Edward Lorn's Blog, page 24

My Semi-Fictional Life #64 (Let’s Play Flash Fiction Fridays, Round 4!)

Hello, peeps. My alarm woke me up this morning and the world didn’t end. If you read yesterday’s post, you’ll know why that’s exciting news.

Anypoop, it is Monday and it’s time to play Flash Fiction Fridays!

(applause, cheers, and winks from groupies)

In case you’re new to the blog or do not recall, every Monday I ask for plot suggestions, which I will then use to write a story of under 1,000 words, which I will post to my blog, which will then be collected in a year’s time (from the first post to the last post = 52 stories) in a collection I plan to publish, which will give credit to each and everyone of you who submitted to this insanity. That’s a lot of “whichs” I just dropped on you. Is that long-as-balls sentence grammatically correct? I don’t know. I’ll let you fine editor-type folks decide.

The rules are simple because there are no rules. Anything goes. But, as previous stories will attest, the more outlandish the better. I’m looking for silly-as-fuck, but you can go for modest-as-a-mouse or timid-as-a-teaspoon, or whatever you want, really. Go all in. Let it all hang out. Be the change you wanna see in the world!

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Submissions. You can post them here or on Goodreads, or wherever you can find me. Tweet them shits to me, I don’t care. The more suggestions I get, the more fun it is. For more information on where and how this all started, you can click HERE to learn more, just like in Starship Troopers.

Anybody get that reference? I did. I’m so clever. And sexy. I’m mad sexy and clever, yo.

Are you tired of reading this post? Do just want this to be over? Why not try…

…side effects may include happiness, depression, suicidal thoughts, immortality, randiness, constipation, explosive mudbutt, acid tears, nostril hemorrhoids, hemophilia, necrophilia, donkey shows, twatwaffle, blue waffles (do not google), melon balls, cannon balls (iron testicles), canon balls (lore-accurate testicles), indigestion, out-digestion (a.k.a. politically-correct vomiting), and tenderness of hard tissue lasting more than four hours.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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My currently-reading shelf…

My Semi-Fictional Life #63 (Funny Story)

Hello peeps. Today I have a funny little story. It will likely only be funny to me, but some of you might be as goofy as I am, so here you go.

The past couple of days, I’ve been trying to get back into the writing routine I was in during the first half of the year. To those of you who don’t know, from January to June, I got up at 5 am to write. I’d do three-to-four thirty minute rounds, averaging about 1,500 words a day, no problem, and then spend the rest of the day reading and spending time with my family. It rocked. I wrote three novels in that time. Now I have four books waiting in the wings on publisher acceptance or editing or release dates.

Lately, though, my alarm clock hasn’t been waking me up, and I couldn’t figure out why. It was on and set properly. The volume on my tablet was maxed out. So why wasn’t I waking up? I had no idea.

The past week, since I’ve been trying to get back on my writing schedule, I’ve been having these crazy-realistic post-apocalyptic dreams. They were easily explained, I thought, what with Trump heading for the white house like an unwelcome and overgrown erection bearing down on a constricting anus. On top of that, I’ve been playing a lot of Fallout 4. I started playing the game earlier this year, but projects got in the way and that game is not something you can play on the side. It takes all your attention if you want to really enjoy it. An hour of game-time just ain’t gonna do it, ya feel me?

But then, this morning, I set my alarm for a minute ahead of the current time and sat and waited for it to go off. For some odd reason, my alarm tone had been set to this:

 

lulz

Yeah. I’m a dumbass. Anywho, I hope changing my alarm tone to something more ear-splitting will help me wake up. At the very least, maybe I’ll stop dreaming about the end of the world.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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Photo work by the lovely Nettie Neal Bell

My Semi-Fictional Life #62 (A Letter to Myself)

Hello, peeps. Today’s post is personal and will likely be long and unbearably boring. It’ll probably be riddled with errors, too, as I’m writing it at 12:30 at night after waking up from what was suppose to be a nap I took at 7pm. That’s happening more and more these days, but I’ll get to that in the post. If you’re interested in the man behind the blog/fiction, hang around. If not, click away. No hard feelings. There will be nothing witty or entertaining about this post. Now, I would like to speak to future E. Thanks.

