nose germs, it's been lasering the inside of my head.
No, I haven't been writing much about it. There are only so many ways to poke fun at sick sinuses before the joke grows as tired as ... well, as being sick. Besides, I used to get sinus infections like politicians get bribes, until I had surgery. Now there's one every year or two, at about the same rate Godzilla destroys Tokyo.
I'd been healing, more or less, I thought. Until this past weekend. We spent about four hours sitting outside along a gravel road Sunday, so it's possible the dust and pollen contributed ... but Saturday I felt so bad I couldn't even write, and that's going some.
There are ways to tell if a sinus infection is getting worse. If you tap your cheekbones, and the back of your head bulges out like something out of an "Alien" movie. Another sign is the color of your ... well ... mucus. You know. Nose stuff. It's supposed to be clear, apparently, but this weekend mine took on the same greenish-yellow tone as my first car, only without the fun of driving too fast.
We'll speak no more about that.
So on Monday the Doc decided to up the game. The little booger bugs seem to have gotten used to the antibiotic that worked before. So we would continue with the neti pot --please don't ask for details--extra vitamin C, lots of vitamins, a nose spray, plenty of rest, and a brand new antibiotic.
"I don't want to take more pills," I whined, stamping my feet. But the truth is, by Monday morning my balance was off, my throat was scratchy, and overall I looked like I'd spent the weekend doing something fun, which I hadn't.
So, introducing Ciprofloxacin.
No, I can't pronounce it.
"Take this with food," the Doctor ordered, "or you'll regret it."
No problem, I'd mix up a tall glass of chocolate milk. Any excuse to break out the Nestle's Quick.
Then I read the instructions. Do not take with milk, calcium fortified beverages, yogurt, antacids, or anything containing calcium, iron, or zinc.
So what, now I have to pay attention to what's in my food? Ignorance, like chocolate, is bliss.
That made me curious about the information page they include in medicine. Generally the more print, the more you have to worry about, so I borrowed a microscope and scoped it out, and I am so, so sorry I did.
but at least now I understand where the nausea, dizziness, lightheadedness, and headache came from. Another symptom is sun sensitivity, but I have the schedule of a vampire. Oh, and then there's the possibility of serious nerve problems. And liver problems. Vision changes. Seizures, irregular heartbeat, hallucinations, diarrhea, and, oh yeah, mood changes, which I did indeed get after reading the warning sheet.
Plus it can interact with caffeine to make you even more caffeinated, so maybe it's not all bad.
And how do I feel about all this? Thankful. Without modern medical stuff, I might have to walk around the rest of my life with a severe sinus infection, which is kind of like a normal sinus infection, only with thunderbolts and lighting ... an idea I find very frightening.
So yeah, it's going to be an unpleasant week, but I can still walk, even if it's sideways. I can still breath, through my mouth. Not only can I eat, but I have to, every eight hours on the dot, whether I want to or not ... even if the foods I can take with Cipro are limited to salt-free soda crackers and celery sticks. And that's the last time I'm going to talk about it.
Until next time.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
June 3, 2021
Mayor Declared War on Soft Drinks ... but Still Loved Donuts
I don't talk much about politics, but just to show I've always paid attention, I uncovered this piece from way back in 2012. I think you'll find me on the cutting edge of activism:
--------------------------------------
New York City Mayor Bloomberg wants to ban supersized sugary drinks, as a way to combat malnutrition.
He also signed a proclamation for NYC Donut Day.
(Oh, another note of irony: I brought up several internet articles to familiarize myself with the Bloomberg Big Belly Ban, and the very first one was preceded by one of those annoying internet ads – for Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.)
The BBBB would apply to any bottled soda or fountain drink over 16 ounces that contains more than 25 calories per eight ounces, which is pretty much all of them. They’d be outlawed at restaurants, sports venues, street vendors, and – brace yourselves – movie theaters. Gasp! Next they’ll be taking my large buttered popcorn.
But those goobers won’t get it without a fight.
No word on whether the 17 ounce Big Gulp will be available in government offices, but grocery stores and convenience stores would be exempt. Apparently large soft drinks sold there are not dangerous.
The good news is, banning things that are bad for us is always effective, and always, always works. Just ask the people who pushed Prohibition.
Well, they can have my Slurpee when they pry it from my cold, sticky hands.
If they criminalize supersized Cokes, only criminals will be truly refreshed.
