Ok peeps – you know how I plan to quit my job, sell my house, and move to Calgary to become a writer? It’ll take money. Plus, with no benefits I am gonna have to pay for steroids, pot and Cialis on my own so it’ll take even more money. In order to accommodate the financial demands of just such a move I am auctioning off a few things I just can’t take with me. Because you guys are my loyal followers  – you get 1st dibs.

Accordingly – here’s the list of goods on offer:



I actually had quite curly hair in my youth. When I was young and angry and the man was holding me down I needed to express my militant opposition to the status quo. Nothing says “Fight the Power” like a mad, bad ‘fro. Flash forward to the present and … I am the status quo. I have dutifully bowed to my oppressors and in turn oppressed those in my charge. There is no revolution anymore – time for someone else to carry the “Fro” torch.

Price: Unreserved

Framed and Signed Picture of my 20th birthday party


Laugh all you want. That woman lighting the cake? That’s not my mom – it’s yours. Yeah – I know what you are thinking – I had it going on even back then.

Price: Unreserved – and hey – you know that autograph will be worth something some day!

Poster of the Stars


When I was young I contemplated the mysteries of space and the constellations for hours on end. My two favorite constellations were labia majora and labia minora – I mean – you couldn’t actually tell what the hell kind of shape they were supposed to be but it was still fun to look at them without ever even blinking and think about maybe someday, somehow visiting them. Well, here I am and I have to admit my head is more down than up these days what with mortgages, performance reviews, and a 2nd job out under the streetlights where you just can’t see the stars … and those mysteries just … actually they’re still pretty cool!

Go figure.

This will make a fine addition to some young man’s bedroom.

Price: My man Peaches said I should get at least $40 so … $20.

My Hopes and Dreams


Didn’t do me any good, so I’ll sell them to you … if I can find them.

Price: Priceless

A Bag of Smashed Assholes!


Notice how I didn’t offer to sell my dignity? it’s because I don’t have any. Geez – did you even read the last entry? Lately I have been using the phrase “like a bag of smashed assholes” to describe how I am feeling or how the weather looks etc. etc. You can use the same phrase but imagine the reaction you will get if you actually show your conversation partners … a bag of smashed assholes!

Price: Reserved @ $35.

Note: It is incumbent on the purchaser to freeze the bag when not in use. If you don’t freeze it … Sweet Merciful Jesus. You don’t wanna know. Plus – and I am speaking hypothetically now – a lot of labor must of gone into “harvesting” the smashed assholes. I’d guess that they came from the homeless and not all of those homeless people would have been willing and possibly/theoretically speaking the “harvester” had a good run of it at first because homeless people disappear and shit like that all the time but then maybe a body was found or maybe even 2 bodies or even a survivor and all of a sudden the cops are looking for a “serial killer” whatever that means and there are check stops and stuff and yeah … take good care of the bag. It’s hard to replace. Not sure if I can get another.

Also – if you have peanut allergies you may want to pass. I make no guarantees.

My Dungeons and Dragons Stuff


Ummm … this will explain a lot about my 20th birthday picture. However, we live in age of “geek” culture as evidenced by powerful new social media tools and the wealth and power of game developers. And those guys all started here – with these rulebooks. Because of these I can communicate with the geeks and say things like “Leveling up” and “Uber” and “Then Gerbo Flintwhistle and his gnome vigilantes showed up and it was a total debacle” know what I am talking about.

Price: $1000 or … unless anyone want to roll up characters? Then I’ll keep it!

My Kiss Records


Got all the 70’s stuff on Vinyl! You have to remember – in my formative years all there was for music was … ABBA and Fleetwood Mac and the Captain and Tennille and OH MY GOD I“D HAVE KILLED MYSELF BY STABBING MY EYES OUT WITH A FORK … if it wasn’t for Kiss. Kiss lead to Sabbath, Led Zep, AC/DC and the AWESOME stuff I have grown to love. And this is why I rock.

Price: Withdrawn. I’m keeping them!

My Barstool from the BP lounge.


Back in my newly single days I’d hit BP’s for wing nights and the occasional (54 weeks of the year) Friday after work daddy-pop. I got to be what they call a ‘regular’ meaning I had sat in the same stool so often it’s got my ass-groove. I grew to love it and acquired it a while back.  One time prior to a ball tourney a couple of us marched in and ordered 44oz schooners “and a funnel/surgical hose”. We meant it as a joke but gosh-diddly-darn it if the server didn’t motor on out with the aforementioned accoutrements of wretched excess and say “Ok – I found it! But they guys in the kitchen say I gotta hold on to it”.