Hey, you, fat man, guess what you did? You done fucked up. Yesterday was the day you found out you had diabetes, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol. Fun times.

Odd, isn’t it? The year you start treating your body as an irreplaceable thing is the year you find out it’s betrayed you. But betrayal isn’t quite the right word, is it? No. Because you’ve been treating it like shit you whole life. Remember when Mom used to ask your little ass if you were still hungry and you’d nod even though you were full to bursting? Remember how you faked having asthma in high school to keep from running track during gym? Remember all the drinking and drugs and days without sleep before you met your wife and found something to live for? Remember all that fucking nonsense back when you didn’t love yourself.

Great, now you’re crying. Fuck off. Pussy. Goddamn weakling.

Don’t listen to that. That’s your father talking. Moving on.

(This is where the few people reading this will say, “Why doesn’t he just edit that out?” Well, because I want to know the frame of mind I was in today. I want to look back on this and remember that all this horrible self deprecation bouncing around inside my fucking skull is not who I am. I am better than this. What better way to realize how unstable you were than to look back from a better place and laugh and cringe and who you were. It’s motivating. Like looking back on my early writing and shaking my head and hovering my mouse over the unpublish button and finally realizing that this is me. This is where I came from. Look at me now. Holy shit, what a journey, man. So fucking smile, you goofy bastard.)

Now, in your 36th year on this earth, you find you body wearing down and want to complain about it. Guess what, bucko? You can’t. You complaining now would be like a serial wife beater getting mad because his wife finally left his ass. Now you gotta live with the fact that she’s not ever coming back and the police are at the door because she called them and it’s either do your time or swallow a bullet.

In this metaphor, doing time = meds and diet and exercise. And swallowing a bullet = doing nothing and dying because you’re a fucking moron. Which one is it? Are you still around to read this? Hell, this post might end up on one of those clickbait websites.

UNHEALTHY FAT MAN WITH MASSIVE PENIS (lol) WRITES LETTER TO DEAD FUTURE SELF BUT HE DIDN’T SEE THIS COMING!

What didn’t you see coming? In January of 2016, you had your fifth (and hopefully final) back surgery. Afterward, you started eating healthier and being more active than you had been in a decade and just overall taking better care of yourself. Yet here we are. Twelve months have passed and you’re the most unhealthy you have ever been. Talk about a thunder-punch to the babymaker. But you know that, had you not changed your lifestyle routine, things would have been much worse. You know that. Hell, you might not have survived long enough to write this post.

But you got this. I have faith in you. That’s why you’re writing this post now. Because you’re going to look back on this and laugh. You’re going to figure this out and everything is going to be all right. You quit smoking three years back and kicked heroin sixteen years ago and you can beat this shit too. Just gotta find a way to become addicted to diet and exercise and taking meds you actually need to survive instead of that dope you call pain medicine.

If only…

Anyfuck, here you are. You’ll likely never be as healthy as you were today. You’ll definitely never again be that kid who garnered attention by drinking 50 cartons of milk at lunch. You’ll never again be able to eat sixteen sirloins and get your name on the wall of an all-you-can-eat-steakhouse in Texas (shit, the place probably isn’t even around anymore). You’re never going to be the teenager who once packed away two triple whoppers with cheese, large fry, large coke, and a Hershey sundae pie. Those days are gone, dude.

Fucking hell, is it any wonder why your body fucking hates you now?

All these memories running through your mind. All this shit you did to yourself, screaming YOLO! as if you could replace this shit factory you call a body and not realizing the irony of such a thought. How the fuck you gonna live like you only got one life to live and believe you’re gonna live forever all in the same breath? Goddamn you’re a fucking moron.

There’s Dad again. Be careful. Stop thinking like this.

Right. Where were we?

All that shit is in the past. Everything else is the future. You’re going to move on and do what you’ve done your whole life. You’re gonna survive. I love you, man. Take care of yourself, and I’ll see you tomorrow.

E.

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Me at my most lowest and most unhealthy…

 

 

My Semi-Fictional Life #61 (Flash Fiction Friday!)