When Bloomberg came for cigarettes, nobody spoke (because they were busy coughing). When he came for trans fats, nobody stood up (because they were too heavy to get to their feet). Now they come for sugary drinks, and who will stand up for Mr. Pibbs? Has the medical field even debated this? Did anyone ask Dr. Pepper?
Give me Mountain Dew, or give me death! And not Diet Mountain Dew, either. It tastes like artificially sweetened sheep dip.
The Founding Fathers would be horrified. The whole reason they settled in the New World is because the British wouldn’t let us sweeten our tea.
“One lump or two?”
“How dare they alter our national beverage? Off with their heads!”
Then we formed an independent country, so we could have southern style sweet tea. Thomas Jefferson wrote that right into the Declaration of Independence, along with a clause about fried chicken and gravy. Both were removed by a rather grumpy New York delegate named Samuel Chase, whose wife had just put him on a diet.
Say, do you suppose that’s it? Maybe Bloomberg’s just steamed because his wife has him eating fish and asparagus.
The Founding Fathers really would be horrified, as this kind of nanny state thinking is exactly what the Constitution was meant to prevent. It demonstrates that their written guide for the country is more relevant now than ever, despite the food stains.
Benjamin Franklin would be especially upset, as he was known to upturn an extra-large mug of mead himself, from time to time. Franklin, who famously said that wine is proof that God loves us, and wants to see us happy, would have loved one of those fountain drinks you need to haul around in a cart. Ben Franklin would have punched Bloomberg right in the nose. Well, maybe not … Ben would probably have slept with Bloomberg’s wife. He was into all sorts of excesses.
I’m not so sure about Thomas Jefferson’s reaction. He believed in personal freedoms (unless you were one of his slaves), but also had a huge vegetable garden that he took great pride in. He grew over 250 varieties of more than 70 different vegetable species, in a garden 1,000 feet long. His children hated him.
Once, Jefferson sent John Adams a sampling of twenty different types of lettuce. Adams wrote back: “Tom, would you relax and have a friggin’ donut? I’ll bet you can’t find twenty different varieties of donuts.” (This was before Krispy Kreme.)
Still, they would have agreed that no mayor of York, old or new, had the right to come over and tell them how many lumps they could put in their tea. Should you stop drinking huge sugary drinks? Of course. Should we bow to a government telling us we have to? Hell, no.
We can’t have true freedom without independence. A nanny state, by definition, is a lack of independence. I may disapprove of what you eat, but I will defend to the early death your right to pork rinds.
Yes, there have to be some limits in an orderly society, but we must draw a jittery line in the sand, with one of those big soda straws. Our voices, strengthened by a sugar rush, should shout out that we can be convinced to be healthier, but not be force fed. And, to paraphrase Franklin Delano Roosevelt, we would rather die on our Frostie than live on our salads.
Now. If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for a little non-violent protest. Supersize me.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
--------------------------------------
New York City Mayor Bloomberg wants to ban supersized sugary drinks, as a way to combat malnutrition.
He also signed a proclamation for NYC Donut Day.
(Oh, another note of irony: I brought up several internet articles to familiarize myself with the Bloomberg Big Belly Ban, and the very first one was preceded by one of those annoying internet ads – for Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.)
The BBBB would apply to any bottled soda or fountain drink over 16 ounces that contains more than 25 calories per eight ounces, which is pretty much all of them. They’d be outlawed at restaurants, sports venues, street vendors, and – brace yourselves – movie theaters. Gasp! Next they’ll be taking my large buttered popcorn.
But those goobers won’t get it without a fight.
No word on whether the 17 ounce Big Gulp will be available in government offices, but grocery stores and convenience stores would be exempt. Apparently large soft drinks sold there are not dangerous.
The good news is, banning things that are bad for us is always effective, and always, always works. Just ask the people who pushed Prohibition.
Well, they can have my Slurpee when they pry it from my cold, sticky hands.
If they criminalize supersized Cokes, only criminals will be truly refreshed.
When Bloomberg came for cigarettes, nobody spoke (because they were busy coughing). When he came for trans fats, nobody stood up (because they were too heavy to get to their feet). Now they come for sugary drinks, and who will stand up for Mr. Pibbs? Has the medical field even debated this? Did anyone ask Dr. Pepper?
