Archives - JULY 2003

July 30, 2003

My Ph.D.

I'm thinking of getting a Ph.D. Found a place where I can get one for a hundred bucks. No classes or other such nonsense; just make a donation to the Church of What's Happenin' Now and they send it to you, all framed and purdy. I was thinking about getting one in English, but why do that? You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a Doctor of English these days. Maybe a doctorate in Metaphysics. That diploma would look cool on my wall. There's another one for Paranormal Psychology. Nice. They have one for Guru, too. That's even better than a doctor. Guru David. What could I guru in? Since I don't know a damn thing about anything, but I know a little bit about all sorts of useless stuff, maybe I could be a Guru of Liberal Studies. Yeah. It has a nice ring to it. But I really don't want the word "liberal" by my name... I do know a little bit about sex offenders. Maybe Guru of Perverts. Nah. Gonad Guru. Sounds like a band. On second thought, maybe I'll drop the guru. Shaman? No, people might take me seriously. Shamans get more respect than Catholic Priests these days. I guess I better go look at their catalog again. I have forgotten how difficult choosing a major can be.


July 29, 2003

Good reviews and good friends

Went to training all day: Face Reading. Learned how to read faces for deception, stress, violence, etc. Interesting, but not that interesting. Ran into my old pal Patricia Springer, true-crime writer extraordinaire. See her latest in the left-side column. She's doing well and has a new one coming out hopefully soon.

Came home to a boatload of emails. One was a nice review of Undercover White Trash from the playwriting, hockey-playing, reggae-listening actor David Shiffman, author of The Cosmic Burrito:

Undercover White Trash was a highly enjoyable, quick and easy read. It was very well written and many of the creative analogies and similies made me laugh. I really loved the protagonist, Eddie Prescott, who, from the description of the book, I thought I wouldn’t like. Yet despite his upper class upbringing and taste for the finer things in life, his lack of touch with the “real” world came not from an innate snobbiness but simply from his inexperience with the middle and/or lower class. I admired his willingness to embrace a challenge and get down and dirty with his research. The passion he had for his work really made him exciting and interesting and his humbling self-deprecation made him likable. Many scenes were flat-out hysterical and I hated to see the story end. (But I liked the ending.)

Hey, it is good to have people out there who appreciate my work. Thanks again, David. I needed a pat on the back.

Also had a message from Joseth Moore, author of Lunar Legends. He did a two-hour live talk show in New York recently on the Destinies-The Voice of Sci-Fi show hosted by WUSB, 90.1 FM's Howard Margolin. You can hear the replay of this on Be sure and check him out. He took the opportunity to graciously give me a plug during the interview. Thanks, Joseth!!

I'll be shooting two 30-minute TV shows for a local book review show, one next week for Cuqui and the other later in August for L.A. Stalker. I'll keep you posted regarding air times if any local yokels want to tune in to hear my blather.


July 26, 2003


I've met many gifted writers over the years who rarely write. Inside of them, there is a great book, short story, poem or screenplay. They have the talent to put their idea onto paper, yet they don't. Desire isn't their problem; they feel the urge to write just like I do. Yet something stops them. They worry about an issue that is one of the main drawbacks to being a writer: time, or rather, a commitment to time.

Other villains that prevent people from writing are a lack of talent or a lack of imagination, and the ability to sustain these things for very long. A poor knowledge base of grammar and punctuation can also do it, just as a home builder would have a difficult time with their task if they had a shortage of basic carpentry skills. Embarrassment or a fear of failure are another two that kill writing before it even begins. But the time factor is the usual one I see that prevents people from finishing the work they want to do.

When writing Elephants, I did a time study on myself. In this, I learned that, on the average, it takes me one hour to write one page, single-spaced, 1-inch margins. Pages heavy with dialogue are much faster, but when combined with pages of straight prose, they average-out to a page an hour. Elephants' first draft manuscript was 824 pages long, written over two years. That comes out to 412 hours per year. I did this on top of a full-time job. That's ten 40-hour work weeks per year.

