In the tradition of Hemingway’s Six Word Novels and David B. Dale’s 299 Word Novels, we present a new classic of Irish Literature
Act One:
Act Two:
Category Archives: writing
Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, Jesus and Shane McGowan
Yes, they have the same birthday; it just seems so right, once you know it, doesn’t it?
And I was thinking of them both today, when I went out in this podunk town for a two-hour walk and, of all the people I passed, including the church group that was loudly praying to the empty downtown sidewalks, not one said, “Merry Christmas.”
Not one.
Now, I may live in a pretty ratfuck part of the big city, but we always hear that small towns are frendlier. It’s a certain fact I couldn’t walk around the Downtown Eastside for two hours without hearing Merry Christmas repeatedly, and sometimes even from sober persons. Whichever PR firm small towns are hiring to spread this myth around, they’ve earned their money, cuz not one word of that claim is true. Hell, the only one who even looked me in the eye was the chocolate lab whose owner yanked him roughly away because for a second I looked like I might pet the doggy. Oh, perish the thought.
So, the following pair of videos and the following classic Christmas story (which I post every year, and you should read every time I post it, you’ll thank me) go out to those three men I saw sitting on the bar stools at the pub, staring into space with one carefully calibrated empty seat between each of them, presumably for Clarence. Or Harvey.
Happy Birthday, Jesus:
Happy Birthday, Shane:
And Merry Christmas, Everyone!
This is simply the finest, most moving and remarkable Christmas story I have ever encountered, and I have, as I happened to have remarked recently, well over two dozen books of Christmas stories. Moving as it does from England to Saudi Arabia to the far eastern tip of Russia, it qualifies as multiculti, too! It is a unique jewel by an author who emerged from nowhere, left this small masterpiece for us, and vanished again into a swirling blizzard of obscurity. I’ll post it using the MORE tag, so that if you enjoy it you can read the rest. If you don’t enjoy it, I suggest you seek medical assistance promptly, for your brain matter must be leaking out your ears or something. Merry Christmas!
what did you do today, raincoaster?
Other than wonder why I have no time to write anything meaningful?
- caught up on affililate links for the blog network, which had to wait till I had a steady internet connection.
- read and responded to emails asking me why, on a weekend (which I do not work) over the holiday season, I hadn’t gotten the above links done
- deleted a couple of dozen emails from LinkedIn Groups I never should have joined in the first place
- updated Flickr contacts
- did some more promotion for my BoJo guest post. I’ll break that Dave Hill yet, you’ll see, boys and girls!
- helped beat down some annoying flightless waterfowl in the forums.
- emailed my friend
- posted:
- Christmas on Acid Revisited (a classic!)
- Spork, the fanfic, the audio, the masterpiece (the greatest fanfic of all time?)
- The Facebook Warning! (check your settings!)
- Gwen Stefani’s Electric Kandy-Kolored Frootloop Parka, Baby (must be seen to be believed)
- Sarah Jessica Parker gives good taste the slip (so THAT’s where the expression “Nippy” came from!)
- Fiveheads! (they always did look a little alien to me)
- The Wisdom of the Ancients ( a great way to save time in the forums!)
- Headlines from Springfield (can you tell the difference between your paper and the ones the Simpsons read?)
I didn’t even have a chance to work on my short story setting Conrad Black in the context of the Cthulhu Mythos. Which is, after all, where he belongs.
A Modest Proposal: that you read this story
Yes, I’m making a modest proposal that you click away from my site (take a screenshot, this may never happen again) and go over to David B. Dale’s blog and read his heartwarming Thanksgiving story, destined to be an instant classic.
Why? Because…well, here’s the first line:
She was our youngest and tender-hearted (tender, in fact, throughout) and therefore hard to eat.
raincoaster 