Give me Mountain Dew, or give me death! And not Diet Mountain Dew, either. It tastes like artificially sweetened sheep dip.
The Founding Fathers would be horrified. The whole reason they settled in the New World is because the British wouldn’t let us sweeten our tea.
“One lump or two?”
“How dare they alter our national beverage? Off with their heads!”
Then we formed an independent country, so we could have southern style sweet tea. Thomas Jefferson wrote that right into the Declaration of Independence, along with a clause about fried chicken and gravy. Both were removed by a rather grumpy New York delegate named Samuel Chase, whose wife had just put him on a diet.
Say, do you suppose that’s it? Maybe Bloomberg’s just steamed because his wife has him eating fish and asparagus.
The Founding Fathers really would be horrified, as this kind of nanny state thinking is exactly what the Constitution was meant to prevent. It demonstrates that their written guide for the country is more relevant now than ever, despite the food stains.
Benjamin Franklin would be especially upset, as he was known to upturn an extra-large mug of mead himself, from time to time. Franklin, who famously said that wine is proof that God loves us, and wants to see us happy, would have loved one of those fountain drinks you need to haul around in a cart. Ben Franklin would have punched Bloomberg right in the nose. Well, maybe not … Ben would probably have slept with Bloomberg’s wife. He was into all sorts of excesses.
I’m not so sure about Thomas Jefferson’s reaction. He believed in personal freedoms (unless you were one of his slaves), but also had a huge vegetable garden that he took great pride in. He grew over 250 varieties of more than 70 different vegetable species, in a garden 1,000 feet long. His children hated him.
Once, Jefferson sent John Adams a sampling of twenty different types of lettuce. Adams wrote back: “Tom, would you relax and have a friggin’ donut? I’ll bet you can’t find twenty different varieties of donuts.” (This was before Krispy Kreme.)
Still, they would have agreed that no mayor of York, old or new, had the right to come over and tell them how many lumps they could put in their tea. Should you stop drinking huge sugary drinks? Of course. Should we bow to a government telling us we have to? Hell, no.
We can’t have true freedom without independence. A nanny state, by definition, is a lack of independence. I may disapprove of what you eat, but I will defend to the early death your right to pork rinds.
Yes, there have to be some limits in an orderly society, but we must draw a jittery line in the sand, with one of those big soda straws. Our voices, strengthened by a sugar rush, should shout out that we can be convinced to be healthier, but not be force fed. And, to paraphrase Franklin Delano Roosevelt, we would rather die on our Frostie than live on our salads.
Now. If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for a little non-violent protest. Supersize me.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
May 22, 2021
book review: Meddling Kids, by Edgar Cantero
A nerd, a bookworm, a jock, and a tomboy get together to solve a mystery in a haunted house, and discover it's just a guy in a costume. He'd have gotten away with it too, except for those kids--and their dog.
No--not those kids.
But it's pretty clear where Edgar Cantero got his inspiration when he wrote Meddling Kids, a darkly comic look at what happens when a Scooby-Doo like group of teens finally encounter a mystery in which there's just a little bit more going on than a get-rich scheme.
It's 1977, and the Blyton Summer Detective Club--a group of kids even younger than the Scooby Gang--has gotten a reputation for solving small mysteries around the town of Blyton Hills. But during their last case something happened--something only half remembered. Yes, the guy in the costume got put away, but when he's released from prison in 1990 and tomboy Andy tracks him down, he confirms what she suspected: There was something way bigger than a fake amphibian monster sneaking around the old mansion, and the ex-con wouldn't go back to that town for love or money.
It was the gang's last case, and they also left town, haunted by what they saw. Andy is now wanted in two states; braniac Kerri the bookworm is a booze-soaked bartender living with the descendant of their dog; Nate the horror nerd keeps checking himself into mental hospitals, but at least he stays in touch with jock Peter ... although that's problematical, because Peter committed suicide years before.
Andy brings the team back together, convinced they have to face whatever happened that last night in the old mansion. What they find is right out of H.P. Lovecraft; it's not in a costume, and it threatens a whole lot more than just their sanity.
Edgar Cantero has a unique writing style, something I'm not usually a fan of. He throws in long run-on sentences, invented words, and sometimes a sparse, screenplay style of scene writing that includes only the dialogue. It's original, often fun, and something that would get thrown directly in the trash if it came across the average book editor's submission pile, but it works.