A lot of time? Hell, yes; like I said, it is a commitment to time. I have found that the one-page-per-hour rule is fairly common; it is probably what most writers, even the pros, can manage. That means you. Now, most books aren't as long as Elephants. You, being a sane person, should have a manuscript of normal length, like 300 pages (which will translate into about 225 pages in a 6x9 book). If you wrote that manuscript in a year, expect to spend 300 hours, or 7 1/2 work weeks. Daunting? Scary? Crazy? You're probably saying to yourself, "There's no way I can do that. I have the kids, the job, the yard work, the church duties, grocery shopping...forget it!"

However, these are lies you tell yourself. Writing-Killers. Creativity Bombs. In actuality, it is quite doable. 300 pages a year, if you work just five days a week, comes to about 1 hour and 10 minutes per day. Factor in days where you work more than 1 hour per day, like a vacation day from work or a Saturday per month, and that daily figure comes down even more. At the end of a year, you'll have a manuscript, and you'll find that your life has gone on, you're still alive, the lights are still on, and your mortgage is current.

Just like investing money, take care of yourself first. Plan ahead. Set a goal. Say to yourself, or write it on a piece of paper and tape it to your mirror, "I will have a manuscript by July 26, 2004." Then make a plan. When doing your plan, be realistic. Commit the time you can really take. A Sunday per month, four days a week from six to eight o'clock, a day of vacation or sick leave from work every other month... Plan what you can do, for you don't want to have to alter the plan once you've begun. Part of your plan should be not only the time factor, but a location factor, too. Where are you going to write? My suggestion is to distance yourself from your regular life as much as you can. Write at the library or coffee shop. Get away to a sleazy hotel room for a day where the phone won't be ringing and the household chores aren't looming.

The second thing you must do is inform everyone in your life of your plan. If they laugh or scoff or blow you off, make a mental note of this and continue on. Believe me, after your year of self-sacrifice, you will find out who your friends are. Tell them what you want to do (but never reveal your story to them; that's another blog entry coming soon) and that you will appreciate their understanding, yadda yadda. Believe me, I've done this before; pave the way for your plan. It is well worth the effort and will save you much misery in the future.

(To be continued - What to expect from your loved ones once you start your writing plan and how you should react)


July 23, 2003

Political rant

Read today about the Liberians and the U.N. "demanding" that the U.S. send troops to that nation to end the fighting. They've piled up bodies in front of our embassy to illustrate their point. One scrawled on a piece of cardboard: "Today G. Bush kill Liberia people." Foreign "relief workers" and the Secretary-General of the U.N. all demand that we send troops now. I know I don't normally express my political opinions on this blog, but…

Fuck the Liberians.

Who the hell are these people to demand anything from us? What have they done for us? I don't recall seeing any Liberian troops helping us out in Afghanistan. Ditto in Iraq, Kuwait, Vietnam, Korea…. I wonder how many Liberians were killed landing on Omaha Beach?

I don't recall them ever doing anything for us except lending their officiality to every liability-dodging and arms-smuggling ship in the world. For a fee, of course. How can this nation, this boil on the great carbuncled ass of the Earth that is Africa, demand anything from anyone? They got themselves into this mess and the world owes them nothing. If anyone should be concerned about the situation, it is their neighbors on the continent, who are still sitting around with their thumbs up their collective ass. Why should American lives be put on the line to defend this rat-hole of a country when their neighbors won't even do it?

A few facts about Liberia, courtesy of the CIA World Factbook:

Life expectancy: 51 years

Infant mortality: 130 out of 1,000

Population with AIDS: 9%

Literacy rate: 38%

Environmental problems: tropical rain forest deforestation; soil erosion; loss of biodiversity; pollution of coastal waters from oil residue and raw sewage

People living below the poverty line: 80%

Unemployment rate: 70%

External debt: 2.1 billion U.S.

