Edward Lorn's Blog, page 22

My Semi-Fictional Life #84 (MERRY CHRISTMAS!

From my house to yours, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Thank you for another amazing year!

See you tomorrow,

E.

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My Semi-Fictional Life #83 (A Fitbit Christmas Eve)

Hello peeps. Remember a few days ago when I mentioned that I bought a fitbit? Well, I’ve successfully experimented with it, and here are my results.

Thursday, I saw how much I could do without wearing myself out. According to my fitbit, I walked 11,748 steps, went 5.3 miles, consumed 4,280 calories, drank 144 oz of water, and exercised for 44 minutes. That’s what I CAN do.

Friday, I did my normal daily routine. I walked 3,020 steps, went 1.36 miles, consumed 2,471 calories, drank 80oz of water, and exercised for 0 minutes. That’s what I’ve BEEN doing.

Today is going well. Just walking from the front steps to the end of the driveway is 100 steps, so I can easily hit my goal of 250 steps every hour. As of writing this post, I’ve walked 5,779 steps, equalling 2.61 miles. And I’ve exercised for 42 minutes. I feel fine and I definitely don’t feel as if I’ve moved as much as I have. In other words, I should be able to keep this up, no problem.

This damn thing might actually save my life. Not exaggerating in the least.

See you tomorrow… well, not really. I have a post scheduled to go live at noon, but it won’t be much. I’ll be back to full posts on the 26th. Enjoy yourselves tomorrow.

E.

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On my walk today…

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My Semi-Fictional Life #82 (Flash Fiction Friday, Round 7!)

Hello peeps. Before we get to the story, I wanted to ask you guys if you’d be interested in a livestream tomorrow of me reading War on Christmas series: The Naughty List, Deck the Halls, and Beyond the Gates of Toyland? Shouldn’t take more than an hour or so to read live. Let me know if you’d be interested in me doing that tomorrow.

Now, I tried several things with the hopes of making this a Christmas-themed story, but they all failed. In the end, I decided to stop trying to force this into being something it didn’t want to be and settled for the story you are about to read. I hope you enjoy this extremely odd little bit of flash fiction.

 

“Hitchhiking with the Jolly Green Giant”

by Edward Lorn

Little known fact that I just made up: In 1960, the Jolly Green Giant was played by a man named Bartholomew Johnson. In the commercial “The Valley Fair”, which led to Johnson’s eventual fame and fortune, he’s standing, legs spread, in front of what looks to be a cornfield and bellowing “Ho, ho, ho!”

In 1975, The Jolly Green Giant (Bartholomew Johnson) retired from the silver screen a legend. Having done over two hundred thousand commercials, twelve billion voiceovers, and nine niche adult films in the Corn Porn subgenre, Bart had become tired of the limelight. So, one summer day, he enrolled himself into college, hoping that one day he might successfully film the mating habits of echidnas.

To Bart’s sadness, echidnas are notoriously shy and do not like mating on camera. Because of this, Bart decided to drop out of school and live a life on the road. He bought a Winnebago recreational vehicle and hit the highways and byways of America. Little did anyone know that, no matter how many miles lay between himself and his alma mater, echidnas would continue to haunt him.

Halfway between New York and California, Bart came across a young man nodding and hitchhiking. Bart pulled the Winnebago onto the side of the road and waited while the young man, head bouncing all the way, ran up to the passenger side and hopped in.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Bart said in welcome.

“Who’re you—fucking Santa Claus?” the boy asked, his head flopping up and down and side to side as he spoke.

“No, no, no!” Bart said.

“So this is your thing? You just repeat the same three words over and over again?”

“Sor—r—ry!”

“Why do I always get picked up by the weirdos?” He sighed and sat back as the Winnebago merged once again with traffic.

Unbelievably enough, somewhere in between Russia and the United States, the pair came across a hitchhiking echidna. Bart pulled over. The spiny anteater climbed aboard. Because there was no more room in the cabin and riding in the back of RV is illegal, Phil was made to sit on the dashboard while the echidna got the passenger seat. With that, the trio set off for parts unknown.

Along the way, the boy said, “My name is Phil, by the way. They call me Bobble-head Phil.”

“Who, who, who?”

“Who calls me that?” Phil asked.

Bart nodded then caught himself in case Phil thought that he was mocking him.

“Everyone I ever come across has called me that.”

“Sad, sad, sad!”

The echidna murmured something unintelligible that wasn’t likely even words but simply the sounds this species of animal made and Phil fell madly in love with it. The gender of the echidna not mattering because, after all, love is blind and sexless, Phil attempted to seduce the creature in the dark confines of the Winnebago’s winterized bedroom.