As Andy gets the team back together and tackles the horror their hometown has become, we get a story of humor and terror that's also filled with poignancy, which is a real word I just looked up. All together Meddling Kids is a rich journey that combines nostalgia with a good measure of scares, and gives us a good idea of how things might have progressed with the Scooby gang in real life.
And it puts me squarely on Edgar Cantero's fan list ... if not before, than definitely after the last scene with the dog.
No--not those kids.
But it's pretty clear where Edgar Cantero got his inspiration when he wrote Meddling Kids, a darkly comic look at what happens when a Scooby-Doo like group of teens finally encounter a mystery in which there's just a little bit more going on than a get-rich scheme.
It's 1977, and the Blyton Summer Detective Club--a group of kids even younger than the Scooby Gang--has gotten a reputation for solving small mysteries around the town of Blyton Hills. But during their last case something happened--something only half remembered. Yes, the guy in the costume got put away, but when he's released from prison in 1990 and tomboy Andy tracks him down, he confirms what she suspected: There was something way bigger than a fake amphibian monster sneaking around the old mansion, and the ex-con wouldn't go back to that town for love or money.
It was the gang's last case, and they also left town, haunted by what they saw. Andy is now wanted in two states; braniac Kerri the bookworm is a booze-soaked bartender living with the descendant of their dog; Nate the horror nerd keeps checking himself into mental hospitals, but at least he stays in touch with jock Peter ... although that's problematical, because Peter committed suicide years before.
Andy brings the team back together, convinced they have to face whatever happened that last night in the old mansion. What they find is right out of H.P. Lovecraft; it's not in a costume, and it threatens a whole lot more than just their sanity.
Edgar Cantero has a unique writing style, something I'm not usually a fan of. He throws in long run-on sentences, invented words, and sometimes a sparse, screenplay style of scene writing that includes only the dialogue. It's original, often fun, and something that would get thrown directly in the trash if it came across the average book editor's submission pile, but it works.
As Andy gets the team back together and tackles the horror their hometown has become, we get a story of humor and terror that's also filled with poignancy, which is a real word I just looked up. All together Meddling Kids is a rich journey that combines nostalgia with a good measure of scares, and gives us a good idea of how things might have progressed with the Scooby gang in real life.
And it puts me squarely on Edgar Cantero's fan list ... if not before, than definitely after the last scene with the dog.
May 16, 2021
Writing drive-In stories at the drive-in
The weather's finally warming, and our favorite drive-in, the Auburn-Garrett, is already open on weekends. So this is a great time of year to check out a novel that was partially written at the Auburn-Garrett!
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07...
My kids helped me sketch the story out as we waited for the movie to start--there's always something fun to do at the drive-in. :-) It's just $1.99 as an e-book and $7.99 in print--not including the popcorn.
In the darkness of an Indiana drive-in movie theater, Maddie McKinley returns from the concession stand, climbs into the wrong van, and gets tackled by the father of the kids inside. Logan Chandler is embarrassed about roughing her up, but also intrigued by the beautiful young woman from Boston, who arrived alone at the movies wearing an expensive dress. Unfortunately, he’s the local businessman leading a battle to save the drive-in from developers--and she’s the attorney sent to make sure it’s torn down.Mark R. Hunter
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07...
My kids helped me sketch the story out as we waited for the movie to start--there's always something fun to do at the drive-in. :-) It's just $1.99 as an e-book and $7.99 in print--not including the popcorn.
In the darkness of an Indiana drive-in movie theater, Maddie McKinley returns from the concession stand, climbs into the wrong van, and gets tackled by the father of the kids inside. Logan Chandler is embarrassed about roughing her up, but also intrigued by the beautiful young woman from Boston, who arrived alone at the movies wearing an expensive dress. Unfortunately, he’s the local businessman leading a battle to save the drive-in from developers--and she’s the attorney sent to make sure it’s torn down.Mark R. Hunter
May 11, 2021
Depression Can Be Depressing
Hi, who wants to talk about something serious?
Fine, you people move on--but just so you know, the rest of us will be having chocolate.
I don't often get serious here, because the world's serious enough--and there are plenty of others out there talking seriously in my stead. I like to get serious with humor, which may offend some people ... but that's okay, because I don't want to hang around people who don't appreciate the principle of "lighten up". Besides, when I extract humor from a situation, it usually cheers up at least me, and sometimes others with me.
Usually.