Another interesting tidbit: transshipment point for Southeast and Southwest Asian heroin and South American cocaine for the European and US markets

Gee, what a nifty piece of real estate. If I were the King of the World, I think I would just VX the whole nation, seize their diamond mines, and turn the coast into the American Riviera - East.

Surf Monrovia, baby.


July 20, 2003

Hoes in My Hood

Just a short drive from my house, there's an area long-known for its streetwalkers. A ho market. The police crack down every now and then, and they go away or move further down the street to another police jurisdiction. I have to drive through the area frequently, so I see the ebb and flow of the hooker tide.

The first time I saw these, er...girls in my neighborhood, I was a little shocked. Shocked not by what they were doing, for certainly this is as universal a crime as there can be, but that they were doing it so openly and with little if any police interference. I was also intrigued. Not as a potential customer (they don't manufacture latex thick enough for me to try) but as someone who is fascinated by the roads that lead people to where they are. What chain of events led this woman to peddle her ass on the street...a really crappy, ghetto street, to trashy, ghetto men? Could desperation or self-deprecation reach that level? Obviously, it can.

I guess another thing that shocked me about seeing the hookers was that they were so...let me say, uninviting. Skanks. But first let me say something that explains this to a degree. In Texas there's a law called MANIFESTATION OF PROSTITUTION. It's a misdemeanor, one step down from the charge of Prostitution itself. In layman's terms, it translates into LOOKIN' LIKE A HO. In Texas, a person only has to appear they are engaging in prostitution and they can be arrested. The police actually prefer to arrest on this charge, since it is a city charge and the city gets the resulting fine money instead of the county, who would get the fine money if the higher charge of Prostitution was used (by the way, this is the same reason drunk drivers aren't as vigorously targeted as speeders are).

So the stereotypal images you see in the movies of painted-face streetwalkers in high heels, stockings, sequined tube tops, etc. are not seen on our streets. At least not mine. The trick, pardon the pun, of streetwalking in Texas, is to not look like a ho while being a ho. One must announce oneself as a hooker for potential customers, yet not advertise the same thing to the police.

The ladies around here have come up with some unique ways of doing this. First, they dress down. No makeup, no big purple hair. Long shorts, sneakers and very oversized T-shirts are the norm. No bobby socks and spike heels here. In Texas, we say they look as if "they was rode hard and put up wet." They also never stand still; they keep walking. Some carry a plastic grocery bag as if coming from the store. Some stand at pay phones and pretend to talk. One of my favorites was a 250-pounder who wore blue camouflage pants four sizes too small and stood at the pay phone that didn't even have a handset any more. She didn't last long. The new trick is to pretend they are walking a dog. Very clever. The only problem I've seen is that they all keep walking the same dog over and over. I guess some guy rents his dog out to the girls who pass him around. He's a mangy mongrel at that and I bet he smells awful. I guess the hooker leaves him outside the car when she's conducting her transaction.

These girls are obviously at the end of the line. They've probably ran the gamut of vice, from being strippers in their youth, to turning a few tricks to patrons, then on to lower-rung strip joints as they got older and their tattoos started to sag and as the crystal meth rotted out their teeth. Finally, even the trashy strip joints and massage places kicked them out. Left only with a ravaged body and an empty soul, they took to the streets to earn dope money with whatever they had left. Waiving down construction laborers and giving them pleasure on the side street by the junkyard...well, that's about as bad as it can get for someone. I read an offense report the other day where a vice cop arrested one of my girls. He picked her up and managed to negotiate some oral pleasure for a pack of cigarettes: $3.55.


