Wednesday, October 17, 2018

BOOK SALE!

My short-term disability check may have finally cleared, but I'm still in deep water with my creditors. While I'm doing this week of shameless self-promotion, I figured I'd dig into my own stock and see what I've got. Sure, you can buy these through Amazon, but if you buy them from me, you can get them signed. If I can physically put these books in your hand, there is no shipping charge. If I have to mail it, though, there will be a $2 shipping charge. So here's what I've got. If you see something you want, let me know. First come, first served.


--BLOOD (8 copies) $10 each


--STRIP (1 copy) $12


--STRANGE SEX 3 (1 copy) $7


--DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN (1 copy) $5


--TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE (1 copy) $10


--ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! BRAIN BANG! (2 copies) $10 each (contains "Pack Rat")


--POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS (1 copy) $10

Monday, October 15, 2018

WOULD YOU LIKE TO READ BLOOD FOR FREE?




So you want to read my latest book, BLOOD, for free, but you're too cheap to buy it. Well, I have a solution for you. I have a PDF just dying to be read, and I'm willing to send it to you for no monetary exchange whatsoever. All I ask in return is an honest Amazon/Goodreads review. Surprisingly, I have zero reviews on this so far, and I want to change that as soon as possible. Let me know on Twitter or Facebook if you're interested. If we aren't connected on any social media, send an email to editor@talesofquestionabletaste.com.

Tuesday, October 9, 2018

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #272: YOU'LL UNDERSTAND SOME DAY

It's easy, when you're a child, to say, "I hate you, Mom!" Or, "You're not listening to me, Dad!" Or, "You don't understand!" And you can't ever swallow the pill you're given. "You'll understand some day." Nope. That's impossible. I'm a child, and I know better. You're just a stupid adult.


Sometimes they're right. Sometimes they're wrong.


I remember when I was nine or ten. I was playing ball with my cousin across the street on the Prairie Path. It was time for us to go home, so I got ready to cross the street. I glanced back and forth and crossed when I saw no cars. I came home to my mom screaming at me for not looking both ways. But I did. I didn't turn my head, but I looked both ways. I screamed and cried at her, but she never bought it.


I see her point of view today. She was deranged because of her own perceptions. It's understandable when you look back at it from the ripe old age of 40.


Another time, with my dad, we were at his girlfriend-at-the-time's family reunion (she eventually became his second wife). We were driving around, and I was in the back with my cousin and my soon-to-be stepmom's brother. I was stuck in the middle. I hate being in the middle. It's uncomfortable for me to hold my legs together. I was in physical pain. So when the time came to get back in the car, I begged Dad not to let me be in the middle. He thought it was because I didn't want to be next to his soon-to-be brother-in-law because I thought he smelled. That wasn't even a factor. I was tired of holding my legs together. I tried to explain, but he didn't buy it. I got stuck in the middle again.


I see his point later. Maybe I could have been a bit more subtle. I liked the guy who would eventually be my step-uncle. He played the Simpsons boardgame with me. But perception changed everything. The kids are rude and explicit, and only adults can dictate reality.


It's the whole cops-think-the-teens-are-lying syndrome from 'Eighties slasher films.


But conversely, there are the things where the adults were right. When I was five, my grandparents were having the roof redone, and the roofers just flicked their smokes down below. I found one and pretended to smoke it. Sure enough, Mom cleaned my mouth out with soap. Then there was the time I went camping with Dad. He only ever struck me twice, and this was the first time. Looking back, I totally understand why. I went off on my own. He couldn't find me and panicked. In his panic, he slapped me several times on my bottom. The number one fear of a parent is losing their child. He went crazy, and I completely understand it now. I hated him at the time, but now? I get it.


I went to visit my grandfather's grave recently. I sat down and had a chat with him. Look, I know that he didn't hear me. I don't believe in the afterlife. It just made me feel better. I told him if he ran into Mom and Dad, to tell them I'm sorry for all the times I scared them. It's not about reality. It's about therapy. Aaaaaaaaand maybe just hedging my bets.


But it was 100% about love.

Thursday, July 19, 2018

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #271: WHAT I HATE ABOUT STAR TREK

When I was a kid, I found something unusual. My father and stepfather hated each other, but they agreed on one thing: I should watch Star Trek. That was back when there was only the original series and a couple of movies. My father took me to my first movie ever, and it was STAR TREK 3: THE SEARCH FOR SPOCK. So I watched Star Trek in reruns, and I thought I'd seen every episode.


Then came Star Trek: The Next Generation, which I grew up with and loved. Again, I thought I'd seen every episode.


Deep Space 9 came along, and I didn't watch. Same for Voyager. Same for Enterprise. I have yet to see the animated series and Discovery.


Then I got Netflix. I saw I hadn't seen every episode of TOS and TNG. I went on a trek to watch it all. I've seen all of TOS, TNG, DS9 and V. I'm almost done with Enterprise. All shows have one thing in common that I absolutely can't stand.