Now, I've never hidden the fact that during winter I take a little "happy pill" (that's not what the doctor calls it) to get through my Seasonal Affective Disorder. SAD is what normal people get when the days get short and the nights get cold. Abnormal people have a mental condition that allows them to be okay with winter, something experts are still puzzling out.
I wean myself off my happy pill, otherwise known as Sertraline, around early spring, as I did this spring. It has some un-fun side effects, while for some reason I never get the one good side effect: loss of appetite.
You'll remember that this year, 2021, is the year everyone going through 2020 was hoping and praying for.
Well, the joke's on you.
So far this year my brother died--and really, I can just stop right there, can't I? My wife says I still haven't dealt with it, and I'd appreciate if none of you told her she's absolutely right.
The rest is all minor irritation. Still, minor irritations, such as getting sick after over a year of avoiding it, and having that sickness move into a massive sinus infection that I just started my third course of antibiotics to fight, can add up.
Where were we? Oh, yeah. Well, as of this writing Spring never showed up for more than a day. Emily fixed the usual leaky plumbing problems and replaced burned-out kitchen appliances, times two--each. One of Emily's favorite horses at her work had to be put down, and she had to be there for it. My job has been interesting, and not in a good way. And my occasional chronic back pain seems to have become un-occasional, to such an extent that the pain kept me from making any calls with my volunteer fire department this year. My book sales, like those of most authors, have tanked.
And my brother died. With the weather allegedly soon to be better and the pandemic slightly better (oh, and add pandemic to the list), a memorial gathering for my brother Jeff is coming up. Here's the info on that, for those who knew him:
https://www.facebook.com/events/30362...
Because info is good, and so is remembering. However, I never considered that three months after he died, just talking about a get-together would stir it all up again.
So ... depression and anxiety became a thing.
I finally accepted it after I put aside my writing business efforts, to start work on a new novel. Promotion, selling, and submitting are all part of being a working writer. But when I'm down, the only thing that really perks me up is the writing, itself.
But it didn't work this time. And I'm 20,000 words in.
So, as of yesterday, I went back on the happy pill. I also started using a multi-spectrum light again, because Mother Nature isn't cooperating, and I'm otherwise dealing as best I can. (No, I'm not suicidal. Homicidal? Well, I did feel an urge recently to run down a woman walking in the middle of the street when there was a sidewalk RIGHT THERE ... but I saw she was walking a dog, and I can't hurt a dog.)
Now, other than to apologize for being so antisocial and overall grouchy this year, writing this all down is mostly a public service announcement:
People get depressed. It's a real thing. It's usually not their fault, and there's help available to work through it. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and it's nothing to shun people over. I had high blood pressure and high cholesterol, and I fought that with meds and lifestyle changes. I have chronic back pain, and I treat it with cold, heat, and a wonderful but sadistic chiropractor. I have depression, and I treat it with medication, light therapy, the dog, comedy shows, writing, sleep, and chocolate.
That's what I call a well-rounded treatment regimen.
So to sum it all up: If you have a problem, get help. If you have a friend or family member who seems fine, remember: Some of the funniest and seemingly most lighthearted people might be struggling with darkness underneath.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
Fine, you people move on--but just so you know, the rest of us will be having chocolate.
I don't often get serious here, because the world's serious enough--and there are plenty of others out there talking seriously in my stead. I like to get serious with humor, which may offend some people ... but that's okay, because I don't want to hang around people who don't appreciate the principle of "lighten up". Besides, when I extract humor from a situation, it usually cheers up at least me, and sometimes others with me.
Usually.
Now, I've never hidden the fact that during winter I take a little "happy pill" (that's not what the doctor calls it) to get through my Seasonal Affective Disorder. SAD is what normal people get when the days get short and the nights get cold. Abnormal people have a mental condition that allows them to be okay with winter, something experts are still puzzling out.
I wean myself off my happy pill, otherwise known as Sertraline, around early spring, as I did this spring. It has some un-fun side effects, while for some reason I never get the one good side effect: loss of appetite.
You'll remember that this year, 2021, is the year everyone going through 2020 was hoping and praying for.
Well, the joke's on you.
So far this year my brother died--and really, I can just stop right there, can't I? My wife says I still haven't dealt with it, and I'd appreciate if none of you told her she's absolutely right.