Holy shit this was fun. Took me two hours to write. I got up at 5am to knock this out, because I have a doctor’s appointment at 8am followed by a full day of holiday shenanigans and shopping. Should be fun, but I definitely wouldn’t have had the time to write this.

Anyway, if you find any errors, I apologize. This was super last minute. I’ll try and clean it up later today.

Without further ado…

 

“Of Wieners and War”

by Edward Lorn

 

“Bring on the sausages, boy!” Tits McGee yells from the stage and the crowd out here in the desert goes wild.

She’s nude at a table with two naked men seated on either side of her. They’re all looking out over about a hundred thousand people, all of whom wanna see Tits swallow something whole. Last time they saw Tits shove so much meat into her face was in her last film with Fanny Pounder, King Dong, and James Franco. In that AVN Award winning piece of adult entertainment, Tits took so many javelins to the jaw she looked as if she had tried to commit suicide by Nerf gun. Amazing the things you can do without a gag reflex.

But, now, she’s more nervous than she’s ever been. If her IBS acts up… Still, she must keep her head in the game. Because Harry’s watching. She’s gotta do this for Harry.

Harry’s in the crowd, clapping and falling apart. The leprosy’s got him looking like a necrotic pugilist—all purple and peeling. His buddy Travis the Armadillo is under his arm. They’re both cheering Tits on. Travis is the one who gave Harry the leprosy, but Harry isn’t about to let a little thing like that separate him from his best friend.

Alas, the medical bills aren’t going to pay themselves, so it’s up to his pornstar sister to raise the funds needed for his care. Not like he can get a job, what with all his parts held together with Duct tape and prayer.

Two butt naked dudes with buns on their wieners —the competitive eating equivalent of ring girls in bikinis—bring out five trays of stacked hot dogs.

Trays down, timer set, GO!

And she’s off. Tits is sucking down hot dogs like a mobster at a plate of spaghetti. The guys on either side of her can’t help but watch her as they struggle to keep up. The fattest dude on the left, his eyes roll up into his head and he starts convulsing. People think he’s dying, but Harry can see under the table, where dude’s dick is twitching and jetting semen into the front row.

Guess he ain’t never seen a woman inhale a wiener before. Amateur.

There’s a commotion stage left that draws Harry’s attention. An overgrown Oompah Loompah in a business suit and red power tie is stumbling onto stage. He’s covered in perspiration and it’s all his tiny hands can do to keep the sweat from his eyes.

“Aliens are coming! The best aliens! Super aliens! Aliens like you’ve never seen! We’ll have the best aliens, I promise!” screams the man in the business suit.

That’s when Harry realizes who this man is.

Tits McGee slurps down her 56th hotdog and is readying the next one when she sees the President of these fine United States come shambling out of the wings. He’s hollering something about aliens, and she assumes he’s on another tirade about illegal immigrants. She sucks down #57 and #58 before the tanks arrive.

Harry hears them before he sees them—a massive rumbling like the end of the world on Viagra. He cranes his decaying neck to look back and over the crowd.

Last time he saw this much military was in Tits’s film Private Privates and the Rectum Wars, starring Randy Buttler and the Jizz Factory.

Harry chances a look back to the stage just in time to see men in white suits snag the POTUS and shove him into a straight jacket.

Tits’s stomach goes crazy. Her irritable bowel syndrome is giving her fits. It’s the whole reason she had to retire from porn. In hindsight, becoming a competitive eater wasn’t the smartest idea, but Harry needs the money. Dude is literally falling apart because of his armadillo addiction.

A stomach cramp like a fifty pound dick to the gut hits her. She bends in half, knocking her head off the table. She can feel the Poop Train barreling down the Bowel Expressway and barely makes it to her feet, much less the bathroom, before she’s spraying hot dog chunk from her anus like a meaty machine gun.

As he’s being dragged off stage, the POTUS takes a half-chewed anus frank to the mouth. Chewing and swallowing, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Here she is, Tits McGee, shooting masticated wieners all over the stage when the tanks start shooting into the audience. She can only shit and pray she’s not next

Later…

Harry was the only survivor of the military takeover. Being that he already looked dead, the clean up crew threw him in the mass grave with everyone else. He waited for dark before he crawled out and made his escape. He now lives in Flagstaff with a large family of armadillos. Travis was actually a Trudi, and Trudi had been pregnant. What a wonderful world. It was a terrific time to be half-dead, seeing how his country had gone to shit.