July 17, 2003

Why We Can't Get A Publishing Contract

Simon Cowell's new book deal with Random House is for $2 million. He's the creator of American Idol and the main "judge." How long, if ever, will it take Random House to recoup this loss? How many other books will they have to pass on during this next fiscal year? How many books in progress with them were killed so they could come up with this cash? Will that many people actually buy this book? I doubt it. Seems to me that the big market for this book will not be with the zombified fans of American Idol, but rather business readers interested in Simon's entreprenurial prowess. I have to hand it to the guy; he parlayed his knowledge of show business into a money-making machine. And he continues to strike while the iron is hot, netting more cash for himself, for he of all people knows that fame is a fleeting thing. I don't fault him at all. But I do want to point out that budgets are tight in the publishing world, with books sales declining even more from last year. There is only a finite amount of capital to outlay on new books, and when a house spends this kind of money, they have to cut it from somewhere else. It is business, pure and simple.

The same thing happened during the O.J. fiasco. I think the publishers spent a total of about $21 million on the ten or twelve books that ultimately came out of the trial. I don't know if any of them recouped their money. Only a couple of the books sold very well at all. Conversely, one must think of how many books didn't hit the racks in the ensuing years because the publishers couldn't afford to back them.

Just like any type of overspeculation, such as the Internet investment boom in the 90's, the bottom ultimately falls out. When the .com crash came, it resulted in the layoffs of hundreds of thousands of workers. When the bottom falls out of the publishing industry because of overspeculation, the result is less dramatic for the economy, but is catastrophic for the new writer. It makes our attempts at mainstream publishing even more futile. The publishers play it safe by only buying a few titles from well-known authors who are guaranteed to bring in a return for the investment. The doors are shut in our face once again.


July 16 , 2003

Proofreading 101

I received an email today from a kind soul who pointed out a couple of typos in Lunch at the Psychotropic Cafe. Thanks to Kyle Anders from Kansas who pointed them out to me. I proof things pretty thoroughly but for some reason, these two escaped my eye. It points out a couple of things you need to remember. First, always let a third person proof your work. After writing and rewriting something over and over, your mind tends to memorize it the way you think it should be. You'll pass right over many mistakes, no matter how good a proofreader you are. Even better, let two people proof it. Second, if someone points something out, listen to them. Don't think that you know more than them and refuse to even look at the alleged mistake. You may disagree, but that's fine. At least consider the possibility.

I know that Cuqui and Stalker are both error-free (at least, I think they are...) but I also know that Elephants has at least 9 mistakes in it, everything from the wrong word choice (I used "taught" instead of "taut" one time, for example) to typos, to use of the wrong character name! I've marked most of these (and if any of you out there find more, email them to me) and they'll be fixed when I re-do Elephants, hopefully this summer. I plan on re-setting it with 1stBooks with a new size (6x9), a new cover and back cover, and a new LOW price (the most important thing). I'll keep this blog posted with the development. I feel I am missing out on many sales of that book because of the high markup put on it by the retailers. Elephants is actually my biggest-seller even with its huge size. But it has enough of a cult following to generate even more sales if I could just get the price down. Back when I submitted it, 1stBooks did not have the option of pricing, which they do now. You can choose a lower wholesale price, with less of a royalty, if you want. I have found that even though people can buy directly from 1stBooks at wholesale, most people still go to Amazon or B&N to buy their books. I don't know why, but they do. It is hard for them to fork over $33+ for a soft cover book, and I don't blame them.


July 14, 2003

Survival of the witless

I have to walk at the edge of a city park to reach my parking garage every day. And nearly every day, there's a group of young men, and a few women, on the expanse of concrete next to the fountain, sitting around and watching each other on skateboards. These aren't kids; I'd say their median age was 20-25. Skaters. As I was walking by yesterday, I watched one of them attempt some stunt, then fall on his ass. Then again. Then again. Nearby, another was skating in circles. A few more milled about watching. Keep in mind that it was 104 degrees at the time. A name popped into my head as I watched them.

Charles Darwin.