As Bobble-head Phil and the nameless echidna made love in secret, the RV rolled on, their cries of passion unheard over the growl of the Winnebago’s mighty engine.

But, up front, Bart watched, enthralled, as the night vision camera he’d installed in his bedroom caught the duo’s sexual escapades.

Phil went down on the now-obviously-male echidna, his lack of vertebrae an obvious aid where fellatio was concerned. The nameless echidna howled and exploded in orgasm. Phil rolled away, scratching at his throat. Bart watched in horror as Phil’s throat swelled and the echidna spun atop the mattress, breakdancing in terror.

Bart slung the Winnebago onto the side of the road, jammed the selector into Park, and raced back to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, he yelled, “What, what what?!”

The echidna made noises that surely said, “Please, good sir, help my new lover, for he is choking to death!”

But Phil was not choking to death. Now that the lights were on, Bart could see the pustules rising and popping on Phil’s skin. The boy was obviously allergic to something. In his detah throes, Phil jabbed a finger at the cans of Green Giant peas, the company’s parting gift to their old spokesman, which lined the compartment’s walls.

“All—ler—gic?” Bart asked.

The boy’s floppy head flopped harder.

Must be a serious fucking allergy to effect you through aluminum cans! Bart’s mind screamed as he dragged the boy from the bedroom compartment and back to the front of the RV. Bart found an Epi-Pen in the RV’s first aid kit and stabbed the device into Phil’s chest.

Moments later, Phil was fine, because that’s exactly how Epi-Pens work. They’re magical and I definitely did not just make that up.

Because Bart felt terrible, he gave Phil a job as his dashboard’s bobble-head. Bart then went on to publish the film of Phil and the echidna making love, lifting the fog of taboo from the echidna-mating niche of adult film. The echidna, who was ashamed at the leaked sex tape, sued for invasion of privacy and Bart was left penniless. No longer able to pay Phil’s salary, Bart poured several cans of peas onto the young man while he slept. With Phil dead, Bart drove the Winnebago off a cliff into the Valley of the Jolly Green Giant and all was right with the world.

 

Bill says: Bobble-Head Phil was born without the first 5 vertebrae in his neck causing his head to consistently nod. The only job he can get is a dashboard Jesus for the Jolly Green Giants recreational Winnebago. And Phil’s allergic to peas! Will Phil be able to beat his hives and keep his job or will his oozing sores force him out of a job and into the streets.

Nrlymrtl says: He has been working on his PhD in animal behavior but unfortunately he stubbornly insisted on echidna mating habits for his final thesis. Echidnas are notoriously shy when it comes to mating and getting the actual act on film is difficult, to say the least. He has studied preserved echidnas but like so many others, the exact usage of the 4 headed penis is still a bit foggy. He’s determined to lift that fog!

See you tomorrow,

E.

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Bookmail!

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My Semi-Fictional Life #81 (Great Couple of Days)

Hello peeps. Yesterday and today were terrific. We got even more Christmas shopping completed with a last-minute royalty check I hadn’t been expecting and a nice gift from my oldest sister. We treated ourselves to ribeyes last night and tonight we had roasted pork around a bonfire. The best part was spending the time with my family.

Yesterday, while shopping at Target, Chris picked out a cardigan. We rolled past it on the way to women’s clothing so Chelle could do some shopping. Once I stopped the cart, Chris jumped down and took my hand and said, “I want to show you something.” He took me back to where this cardigan was hanging and asked very politely if he could have it. As you can see by the Pic of the Day it worked out in his favor. What he doesn’t know is that my mother also bought him a suit today. He’s gonna be one styling dude for Christmas.

I bought a fitbit fitness tracking bracelet while at Target. I need something that will guilt me into being more active, and the device was on sale, so I figured why not. What originally would’ve cost me $59.99, I got for $38 with Target’s cartwheel app. Big savings. Anyway, today was the first day I used it. I hit my goal of 10,000 steps no problem. I don’t see any reason I won’t be able to keep this up. Hell, I even rode my bike today. Win.

Overall, it’s been a really great couple of days. How’s your December going?

See you tomorrow for Flash Fiction Friday,

E.

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Watch out ladies…

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Me Semi-Fictional Life #80 (Year in Review Coming)

Hello peeps. I’ll be doing best-and-worst-of-the-year posts starting the day after Christmas. I have six categories and each one will have a runner up. So if you’re looking forward to that, I assure you it’s on its way.

