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|  | | A golfing I will go
A country bunkum from Iowa gets a chance to impress his wife’s father in Scotland playing golf at Greywalls and completely makes a fool out of himself, in the process wrecks the country club.
And nearly ends an un prefect marriage, perhaps golf is a game left to someone else what a funny story for any married man or golfer out there.
span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I married my wife because she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She married me to get even with her family. Now if I would have known that at the time, I still would have married; her, after all, love had nothing to do with it./span>
p class="MsoNormal" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-size: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial;">span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Ar | |  | | Big Red Hat and All
Spying on one’s wife and her friends is a lot like spying on yourself well that’s what happens in this funny story about love and marriage with the Big Red Hat Society thrown in for extra measure.
| |  | | Conscience of Man The Lucifer Chronicles
A man trying to find meaning in his life.
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div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt">span style="font-size: 10pt">Charlie Hawkins, an eighty-one-year-old senator from Iowa, takes shelter in an abandoned building in Washington, D.C. While he is waiting for a snowstorm to let up, fatigue and his age begin to take a toll on him. As he struggles to keep himself alive, he engages in a dialogue with his alter ego, whom he calls Lucifer Mann. Lucifer Mann, challenges Charlie with questions from his past, forcing Senator Hawkins to | |  | | Easter Island Sorta
Easter Island Sorta a collections of short stories.
p style="background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial;">span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> Every since I was knee high to grasshopper, I wanted to pack my bags and dash off to Easter Island. Well maybe not dash off. At forty-nine and sixty pounds over weight, I don't dash off anywhere except maybe to the john. However you get my meaning. As I was saying there is something magical about a pl | |  | | El Mexnophobia
Coming to grips with the new neighbors and a crazy phobia like you've never seen before. Funny story about getting to know we are all the same just a little different.
| |  | | Is it Madness to be Mad at Madness
Forest Gump brought us the immortal words, “Life is like a Box of Chocolate.” Rather interesting metaphor for life, wouldn’t you say? In many respects, Forest was right. Life is like a box of chocolates, but whether your life is like a frozen box of chocolates or a gooey, melted box of chocolates is open for debate.
Now if you are one of those persons that fall into the frozen area then you find everything you hear and see hard to chew on. You gnaw away like there is no tomorrow until your gums hurt or you give up and spit the whole mess out as just too damn much trouble for whatever little pleasure or insight you might gain.
But if you fall into the gooey melted area of life’s observation gallery, then everything is all blended together and you don’t really give two cents about what you see or hear because it’s all pretty much BS anyway-or you fall for the BS like a kid in a candy store. Gooeyness is a two-edged confectionery knife so to speak.
Then there are, those Gumpnites with their box of chocolates who take a chance on eating that perfect almond blend, hoping to avoid those cherry filled mess making no account gelatinous awful delights, you know, the ones you pick out of the box a thousand times although you know you hate them.
Kind of like a little mental torture test you put yourself through just to see if your taste buds are paying attention to you.
Now I view myself as a semi-gooey box of chocolates. I realize this was not one of the choices I offered. Nevertheless, since I am writing this, I can take metaphoric liberty if I want to. After all, what is liberty if not a metaphoric state of choices anyway.
I have decided to entitle this collection of mine “Uncommon Notions.,” which may seem a rather strange title for a work of short stories, but in reality every short story is an uncommon notion and every uncommon notion is like a box of chocolate. I’ll get off the metaphoric merry-go-round for a while, before I give you and me both a headache.
I have become feed up with social and political correctness. Talk about changing subjects in mid retort; but then again I am making this up as I go a long so bear with me. There is a point to all this; I just have not figured out what that point is yet.
I want to laugh, I want to poke fun at others and myself without having to worry about being sued or beheaded. Forgive me if I am right, but we have become so tight cheeked that we whistle when we walk, afraid to say this or that for fear that the big bad moral police will grab us up and place us in a reeducation program or on State Assistance, which for the most part is one and the same. It seems every time you turn around, someone is suing someone for defamation of character, slander, and a host of other verbal contemplations that defy the charter of free speech.
Let me remind you that I am aware that free speech does not mean you are free to say whatever you want. Speech is limited by intent; in reality free speech means you are free to get sued or arrested for what you say- and in some places beheaded.
However, everybody is hell-bent on suppressing their own rights by means of monetary reformation. Ready-made social horror flick staring Dr. Keynes as Mr. Friedman. I wonder has free speech become an economic apartheid.