The rest is all minor irritation. Still, minor irritations, such as getting sick after over a year of avoiding it, and having that sickness move into a massive sinus infection that I just started my third course of antibiotics to fight, can add up.
Where were we? Oh, yeah. Well, as of this writing Spring never showed up for more than a day. Emily fixed the usual leaky plumbing problems and replaced burned-out kitchen appliances, times two--each. One of Emily's favorite horses at her work had to be put down, and she had to be there for it. My job has been interesting, and not in a good way. And my occasional chronic back pain seems to have become un-occasional, to such an extent that the pain kept me from making any calls with my volunteer fire department this year. My book sales, like those of most authors, have tanked.
And my brother died. With the weather allegedly soon to be better and the pandemic slightly better (oh, and add pandemic to the list), a memorial gathering for my brother Jeff is coming up. Here's the info on that, for those who knew him:
https://www.facebook.com/events/30362...
Because info is good, and so is remembering. However, I never considered that three months after he died, just talking about a get-together would stir it all up again.
So ... depression and anxiety became a thing.
I finally accepted it after I put aside my writing business efforts, to start work on a new novel. Promotion, selling, and submitting are all part of being a working writer. But when I'm down, the only thing that really perks me up is the writing, itself.
But it didn't work this time. And I'm 20,000 words in.
So, as of yesterday, I went back on the happy pill. I also started using a multi-spectrum light again, because Mother Nature isn't cooperating, and I'm otherwise dealing as best I can. (No, I'm not suicidal. Homicidal? Well, I did feel an urge recently to run down a woman walking in the middle of the street when there was a sidewalk RIGHT THERE ... but I saw she was walking a dog, and I can't hurt a dog.)
Now, other than to apologize for being so antisocial and overall grouchy this year, writing this all down is mostly a public service announcement:
People get depressed. It's a real thing. It's usually not their fault, and there's help available to work through it. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and it's nothing to shun people over. I had high blood pressure and high cholesterol, and I fought that with meds and lifestyle changes. I have chronic back pain, and I treat it with cold, heat, and a wonderful but sadistic chiropractor. I have depression, and I treat it with medication, light therapy, the dog, comedy shows, writing, sleep, and chocolate.
That's what I call a well-rounded treatment regimen.
So to sum it all up: If you have a problem, get help. If you have a friend or family member who seems fine, remember: Some of the funniest and seemingly most lighthearted people might be struggling with darkness underneath.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
May 8, 2021
Famous, Infamous, or In Prison: Making It as a Humor Writer
More Slightly Off the Mark: Why I Hate Cats, and Other Lies, was featured May 7 (today as I write this) on Bargain Booksy. It's a newsletter where you can find bargain books, see? (Oh, now I get it.) Their website is here:
https://www.bargainbooksy.com
You may not get their newsletter, but the price is still a buck ninety-nine for the e-book, and only $7.50 for the print version. That's less than most fast food meals--and without the cholesterol.
Just to clarify, if you read the subtitle carefully you'll realize it states that I do NOT hate cats. Got it? I don't want another repeat of that time when PETA burned a scratching post on my front yard.
See? We're having a great time.
Many people say humor doesn't sell, but I disagree. All you really need to sell a humor book is an author who's famous, infamous, or in prison. I'm working on it.
Anyway, More Slightly Off the Mark is the sequel to Slightly Off the Mark, and a modern day examination of humor columns I originally wrote twenty years ago. It is, in my considerable opinion, one of the two best books of humor columns ever written in my house ... I'll give you that I haven't looked into who owned the place since the Powells lived here in the fifties. I suppose it's theoretically possible that Fred Markey, who carved his name on my garage wall in 1879, also published a book of humor columns. Maybe I shouldn't be so full of myself.
In any case, the key to sounding wildly successful is to be specific. Claiming to be the best humor writer in Indiana would be a big mistake. Claiming to be the best one in Albion is questionable, although I've heard that idea does make people laugh.
I'm not even the only writer in my own house.
More Slightly Off the Mark: Why I Hate Cats, and Other Lies is just $1.99 on Kindle—free on Kindle Unlimited—and is also available in print for $7.50. Find it on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/More-Slightly-...
Or on the author's website:
http://www.markrhunter.com/
Remember to support authors—because most have pets to feed, even if they're not cats.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
https://www.bargainbooksy.com
You may not get their newsletter, but the price is still a buck ninety-nine for the e-book, and only $7.50 for the print version. That's less than most fast food meals--and without the cholesterol.