Truly these are the weak in our environment. Dull and vapid. Nothing better to do, or at least they think there is nothing better to do, because they cannot possibly THINK. If they could, they would certainly be doing something productive. Hell, at 20, I was at least trying to get laid or find a party. These dolts were one step away from an emergency room visit.

Darwin had it right in many ways (even though I don't believe in his theories on vertical evolution, which is an entire blog entry unto itself). There is a segment of our society that is truly useless.

Nazi? Eugenicist? Humanist? Label me what you will, but most people will agree. A friend of mine told me once that he felt the illegal drug use phenomenon was really a godsend; nature's way of weeding out the weak-minded of our society by rendering them unable to do anything that would upset the status quo. Sort of like a chemical Holocaust, the way the American Indian population has been decimated by the introduction of alcohol into their society. Destroy their brain cells and rational thought centers with drugs they spend their money on, money that could have been spent getting an education or training, buying property, investing in a business. Instead, they spin around on skateboards with a Godsmack CD blaring in their headsets while the system makes money from them in courts and jails and rehabs. Maybe we should add skateboarding, NASCAR, professional football, QVC, reality TV and wedding planning to the mix; they perform the same function.

These idiots have come up with their own weeding process. It's the story of a newly-found mental disorder that causes people to want to amputate one of their perfectly-functional limbs. Why? They don't know. They just want the thing cut off. If they have to freeze it or shoot it first to make a doctor amputate, well by God, they do it. It is too bad that they don't want to amputate their heads. I bet there are tens of thousands of people who lost a limb in an accident or to disease that would give anything to be able to transplant what these morons don't want to their own bodies.

Another example of Darwinian theory in our society? The weak weeding themselves out by self-destructing? Or are they victims of a propaganda machine that brainwashed them when they were very young? Nah. Everybody has a choice to make. You can get off the couch and produce something, or you can sit on your ass and fry your brain.


July 13, 2003

Watched a really bad movie this weekend. Bad but enjoyable. Funny how that is... It was John Carpenter's 1988 They Live. Done in Carpenter's dark days of really bad movie-making, it starred the very bad-acting Roddy Piper and a host of utility folks. What was great about this flick (which surprisingly gets a 4 1/2 star rating on Amazon) is Carpenter's attempt to show just how we've become a nation of pop-culture junkies, a subject near and dear to my heart. The plot is that some aliens have slowly electronically hypnotized the humans into being unable to see both them and their propaganda that they use to control us. We pick up their messages to us subconciously and in return, we become the unwitting cattle that fuels their economy. Of course, to make it a sci-fi movie you must have a group of rebellious people who can "see" the aliens and their plan, which in this case involves the use of some really tacky 80's style sunglasses that filter out the hypnotic suggestions, letting the viewer see the aliens and the subliminal messages which are placed literally, everywhere. Some of these Orwelian slogans:







And my personal favorite, printed on every dollar bill:


As I stood in line to watch another movie this weekend, T3, and watched people piling in to see such dregs as Charlie's Angels, The Hulk, and From Justin to Kelly, I see that Carpenter wasn't far off the mark. We are indeed a nation of pop-culture zombies who do anything the machine tells us to do, and gladly lay out our hard-earned cash for the privilege of being taken. Maybe you could say the same about me, standing in line to see Ahnuld Swvazenhoopa and his rather abysmal new installment of the Terminator series, which by the way, was watchable as a cheap rental but was clearly a lead-in to a continuation of the franchise. Be watching for T4 through T11 coming to a theater near you for the next decade.

I guess the reason I'm putting this in my blog is to show that the book publishing machine is no different than the movie machine. They feed readers second-rate, highly-promoted formula books and we line up to buy them. After the read, we are as dissapointed as I was leaving T3, and I hope as dissapointed as the sheep leaving Charlie's Angels. My wife just got through reading a book that was on the NYT best-seller list, by a famous author who has sold millions. She said the novel was boring, poorly-written, and predictable. Just like the last four or five famous books she has read. The big houses (David beating his dead horse again) continually ignore the new and vibrant writers out there in their quest for guaranteed money-making formula fiction.