They all have opening credits that last longer than Rip Van Winkle was asleep. Holy shit, I hate a long opening sequence. I love credits that last five seconds and no more. TOS is insufferable. TNG is worse, and DS9 is even worse. V is horrible, and E is the worst of all. "It's been a long time . . ." No shit. If you cut back 90% of the opening credits, we'd have more time for the show. Hell, as much as I hate advertising, I'd take that over these ridiculously long opening credits. I love Star Treks, but this is something that bothers me. Thankfully, on Netflix I can fast forward through that shit, but still.

Wednesday, July 18, 2018

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #270: GRAMPS

For all my life, I thought that Gramps dying would be the worst thing to happen to me. When he actually started dying, I went kind of crazy. Some of you were there for that, and I'm ever grateful for the help you offered.


I'm still not over it. There are days when I don't think about him, but they aren't often. I dream about him a lot, like he's still alive. Sometimes I even wake up thinking I'll see him when I go downstairs. But I'm much better now. The worst I could imagine is done, and I think I'm stronger for it.


Sometimes I go out to visit his grave. I bring an airplane bottle of Jim Beam for both of us. I remember when I was a kid that he had a couple of shots after each dinner to aid with digestion. The first hard alcohol I ever drank was Jim Beam because I trusted his judgment, and I was right to do so.


I'd sit at the grave and visit with him. I'd pop the tops off of each bottle, and I would pour his onto his side of the grave while I drank my own.


Those who know me very well know that I hold alcohol to be sacred. This should tell you how much I valued Gramps in my life. I poured perfectly good whiskey onto the ground in honor of him.


God, I miss him. I miss him so much.

Tuesday, July 17, 2018

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #269: I WAS PART OF A NIELSEN FAMILY

I wasn't allowed to talk about it because they were afraid that if I mentioned I was part of a Nielsen ratings family, friends would want me to watch their shows to make sure they got renewed. So I kept my mouth shut.


Here's how it worked: I had to wear my meter wherever I went so that it could keep track of all media I consume, even if it's something as innocuous as the overhead music in a grocery store. That leads to my part of the ratings system, which led to whether a show, TV or radio, got renewed or canceled. It also determined how much money a network could charge for advertising. So I wore it everywhere. I can't tell you how many people asked me, "What, is that a pager?" As if I was a loser, or maybe they were looking for shit to make fun of me for. I told everyone no. When they asked what it really was, I told them, "It's a secret." So if you were one of the people who got that response from me, now you know the truth.


It's funny. If I had gotten this thing just a month earlier, I could have helped #SaveConstantine. Ah well. Here's something I noticed: while I wore the meter, all of my shows prospered. When I turned the meter in, my shows started getting axed left and right. What the fuck? Was my meter that important?! The bastards almost got GOTHAM, for fuck's sake. I'll bet it would have gotten canceled if it wasn't a Batman show. As it is, they're only renewed for a final half-season, anyway.


I didn't matter for very long, but for the brief period of time I had that meter, I MATTERED.

Monday, July 16, 2018

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #268: IT'S NOT SCARY ENOUGH

I remember when I was a child. Maybe six, seven years old. That was back in the day when parents were getting super protective of their kids going out on Halloween. I forgot my costume for that particular year, but it was very dark in color. So dark that a driver might not see me. My mom demanded that I put a reflective strip on my costume.


This, of course, was blasphemy.


"NO!" I shouted.


Why not?


"BECAUSE IT'S NOT SCARY ENOUGH IF I HAVE A REFLECTOR THING ON ME!!!"


She made me put the fucking thing on. I figured that I would go out with my friends and rip the thing off as soon as I was away from home. But oh no. Mom decided to come with us, foiling my plan. The ironic thing is, it never occurred to me that my candy sack, complete with a smiling child-friendly ghost, was not scary.


Fast forward a couple of years. I wanted to go as a murderer, but I needed a giant scary knife. Mom got me this cheap plastic looking thing that was obviously fake.


"NO!" I shouted.


Why not?


"BECAUSE IT'S NOT SCARY ENOUGH IF I HAVE A FAKE LOOKING KNIFE!!!"


Moms never get it, do they? Once again, I was stuck with it.


Fast forward to when I was in high school. My friend, Rob, and I decided to do Halloween as characters from The Dark Half. He was Thad Beaumont, and I was George Stark. Can you guess what I really wanted to have to be realistically scary?


Oh yeah. This time, though, Mom wasn't around to foil my plans. I got an honest-to-God straight razor, and we hit the streets. Thinking back on it now, that was probably a very shitty idea. Could you imagine what would have happened to me if a cop tried to give me trouble?  They'd find the straight razor, and there I go to juvie or worse.


But damned if I wasn't scary that Halloween.