Just to clarify, if you read the subtitle carefully you'll realize it states that I do NOT hate cats. Got it? I don't want another repeat of that time when PETA burned a scratching post on my front yard.
See? We're having a great time.
Many people say humor doesn't sell, but I disagree. All you really need to sell a humor book is an author who's famous, infamous, or in prison. I'm working on it.
Anyway, More Slightly Off the Mark is the sequel to Slightly Off the Mark, and a modern day examination of humor columns I originally wrote twenty years ago. It is, in my considerable opinion, one of the two best books of humor columns ever written in my house ... I'll give you that I haven't looked into who owned the place since the Powells lived here in the fifties. I suppose it's theoretically possible that Fred Markey, who carved his name on my garage wall in 1879, also published a book of humor columns. Maybe I shouldn't be so full of myself.
In any case, the key to sounding wildly successful is to be specific. Claiming to be the best humor writer in Indiana would be a big mistake. Claiming to be the best one in Albion is questionable, although I've heard that idea does make people laugh.
I'm not even the only writer in my own house.
More Slightly Off the Mark: Why I Hate Cats, and Other Lies is just $1.99 on Kindle—free on Kindle Unlimited—and is also available in print for $7.50. Find it on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/More-Slightly-...
Or on the author's website:
http://www.markrhunter.com/
Remember to support authors—because most have pets to feed, even if they're not cats.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
May 2, 2021
Camping time is coming, and you'll need something to read
The No-Campfire Girls is featured today on The Fussy Librarian newsletter, which is a great way to see free and bargain books. Check out their website:
https://www.thefussylibrarian.com/
But The No-Campfire Girls is always 99 cents as an e-book and just five bucks in paperback, which is pretty darned good. There's a nice article about the book and how it came to be written (complete with a picture of our dog!) here:
https://www.kpcnews.com/news/latest/n...
Good publicity is ... well, good. As usual the book and all our books can be found on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00...
Or on our website:
http://www.markrhunter.com/books.html
After all, no one ever got hurt by reading a book. Um, except maybe The Anarchist Cookbook.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
https://www.thefussylibrarian.com/
But The No-Campfire Girls is always 99 cents as an e-book and just five bucks in paperback, which is pretty darned good. There's a nice article about the book and how it came to be written (complete with a picture of our dog!) here:
https://www.kpcnews.com/news/latest/n...
Good publicity is ... well, good. As usual the book and all our books can be found on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00...
Or on our website:
http://www.markrhunter.com/books.html
After all, no one ever got hurt by reading a book. Um, except maybe The Anarchist Cookbook.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
May 1, 2021
The Highlights of the Junk Mail Folder. Or Is That Lowlights?
Somebody must have signed me up for something, because I've been getting a lot more junk e-mails lately. The disadvantage: I have to go through and make sure there aren't any legitimate communications among the junk.
The advantage: I can make fun of them.
Sometimes it can be a little difficult to tell the difference between the real stuff and the scams. For instance, in the last batch I got a notification from Google Drive, which informed me a file had been successfully shared.
Yay! But wait ... I've never shared Google Drive files.
That could be a clue. And sure enough, the return e-mail address has absolutely nothing to do with Google.
Another example is the survey I got from Netflix, which wants me to fill it out and enter a drawing. Yay!
But I don't subscribe the Netflix, and never have.
Of the 27 e-mails in the latest haul, exactly one was legitimate. And that one was from AARP, wanting to remind me I'm now old enough to get e-mails from AARP. I don't want the reminder.
Some of the e-mails look pretty boring at first glance. They're from Amy P., Julie L.,. Natalie, Kathleen, Stacy, Betsy, Kristina, and of course my favorite, Eleanor Gibbs. I just realized ... I should keep track of the ones that could make good character names for future novels. Eleanor Gibbs, Beverly Bailey, not to mention Vanda. How many Vandas do you know?
And they're all women. Where were all these women when I was single?
Of course, chances are they're a 55 year old Russian male who hasn't exercised since 1997, but hope springs eternal.
They get more interesting when you see what the "women" have typed into the subject field of their e-mails.
"No questions or stories, just make me obey."
Yes, dear.
"I have crzy wishes."
I wish you could spell.
"I'm agile but fraagile so be nice ;0"
Brittle bone disease is a terrible thing for gymnasts.