We go Spike Lee suing Spuds Makinsey, or where it Spike Lee suing everyone with spiked hair not sure. Let’s be reasonable. Who in the hell would ever associate Spike Lee with anyone with spiked hair?
Come on, do you really think Spike Lee would jump into a “mosh” pit with three hundred tweaked out neo-Nazis or their socially productive Black clad belly button ringed, raving moguls of self-indulging idealism-not on your life.
I can’t think of anyone who would want to see Spike jumping into a “Mosh “pit outside of Condoleezza rice, that is. I am certain Spike would like to throw Rice in the pit. Being the gentleman he is and of course the price he would pay for such an act would be unbearable even for someone of his finical well-being; and, believe me, he is financially well off.
However, I can imagine Al Sharpton coming to Condoleezza rescue at seeing our hypothetical Lee dangling our hypothetical Rice over a hypothetical “Mosh pit”, filled with hypothetical liberty spiked haired American citizens exercising their free speech. Al would probably say something to this effect.
“Hold on brother don’t throw her in there, there is already way too much White on Rice!”
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div> Forest Gump brought us the immortal words, “Life is like a Box of Chocolate.” Rather interesting metaphor for life, wouldn’t you say? In many respects, Forest was right. Life is like a box of chocolates, but whether your life is like a froz | |  | | Plum Loco
" Story about a wayward Cowboy fired from the railroad and ends up in a mining town where he gets some bad news and a lesson from a Chinaman deputy.
span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Two Days before the hanging:/span>
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p class="MsoNormal">span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-size: initial; backgrou | |  | | Sum of all Numbers
Throughout antiquity we have tried to find that balance, that overwhelming question that defines our understanding of life. What separates us from the animal and plant, germ and universal planetary systems? Everything we define as terra firma and the cosmos, into a nut shell of reason, how does it fit?
span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> Throughout antiquity we have tried to find that balance, that overwhelming question that defines our understanding of life. What separates us from the animal and plant, germ and universal planetary systems? Everything we define as terra firma and the cosmos, into a nut shell of reason, how does it fit? /span> | |  | | The Lunatic of Trenton
One man's journey to try and change the world from his nursing home bed, follow our Lunatic across the globe.
span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The Lunatic of Trenton, an award winning short story, Middle English Literary Contest. The Lunatic of Trenton, is about an old man telling his two grandchildren how he wanted to change the world, from the battlefields of WWI, to the intellectual’s halls of England with Bernard Shaw to chasing Heir Wilhelm, across the fields of France, as he puts it “bugging around Serbia for the devil in an Austrian Top hat”. Seeking out the wisdom were ever he could find it. Searching for the meaning of it all, right there when the Russi | |  | | The tale of three stories
Three of my favorite stories all in one place. Enjoy the award winning short story The Lunatic of Trenton, the never-ending tales from an old man in lunatic asylum who in his mind was responsible for the Russian Revolution, and starting World War One, all in the name of changing the world for the better. From there we join Samuel Clemens reading a newspaper article to a young boy sharing a log with him to hear all the exciting news of that fateful day, but our young lister has his own ideas of what’s going on and interrupts our story teller throughout this hilarious tale. Finely a dose of Kansas Vampire lore like never seen before as our happy married couple thought Kansas was just known for munchkins and flying houses, the wizard of OZ has nothing on this ridicules funny tale of a man searching for NOSFERATU, without leaving the comfort of his small town. Enjoy the laughs and a bit of history along the way.
| |  | | Uncommon Notions
Seven very funny stories about life in our times.
h2 style="margin-top: 0px">Uncommon Notions/h2>
div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt">span style="font-size: 10pt">America may not be the birthplace of humor-I am told that distinction belongs to the people that invented the cuckoo clock, of course when they were not taking everything else so serious-however, America is filled with uncommon people and a lot of them are sharing their own uncommon notions, even if only with themselves./span>/div>
div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt">span style="font-size: 10pt">Yo | |  | | Winter on the Glen
This book of collective thoughts is for my two beautiful daughters, thirty years of not knowing where they were how their life turned out. There was not a day that went by that I didn’t think about them and tried to find them, finely through fate and faith we found each other within a week on Facebook. It has been a tearful and wonderful reunion. Now we can begin the process of getting to know each other all over again, building our lives together one day at a time. I so dearly missed you two with all my heart I so dearly love you both.
Winter on the Glen
Gone are those days of gentle contemplation, where nothing seemed real but the day that faded into evening light. A struggle to reach beyond, all those things I thought I knew but never understood them to be true.