You know, I never thought I’d make it this long blogging every day, and I’m not sure how long I will keep it up. The goal is 365 days of blog posts to remind me of the most productive and successful year of my life, but things happen and people get burned out. I’m not there yet, but I’m sure there will come a time before day 365 that I say to myself “I don’t wanna.” Whether or not I stop on that day or press forward through the slump remains to be seen. But I’m having fun, and that’s all that matters.

I’m OCD by nature, and sometimes just putting a number to something helps me complete it. 365 posts doesn’t seem so many when you consider I’ve posted thousands of posts on this blog. Hell, at one time I used to post two to three times a day. I know, I know, that’s fucking ridiculous, but it’s true. No one needs that much E. in their lives.

Do you challenge yourself often? Does challenging yourself help you complete tasks, or does it not help at all and/or send you spiralling into depression when you fail? I used to be like that. I don’t let myself down near as much as I used to, and that’s a good thing. It means I’m growing and learning that failure is not the end, only a chance at a new beginning.

Friendly reminder, all of my books are still only a buck each on Amazon worldwide. Click HERE to peep my author page and see if you’ve missed anything. If you’re interested in something different from what you’ve read from me in the past, I recommend Word. Really proud of that little collection.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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Christmas in Fallout 4

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My Semi-Fictional Life #79 (WAR ON CHRISTMAS!)

Hello peeps. Here’s the final promotion for this holiday season. If you hop over to Amazon you can get the complete War on Christmas series in one book for free. You can click HERE, or on the Pic of the Day, or on any of the international links posted after the image.

You can get order a signed paperback HERE, but it won’t ship until after the New Year. Sorry about that.

One final time I would like to thank each and every one of you for reading my work. You’ve given me my most successful year yet. I keep waiting for the balloon to pop, for this immense highest to sending me crashing, but you’ve not let me down. Plenty of books on the way in 2017.

Man, can you believe it’s been three years since I released my last novel? That’s nuts.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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UK

Germany

Australia

Canada

Japan

My Semi-Fictional Life #78 (Let’s Play Flash Fiction Friday, Round 6!)

Hello peeps. Before we get started, I want to point out an offer that I, myself, signed up for this morning.

In this post-fact America, with Trump tweeting inaccuracies and the Christian-right filling everyone’s heads with fairy tales, I feel it more important than ever to educate ourselves on what’s really going on. Simply following the enemies of our enemies is not enough. There is plenty of propaganda out there on both sides of the political spectrum. Yes, Dems can be just as stubborn and quick to judge as Republicans, and just as easily fooled, too. I know I’ve been guilty of such things.

After some research, I’ve decided to actually try a subscription with The New York Times. This is not a sponsored post. The New York Times doesn’t give a shit what Edward Lorn thinks of their company. However, I feel they are the least biased of the biggest news companies. Them being an enemy of Trump is only the icing on the cake.

With all that having been said, I navigated over to The New York Times this morning to sign up and found that they have a special going on. For $0.99 you get four months’ access to the basic website, or you can upgrade to the behind-the-scenes specials and whatnot for the same price. I don’t care about that stuff, so I signed up for the basic package. After the four months is over, my subscription will come to $15.61 a month. Not bad. That’s almost as much as Netflix and I’ll be educating myself.

Already this morning, I’ve learned that the reality behind the electorates voting for anyone other than Trump is a pipe dream. I was banking on their greed to sway their vote because Trump is, if nothing else, bad for business. With all his talk of “draining the swamp”, I figured we had a chance, if for no other reason than he’d be hard to control and profit from. Then I read that electorates can be fined and/or removed from their positions if they vote against their state’s popular vote and lost what little hope I had. I’m sure these people take more pride in their positions of power than they do the future of this nation.

Sorry to be so depressing, but I thought that it was important that I admit I was wrong. Our only hope now is that Trump us impeached for his conflicts of interest and we end up with Pence, who is equally scary, yet I don’t believe he’d be one to get us nuked over a tweet.

I went on too long. I apologize. Now for the main topic of discussion. (I probably lost everyone with the political talk, but I hope not.)

It’s that time of the week again! Time to drop your suggestions for Friday’s story in the comment section so that I might weave them together into one cogent thread. Or at least try. I don’t always succeed, but the failures can be just as entertaining as the successes.

Make it happen, cap’ns!

See you tomorrow,

E.

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My daughter Autumn and our dog Ash…

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Photo credit: My wife

My Semi-Fictional #77 (Appearances Matter)

Hello peeps. I did not plan to write the post I am about to write. It’s coming straight off the dome with zero forethought. Let’s do this.

I’m a white dude. You see me in pictures and there is no debating that I am a caucasian male. That is my appearance.