"It was the best night ever!"
Sadly, I wasn't there.
"Video with me and you"
So, you were the one who photobombed me at Indiana Beach.
"Are you excited?"
Do you have chocolate?
"Should I send one more photo?"
Well, you haven't sent the first one yet, so ... (That one was from "Iowa". The entire state apparently thinks it sent me a photo.)
"Can I be useful for you? Pleeease!"
Okay, since you're so eager. We'll start in the bedroom ... then you can clean the kitchen.
"Are you excited?"
What, still? Now that someone else is cleaning the kitchen, yes.
"No panties video"
Sounds great, until you remember it was typed by a middle aged Russian couch potato.
"I am so disobedient at this video..."
That's okay, I can point you to the obedience school my dog went at.
Meanwhile, I also got e-mails from Flawless, PerfectLips, ColorfulDes'lres, Hedon1stlc, and, yes, CornLover. That last one, at least, was original. Cream or whole kernel?
By the way, Eleanor Gibbs sent me an e-mail with the headline, "I love to play with fire". This is not something firefighters generally want to hear.
Finally, the unoriginal ColorfulDes'lres also asked: "Are you excited?"
Well, I just wasted ten minutes that could have been used for writing fiction. Or looking at cute puppy videos. So no ... no, I'm not. But it's starting to remind me of the other question I've been hearing a lot lately: "Have you tested positive for COVID?"
I'm excited to say no.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
The advantage: I can make fun of them.
Sometimes it can be a little difficult to tell the difference between the real stuff and the scams. For instance, in the last batch I got a notification from Google Drive, which informed me a file had been successfully shared.
Yay! But wait ... I've never shared Google Drive files.
That could be a clue. And sure enough, the return e-mail address has absolutely nothing to do with Google.
Another example is the survey I got from Netflix, which wants me to fill it out and enter a drawing. Yay!
But I don't subscribe the Netflix, and never have.
Of the 27 e-mails in the latest haul, exactly one was legitimate. And that one was from AARP, wanting to remind me I'm now old enough to get e-mails from AARP. I don't want the reminder.
Some of the e-mails look pretty boring at first glance. They're from Amy P., Julie L.,. Natalie, Kathleen, Stacy, Betsy, Kristina, and of course my favorite, Eleanor Gibbs. I just realized ... I should keep track of the ones that could make good character names for future novels. Eleanor Gibbs, Beverly Bailey, not to mention Vanda. How many Vandas do you know?
And they're all women. Where were all these women when I was single?
Of course, chances are they're a 55 year old Russian male who hasn't exercised since 1997, but hope springs eternal.
They get more interesting when you see what the "women" have typed into the subject field of their e-mails.
"No questions or stories, just make me obey."
Yes, dear.
"I have crzy wishes."
I wish you could spell.
"I'm agile but fraagile so be nice ;0"
Brittle bone disease is a terrible thing for gymnasts.
"It was the best night ever!"
Sadly, I wasn't there.
"Video with me and you"
So, you were the one who photobombed me at Indiana Beach.
"Are you excited?"
Do you have chocolate?
"Should I send one more photo?"
Well, you haven't sent the first one yet, so ... (That one was from "Iowa". The entire state apparently thinks it sent me a photo.)
"Can I be useful for you? Pleeease!"
Okay, since you're so eager. We'll start in the bedroom ... then you can clean the kitchen.
"Are you excited?"
What, still? Now that someone else is cleaning the kitchen, yes.
"No panties video"
Sounds great, until you remember it was typed by a middle aged Russian couch potato.
"I am so disobedient at this video..."
That's okay, I can point you to the obedience school my dog went at.
Meanwhile, I also got e-mails from Flawless, PerfectLips, ColorfulDes'lres, Hedon1stlc, and, yes, CornLover. That last one, at least, was original. Cream or whole kernel?
By the way, Eleanor Gibbs sent me an e-mail with the headline, "I love to play with fire". This is not something firefighters generally want to hear.
Finally, the unoriginal ColorfulDes'lres also asked: "Are you excited?"
Well, I just wasted ten minutes that could have been used for writing fiction. Or looking at cute puppy videos. So no ... no, I'm not. But it's starting to remind me of the other question I've been hearing a lot lately: "Have you tested positive for COVID?"
I'm excited to say no.
http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/&quo... R Hunter"