Tits McGee was transferred by army transport to the local hospital. She got to ride over with the president, who would be placed in the mental health ward on arrival.

The aliens never came, but America, from that day forward, was declared a military state, and all of its citizens treated like illegals.

To this day, no one knows why everyone at the hotdog-eating competition was naked.

 

Bill says: Former porn star gone competitive food eating champion due to her lack of gag reflex (she is a hot dog eating machine – figuratively and literally) that is in danger of losing her new career due to explosive IBS that threatens to take her out of the food game. 

 Nrlymrtl says: An armadillo lover contracts leprosy (which is carried by armadillos and easily transferred to humans) but can’t give up his little buddies so he seeks sanctuary in an unusual dessert abode.

Casper says: The POTUS is placed in an insane asylum as the military takes over the USA.

This was huge fun. Hope you guys enjoyed it. If nothing else, I hope more than a handful of you cringed. *smooches*

See you tomorrow,

E.

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Drawing by Chris

My Semi-Fictional Life #60 (FREE CHRISTMAS STORY!

Hello, peeps. It’s that time of year again! The run up to the end of the War on Christmas begins today! The Naughty List is free for the next five days. Deck the Halls: A Christmas Horror will be free December 7-11. Beyond the Gates of Toyland comes out on the 14th and will be free from the 14th to the 18th. The omnibus with all three episodes and brand new artwork will be released on December 21 and will be free as well, all the way up to and including Christmas.

I’m sad to see this come to a close, but I’m excited to see what everyone thinks.

Thank you all for another terrific year.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

See you tomorrow,

E.

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Click on the image below for the Amazon link.

My Semi-Fictional Life #59 (A Review)

Hello, peeps. Today’s second catch-up post is a review. I’m the odd man out with this one, so please, read the book for yourself.

Gonna do something I’ve only done once before and link you guys to someone else’s review. Snotchocheez’s review is everything I would have said had I thought to say it first. Only difference is that I will round up instead of down. Solid three star read, but otherwise forgettable, sentimental fluff.

In summation: Yet another retelling of the old pisspot who learns to be less of a pisspot thanks to unbelievably accepting and patient people. I don’t regret reading it and I even enjoyed bits and pieces, but I’m not one for books whose sole purpose is to make you cry.

Final Judgment: A Man Called Scrooge… er… Ove

See you later today for the final catch-up post.

E.

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My Semi-Fictional Life #58 (Catching up…)

Oof! I’m been a busy bastard, peeps. Sorry for the lack of posts the past three days, but I had one deadline that absolutely could not be put off any longer, and a cover to complete. Then the fam wanted to do somethings. And, well, I lost track of time, and blogging obligations flew right out the window.

So here I am, catching up. How have you been? I don’t ask that lightly. I honestly want to know. Especially if you’re American. These are unstable times, and I’m here if you need to talk. I’m still working on local things, but they’ve died down, what with the holidays pressing against my back. I’ll hit it hard after the first of the year.

With Jill Stein getting slapped down in Wisconsin (read that story HERE, but by all means, research it yourself) I fear we’re running out of options. Every day, Trump gets a little nuttier and circular with his tweets, only further proving he is not fit to hold the office of high school principal, much less POTUS.

Anyway, you know all that. And if you didn’t, now you do.

Again, sorry about the lack of communication. I’m back now.

See you… well, see you in the next post which should be coming here in a few minutes.

E.

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My Semi-Fictional Life #57 (Let’s Play Flash Fiction Fridays, Round Three!)

Hello, peeps! It’s that time of the week again. Time for you to give me suggestions for what you want to see in Friday’s flash fiction story. Remember, anything goes, and next year, I’ll be collecting all of these in one book and giving credit to everyone who played.

Comment below with your most outlandish plot suggestions and I’ll tie them all together Friday into a neat, coherent story of under 1,000 words. If you’ve played before, don’t hesitate to play again.