In a way, this makes me and the other authors I've placed on this blog in the left-side column much like Rowdy Roddy and his band of human rebels fighting the machine in their own way, the only way they know how. Maybe that's why I liked the movie so much. And that's why you as a reader should explore the universe of independent authors.


July 9, 2003


I just received a brochure today on the upcoming screenwriting expo being held in L.A. later this month. Big affair, two halls in the convention center, lots of movie muckity mucks will be there, yadda yadda. The thing will feature a "pitch" marathon where wannabe screenwriters can pitch their ideas to people who are looking for material. No problem with that. But the classes offered, the seminars, the books, the is the same as in the book publishing industry. Most are presented by people who: 1) have never sold a screenplay, 2) are only on the fringe of the Hollywood machine, 3) still make most of their money by teaching people how to write the things they can't even do themselves. It opened that old wound in me once again, that thing I call the gross exploitation of writers that you see in this country.

I'm going to make a bold statement: The industry that exists to exploit writers is larger than the book publishing industry itself.

The phoney literary agents, book doctors, story coaches, promotions companies, ad nauseum, are there not to help a writer get published, but to suck money from him/her by praying on their hopes and dreams. Bookstores are full of books on how to write. Note that virtually all of them are written by people who have only written books on how to write. Same with the seminars, online tutoring, editors...the list goes on. All writers want to hit the big time; don't let any of us tell you otherwise. We all want to quit our day jobs and be a full time, professional author. But the field is limited. Less than 4% of writers make enough money to live on that alone. The vultures circling above us know this, but lead us on to think that we will be in that 4% if only we purchase their service, their book, their advice...

I guess what I am trying to say is that we wannabe writers need to be aware of this. Don't fall for the rap laid onto you by just anyone. Check them out carefully. Explore your options before you commit any money.

This vampiric industry is one reason I started this blog. Hopefully I can pass on what I have learned about it to fledgling writers before they make the mistakes I have made. So stay tuned, be sure and read my FAQ page for a good intro on the whole writing quagmire, and keep your guard up.


July 7, 2003

Aging ungracefully.

I remember when a speedball meant a simultaneous shot of heroin and cocaine. The first mainlined you to Nirvana, and the other kept you awake to enjoy it. I've never done a speedball, or injected anything. I've never even done coke. I never even did a white trash speedball: Jack Daniels and a snort of methamphetamine. My foray into the drug scene was short and mild as such forays go. For that, I am fortunate. Some may even say blessed.

Even though I didn't partake of them myself, I felt a certain coolness in at least being hip enough to know what these things were. But there's a speedball in my life now. I couldn't see it at first, but as I finished getting the combo from my local dope house, it appeared to me like the Lady of the Lake materializing to King Arthur. Here's David's idea of a speedball now that he's reached middle age:

David's sin.

Sonic, my new dope house, still makes the best universally-available malts. Real malts with real ice cream and real malt syrup. Mixed together a whirring machine, not in a pressurized tank. A close second is Whataburger. Of course, the best malts are still at specialty ice cream places like The Marble Slab or The Purple Cow, but they aren't on every street corner in America like Sonic is.

Tempting me.


July 3, 2003

Writing stuff again

I wrote an article for the 1stBooks ezine last month. For those who haven't seen it yet, I'll post it here with an intro by someone who read it. If you're an independent writer, you should subscribe to this free ezine. They notify you of writing contests and such, and have pretty good articles about writing. The current issue has a good article on handling your taxes properly.