Barely a moment, just a moment, so it seemed in quest for timeless love a prefect beginning were never winter becomes my spring just, a moment to lie my head upon your couch that is all I need. Yet I want to see, feel, cry and laugh, just know before winter once again covers the glen.
Reflections mirrored in my tears strained with hope, I watched and waited, and winter came and covered the glen. I grew old, mirror I grew old. The spring brought more than life blooming; the war had come to an end. I awoke moist breath upon my cheek, a child’s lips between the pinwheels. Winter came no more upon the glen he came home and I cried knowing I’ll never ever be alone, I cried you have become a man. They brought you home to your glen.
A Bed for Adonis
Vincent van Gogh, Claude Monet, all stood on the edge of bringing beauty a life of its own, to touch and feel the ceiling of the universe in its blink still cold emptiness yet full, and to smell the salty sea. To run among the stars and to cry, laugh, touch and be loved is all we want. Shadows fall among the true as if they are pale reminders of the inner thoughts bound not by reason nor felt in song.
Just a field of godly blooms a bed for Adonis head shelter from Shakespeare lost seasons, the silhouettes of yester year. and every farewell dreamer that has landed upon the shore of humanities embrace, I kiss the soft sweet William peddles and blow the pinwheel of all my wants into the abstract were another will turn the page.
It is a wonderful day to breath, it is a wonderful day to lay awake and dream. Soft is the journey that carries the timeless morning and afternoon light the embrace of yet a sonnet, a painting a poem and upon the clay of destiny, I mourn no more. A fellow can always turn the page. Turn back you soldier turn back you gentlemen of old turn back Vincent turn back Monet turn back my heart never mourn.
And yet the well runs dry the road has come to its end for some small child for some old man some soldier laying upon the cinder fields. Now is where the true journey begins to understand this life, just a field of sweet William for Adonis to lay his head. An ox pulling still his burden strains his will, turn back o ox there awaits your supper there awaits your earthly toil, there awaits your place next to were Adonis lays his head.
To many trees where is the forest. (Taboo)
There are many subjects that seem to be held in silent contemplation when in an unfamiliar crowd but are excepted when likeminded persons meet to vent their opinion on a subject at hand, as long as they agree with the orator’s agenda. This not an American problem, but a human one, shared across the globe from the tiniest Kenya village to the great metropolises of the world. As far back as recorded history goes we humans have always had our prejudices, our contempt for those that don’t believe as we do or have a different color of skin, ideologies, world views that seem strange from the inward lookers prospective. Religion, Politics, sexual orientation, boarders that define those that live across the tracks as those people these are the Taboos of too many trees were we just can’t see the forest. Taboo is defined is some respects as. (a social or religious custom prohibiting or forbidding discussion of a particular practice or forbidding association with a particular person, place, or thing).
I think we all understand the implications of how troubling it is judge without understanding but we all do in some form or another. Back before this Nation was formed from the great experiment of European revolt against sane and reasonable value of the individual to seek liberty, not freedom but liberty to different things, freedom comes at the cost of standing against the horror of indifference and despots of human physical and mental torcher, while liberty is a hope that all we have strangled against will never reshape the landscape of brotherhood back into the cinder fields of strife, and conflict , conquest that places the victor in the end in the dust bin of history. That is the defining message in, “Give me liberty or give me Death” Roger Williams once said of this, "distressed of conscience”. In August 1637 was born an idea of liberty of conscience". But it is more than just an idea this liberty of conscience, this distressed of conscience that leads to indifference to the rights of man. Yes, over the course of some five thousand years we have come far yet in the simplest ideas that shape the human we are still defined by those taboos that keep us apart, keeps us from advancing toward a unified world, were we see not the color of one’s skin, not the religious belief, not the course of human dignity. We still find it impossible at times to touch the contours of the heart, that we cannot be island in the stream that drives the heart home.
Our world I like to say at times is felled with so much hope, so much promise yet we fail ourselves in achieving some of the basic human needs, understanding that yes, we are all different but we are not strangers to the prospect of unconditional hope that tomorrow will be better than today. A new dawn is upon us how we face the challenges of a world of uncertainty will set us upon a course, we have seen before but will we find our way to a greater awareness, or will we continue to place our taboos at the forefront of how we see each other, it’s an open question but in time I believe we will be able to notice, see walk through that wonderful forest and set peacefully among the trees.
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Soldier's Gap
by David Schwinghammer
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 Deputy Dave Jenkins sets out to find the murderer of the local high school principal, aided by a voice from the grave that is sometimes helpful and sometimes misleading.
"Murder isn't usually this funny."
Amazon reviewer |
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