In current event news, my heart and thoughts go out to those affected by the happenings at Ohio State. This madness needs to end.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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Bastards stole my blood!

My Semi-Fictional Life #56 (A Review)

A Review of The Glorious Heresies

Lisa McInerney joins the ranks of Marisha Pessl and Caroline Kepnes in that she writes men better than most males authors. Every dude in this book is dynamic and interesting. Ryan especially, but we’ll get to him more in a minute.

I never would have grabbed this book if it wasn’t for Crown Publishing sending me a review copy, and that’s upsetting. So many terrific novels go unread every year, mainly because I can only read so much. If a book doesn’t grab the hype train or get picked up by popular reviewers, they just sit on shelves waiting for people with $25-plus bucks to spare while shopping at the chain stores. And, let’s be honest, most of these hyped books don’t deserve the reach they get. While THE GIRL WITH THE OBVIOUS SECRET and THE WOMAN ON SOME MEANS OF TRANSPORTATION sell millions, good authors are getting overlooked and have to hope that their next book will do better.

Nobody loves a good twist more than myself, but I need there to be some other meaning to a book other than GOTCHA! If that’s all you’re writing, you might as well co-author a book with James Patterson. Unfortunately, those who juggle themes with common genre tropes tend to go unnoticed, when really, other authors should be watching and taking notes. McInerney manages to mix the thrill of a good noir with the heart and passion of esteemed literary fiction. That’s a difficult feat to pull off, considering noir, by definition, is heartless.

It pisses me off (yes, probably more than it should) that my feed isn’t overflowing with this book. It’s a fucking shame how good The Glorious Heresies is and nobody’s reading it. You should probably do something about that. I, for one, will be buying whatever Lisa McInerney writes from here on out.

The book itself has one of the best couples I’ve read: Ryan and Karine. Their relationship is not all hearts and moons, and because of that, their love story feels real. There’s nothing perfect about them, and that makes them relatable. You’ll be screaming at both of them throughout the majority of the book, but that’s one of the best parts. Every single character herein is full-fleshed out and three dimensional. It’s so refreshing to be able to say that. I think the last book I read that managed that was Hidden Bodies.

And, holy shit, what happens to Ryan. Man, that’d fuck anybody up. I can’t discuss certain things because of spoilers, but I applaud the author for tackling what happened between Tara Duane and him. Thank you for that.

In summation: The Glorious Heresies is not a light read. It is heavy, but it will also make you laugh. McInerney balances character writing and theme perfectly, and never does the love or comedy come off as hokey. My choice for Book of the Year 2016 just got one book harder.

Final Judgment: I want everyone to read this.

Buy the book HERE

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My Semi-Fictional Life #55 (Massive Book Sale!)

Hello, peeps. Today everything goes on sale. All of my books, yes ALL OF THEM, are $0.99 from now until the first of the year. You don’t even have to rush over to buy them. Take your time. Cook yourself some lunch. Go for a walk. It’ll be on sale tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that… All the way up until January 1, 2017.

To keep it simple, this is a big thank you for another terrific year. I’ve been lucky enough to see a rise in sales every year since my debut novel dropped in 2012. Nothing big, but just enough to let me know I’m still bringing in new readers, and just enough to keep the bills paid and food on the table. This year in particular I was able to get everyone in my family exactly what they wanted for Christmas, and that was all thanks to my readers.

I saw a massive uptick in sales on Thanksgiving and Black Friday that I wasn’t expecting, so I wanted to do something a little more than just the free War on Christmas series this year. So here you go, all of my work for $0.99 a piece.

Here’s a list of freebies and the dates they’ll be free.

The Naughty List – December 1 – 5

Deck the Halls – December 7 – 11

Beyond the Gates of Toyland – December 14 – 18

The Complete War on Christmas Omnibus (with a foreword from the author) – December 21 – 25

Everything else is a dollar until 2017.

Thank you for giving me and mine a wonderful year. I wish you and yours a Happy Holidays!

See you tomorrow,

E.

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I swear this didn’t look anywhere near this out of focus or crooked on my tablet…