Your last newsletter was an inspiration to write. "This Begets That" is an inspirational approach of being noticed and of getting off the couch and write. The other article, "If you need to write...then write". Both articles have inspired me to compile my thoughts and write! - Jessey Munoz

This Begets That; or How I Optioned the Movie Rights To My Novel

Since publishing my first novel a couple of years ago, I have found that there is seldom a magic promotional bullet that can propel your book into the public eye. In the world of book promotion, the name of the game is what I call "this begets that." I just optioned the movie/TV rights to my second novel, Undercover White Trash. People have asked me what miraculous act of self-promotion I performed to get this book noticed by the Hollywood crowd, which is just one step short of the writer's Holy Grail: a full movie deal and the accompanying money and press that goes with it. My answer to these people is simple: This begets that.

First, I wrote the book. This sounds stupid, but this is a fact. I've met many who say, "You know, I've been working on this novel for ten years..." or "I really would like to write that novel that's been in my head..." The bottom line is that I made up my mind to do it, and I did it. I put the ink on paper. Period.

Second, I published it with 1stBooks and got it out there for the world to see. How many manuscripts are collecting dust in a drawer because their authors are afraid to let people see their work? Tens of thousands that will not see the light of day again, that's how many.

Next, and more specifically, I hawked my book wherever I could, in any way I could. This particular deal began when I contacted my local cable TV book review show and asked them to interview me. They said "sure" and I taped a couple of shows with them, one of them for Undercover White Trash. Somehow, an editor for Fort Worth, Texas magazine saw the show. The magazine contacted 1stBooks and got a review copy. In their next issue, I had a little review and image of the book there, with a kudo for the local-boy-done-good. The TV shows and the magazine article were enough to have 1stBooks put my book on their site's home page under the Featured Authors section. A few months later, Tara Mark of Remarkable Films, an independent movie developer, was surfing the net, desperately seeking new comedy material to develop into a feature film. Bada-bing-ba-da-boom, she finds Undercover White Trash on the 1stBooks website. She buys a copy, loves it, and emails me. And the rest is history.

This begets that.

What will happen to my novel now? Will it sell to Hollywood for a million bucks? Or will it fade into obscurity like 99% of option deals? Will my new novel, L.A. Stalker, get picked up, too? I don't know. Only time will tell. If it sells it sells, if it doesn't, it doesn't. But one thing is for sure; I wouldn't have come this far if I had not gotten up from the couch and done something.

David Kilpatrick has four novels with 1stBooks. The movie rights to Undercover White Trash have been optioned, and it also won a Silver Award in the ForeWord magazine book of the year contest. His sci-fi novel Cuqui was a finalist in the IPPY Awards and in the ForeWord magazine (yes, again) awards this year. These and his latest novel, L.A. Stalker can be seen on his website at


July 2, 2003

A first.

Thanks to Sugarmama for being the first blogger to link to my blog. If you've never been to her blog, check it out. You'll laugh your ass off.


July 1, 2003

Auld Lang Syne

July 1, 2003

My old friend Chuck McMahon contacted me a few days ago. We've been looking for each other for years, and he finally found my web site. Chuck was my best friend of all time. We were inseparable in high school, but we wound up going our separate ways, as life often does to friends. We had some good laughs back then, and the fun is still there. We talked for hours the other night, both remembering things the other had forgotten. He sent me some pics of us in our yoot. Thought I'd post one.

That's me on the right. I appear to be under the influence of some sort of controlled substance. Perhaps several. Chuck is on the left, his sister is in the middle (I'll leave her name out for the sake of her privacy, but I'll say that she was straight as an arrow and not part of our shenanigans). I guess since Chuck is holding a knife, we were going for a "scary thug" look for the photo. I don't know what the hell I'm holding, but I think that I THOUGHT it was a weapon of some sort. We were both 15 in this photo, circa 1976. Since the statute of limitations is up, I should put some of our adventures down on paper with the few brain cells I have left. I really think that the creator of Bevis and Butthead modeled his show after us.



Copyright 2003 - All rights reserved. No use of any material on this site without express written consent of David L. Kilpatrick