The truth of the matter is, I am one quarter Native American. My dad was half and his father, who was chief of his tribe, was full blooded. I have documentation to prove all of this. My ancestry paid for my schooling beyond high school. I consider myself Native American as much as I consider myself caucasian. But I do not bring up my ancestry because I am, by all appearances, a white man. I’ve never personally known the struggle of my people. I’ve only ever read and heard about it.

My appearance dictates how the world treats me. My privilege is obvious. I’ve been pulled over with black friends who have been treated differently than me. I had one friend who likely would not have driven away from the situation had I not been there. He would have been detained for… well, for something. I’ve blogged about it before. You can read that HERE.

The point I’m trying to make is, we’re judged first and foremost by our appearances, and if you do not look like the people who are struggling, you cannot, in good conscience, try and tell them how they should feel when threatened or oppressed. You can help them fight, but make sure that yours is a support and not a command position.

Take care of each other.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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My Semi-Fictional Life #76 (My Collection and Cleaning Day)

Hello peeps. This might not be of interest to everyone, but I rarely see people talking about what it takes to maintain a massive book collection (cheaply) so I figured I’d bring up the topic today, because that’s exactly what I am doing.

I have a ridiculous, illogical Stephen King collection. I have every first edition of his novels from Carrie to End of Watch, at least one paperback copy of all of his books, an audiobook of each book, and an ebook copy. My mother first started collecting King novels with the first shorter edition of The Stand. Her collection was destroyed by Hurricane Opal in 1995, but I’ve since rebuilt it.

Anyway, my point is, it is the pride of my collection, as you would imagine, but it’s a pain in the ass to maintain cheaply. I will eventually build my own shelves, but until then, I’m using cheapo Target shelves I found on clearance. $35 shelving for $9.99. Couldn’t beat it with a stick. But they are unbearably cheap and fragile and most King novels weigh a quarter ton, so I’ve devised a routine for keeping them from collapsing. This will eventually stop working, but here’s what I do.

Every month, I flip the shelves and dust them and the books. Doing this relieves the strain on the shelves and keeps them from bowing too drastically. In fact, if they start bowing before the month is out, I jump to action and start flipping early. I suggest doing this with any collection of heavy books. And, remember, paperbacks add up. So if you’re double stacking your paperbacks, your shelf is likely under more strain than it can handle. Unless you buy quality, then you don’t have to worry too much.

Why don’t I buy better shelves? you might ask. Because, like I said above, I want to build them myself. I have a detailed design in my noggin, and when I’m feeling frisky (I’m a spontaneous dude), I’ll run down and buy the wood and screws and all that. Until then, my only option is maintenance.

Do you have a collection? How do you maintain it? Are you planning a collection in the future, or is collecting not for you. Let me know in the comments.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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Madness…

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My Semi-Fictional Life #75 (Flash Fiction Fridays, Round 5!)

Hello peeps. Welcome back to Flash Fiction Friday, the day I take your outlandish suggestions and write a coherent (or at least a semi-cogent) story out of them. Today… well, I took some liberties. You’ll something from every suggestion, but I had to take literary license with one or two details. I hope you don’t mind. Without further ado…

Snowy Whiting and the Seven Little People

by Edward Lorn

 

Medieval Times:

Seven little people approached the hole in the snow with caution.

“What the fucking fuck is that shit?” said Cussy.

“Dear God,” said Preachy.

“What is hole?” asked Dumby.

“Makes my dick hard, just lookin’ at it,” said Cock.

“How am I so damn hot? It’s winter!” said Sweaty.

“Make a human ladder and we’ll check it out. Here, I’ll stay up here and hold everyone up,” said Mighty.

“Oo, ah, ah,” said Monkey.

“Leave the fucking simian the fuck behind. He don’t even speak English, the cocksucker!”

“AH, AH, AH!” screeched… well, you know who.

The seven little people formed a human ladder minus Monkey. Mighty dangled them over the edge.

A great voice boomed, “WHO INVADES OUR HOLE?”

“Cock’s coming in your hole, playah! Open wide.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” the big voice murmured. “I shall banish you to the world of men 2016, where you will be more welcome!”

“The fuck you fucking mean? We’re going to the fucking future, fuckhead?”

“My heavens!”

“What’s future is?”

“I can’t hold on any longer! My hands are too wet.”

“I’ve got you!” Mighty roared.

“Ah, AH, AH!!!”

But Mighty didn’t have them. Twas not Mighty’s fault they vanished, for his grip did not falter; the five little people in the hole simply disappeared.

 

Modern Day:

Snowy Whiting was so very nervous. Imagine, a woman talking about baculum, the bones that aid some animals during copulation. How silly. Still, she would not let systemic sexism silence her voice. She stood behind a podium, staring out over a sea of male faces: some confused, others angry, but overall the crowd seemed disinterested.

“What does the term “boner” mean?” she asked the all-male crowd.

Murmuring, but no overt answers.

“The term is used by immature males to describe the stiffness of their penises during an erection. As you know, the baculum a bone located above the urethra that aides stability during intercourse in species such as bears and canines. With extensive research, I have devised a theorem that could change erectile dysfunction forever. And that theorem is—”

“The fuck is this shit?”

“My Lord, where are we?”

“Why’s it so hot? My nuts are swimming in my pants over hyah.”

“We’s alive?”

Snowy saw the seven little men standing on the stage and wondered how they’d gotten there. They were not there a moment before, but now, here they were.

And, just like that, they were changing.

When she first laid eyes on them seconds before, they had been pale behind their shaggy beards. Now they were reddening, as if each one was suffering a sunburn in real time.

“My fucking skin fucking burns!” The fattest one squealed as he spun in circles cursing and steaming.

“Oh my Jesus!” said the one in the collar. “Surely this is hell!”

“Are I’m is cold?”

“MY DICK’S BURNING!”

“I can’t scratch because my fingers just skate over my slippery skin!”

“I can help!” came a voice from the crowd. “Here, follow me!”

Snowy looked out into the crowd to find a tall handsome man rushing up the aisle and out of the auditorium. She thought she knew him. Chris Huntsman, the Johnson & Johnson rep. Surely the massive pharmaceutical company wasn’t interested in her baculum research? Over-the-counter erectile dysfunction? Madness!

The seven ever-reddening little people hopped off the stage and scurried for the door out of which Huntsman had rushed.

Where could they be going? Snowy wondered.

Oh! Right!

“We’ll have to continue at a later date,” Snowy said into the microphone before jumping off the stage and dashing to catch up with the seven little people and Chris Huntsmen.

 

On the way to the Benadryl factory, Snowy realized she’d left her collection of baubellum back on the podium. Oh, well. Not like anyone would steal them.

She rolled through the gates of the factory to find the guard posts destroyed and smoking. The guard’s bodies had been lain out in the middle of the road. Among the chewed remains of the guards was Chris Huntsmen, barely clinging to life.

Snowy got out and rushed to the handsome man. She dropped at his side and nestled his hair to her breasts.

“What happened?”

Coughing blood, he said, “I should’ve known. How stupid am I?”

“Shush,” she cooed. “It’ll all be over soon.”

He choked. “How can I shush? I’m the exposition in this story.”

“Oh, right, sorry. Carry on.”

“The snow gods possessed the seven little people when they fell into the hole. Now they are…” his voice became grave—Jeffrey Jones in Howard the Duck. “— something else !”

“What do you mean?”

“The seven have become three!” And with that final howling statement, Chris Huntsmen died.

Above the dead man and the baculum specialist, the sky swirled with foreboding storm clouds. Snowy knew, as only someone versed in animals penises could know, that mankind was fucked.

She followed a trail of carnage and gore all the way to the Benadryl tanks, the only obvious place the seven little people could have been headed. As she pushed through the doors and into the tank room, three massive creature like chubby and crimson Geico geckos burst from the pools of antihistamine.

“Fucking Christ!” roared the biggest of the geckos.

“Snow God has angry penis!” growled the middle god.

The third winter lizard deity said, “I’m just really uncomfortable. I kinda thought becoming a snow god and swimming in Benadryl would make me perspire less…”

“You can’t do this!” Snowy cried.

“What for not our penis do?” asked the middle god.

“Well…” Snowy realized that she had no idea what these monsters wanted. “What is it you want?”

“Me ding dong make forever hard!” crowed the middle god.

And Snowy knew what she must do.

Upon returning to the auditorium, Snowy realized that her baubellum collection had been stolen in her absence.

“No,” she sobbed. “We’re all doomed.”

 

NRLYMRTL says: The Baculum Collection & Research Conference is scheduled for next week and she has been invited to speak on baubellum in an effort to bring this rather male-oriented niche science into the 21st century. However, her small collection of baubellum had mysteriously gone missing.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baculum

H. says: Holes keep opening up in the snow and people apparently disappear only to resurface later as pawns of the snow gods.

Bill says: A trio of wandering midgets (sorry, small people) all have rare and extreme psoriasis conditions which cause their skin to become super red and scaly making them look like fat, sunburned Geico geckos, devise a plan to break into the local Benadryl factory to swim in the vats of healing medicine.

 

You folks are weird. I like it!

See you tomorrow,

E.

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Various baubellum… look at those pitchfork dicks, tho…

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