This actually happened at TJ’s in Great Falls and not BP’s which explains why I am not really attached to the stool and am selling it. But BP’s serves it up cold and the wings are tasty. So rock on.

Price: $25

Death Proof Chevy Avalanche Seat Covers


A few years back I got hit by a train. You might presume that I was lucky to have walked away – but I tell you with no reservations that it wasn’t luck at all. It was my death proof Avalanche seat covers. As I do not plan to hit any more trains I won’t be needing them – you might want to avail yourself of this little bit of insurance ‘cause I have seen you drive and you’re a nit-wit.

Price: $250

So there it is Kids – Steve’s garage sale! Let the bidding commence. I’ll be back after … I’m frozen in carbonite by bounty hunters but rescued by a princess just in time to beat the empire!



Cowboy Wedding: RIP Len

My Ex Brother in Law passed away last week – he wasn’t quite 50.

When he was younger he used to eat a whole loaf of bread at one time. He’d take a loaf – still in the plastic bag – and mush it up/roll it around in his hands until he made a roughly circular “bread ball” then pull it out and eat it like an apple.

He had two careers in his time – meat cutter and forklift operator. Manly trades both of ’em – the dude never worked a desk job.

He used to bounce on the side. For years he bounced at a local Country and Western bar in a hotel. One time Hotel Security came down and had all the bouncers get up ASAP to one of the banquet halls. There was a brawl at a “Cowboy Wedding”. Len and the boys ran on up. When they got there everyone (EVERYONE!) was throwin’ down. “Men, women, kids, bride and groom – the old and the young. EVERYONE. You couldn’t tell which side was which.” The bouncers did their best but the brawl broke up when everyone (EVERYONE!) – Bride, groom, and kids included – were too tired to throw.

He had lost his shirt in the brawl – the bouncers wore polos monogrammed with the bar’s logo . He never did find it. Had to drive home, get another, and drive back to finish his shift. “Cowboy Wedding” He’d tell me and shrug his shoulders.  That’s how it is around here.

He was a non-drinker.

In or around August 1986 He “Slew the Dragon” – or so he told me. I think he did because when he told the story again he’d say a “Buddy” of his “Slew the Dragon”.  You know – a “friend”. That makes me think he did.  There are no pictures.

He was a competitive power lifter. He set several records in his day – squatted over 800, dead lifted in the high 7’s – benched 552. He weighed 368 at World’s in 2002. He wasn’t 6 feet tall. He resembled nothing so much as the character “Nasty Canasta” in Bugs Bunny Cartoons except he was stronger. He didn’t juice.

“I’d should juice” I’d say.

“You don’t need that shit” he’d say “You just need to learn to handle weight.”

He trained the bench press one day per week by working up to a 1 rep max. When he was done he’d do incline dumbbell presses – 160’s for 3 sets of 8. I’d hand him the dumbbells – pick ’em up off the floor. You try it. I guess that’s where I learned to handle weight.

He never said anything to me about his sister and I getting divorced. Nothing. He was divorced, prior to that he had a youthful engagement broken off that left him broken-hearted and with an $8,000 ring worth 4/5 of 5/8 of sweet fuck-all – I guess he just figured men were men and women were difficult to understand.

Weight you just had to learn to handle.

I think he may have juiced.

He had a great Fu Manchu ‘stache. Like the biker from the Village People except with more nacho crumbs and no rough trade.

He loved to hunt and fish. He was a great dad. He had lost some weight by the time he passed.

He never worked a desk job.

RIP Len – see you in Valhalla.

Wherein I describe the difference between Poetry, Fiction and Creative Non-Fiction

Poets hey? Still taking their shots, even in death!
Poets hey? Still taking their shots, even in death!

That’s a long title for a post!

At any rate – I get asked all the time as to what is the difference between poetry, fiction and creative non-fiction. I’m not an academic writer and don’t have a handy definition of each to give you but like US Supreme Court Justice Potter said of obscenity “I know it when I see it”. I think it’s better if I provide an example of each to better illustrate the differences.

What follows is the same set of circumstances expressed as Creative Non-Fiction, Fiction, and Poetry.

Creative Non-Fiction: “I blame my lack of success on my father’s incipient alcoholism” followed by a lot of blah blah blah.

Fiction: Fiction runs more along the true and honest lines of “He swallowed the contents of the glass and took a look at the kid before setting the glass down. I don’t think the boy is mine he thought, before taking a long pull straight from the bottle and watching the little red-haired bastard cry. Again.”

Poetry: Hmmm … Look for backslashes. Poets are sneaky and often try to avoid rhymes but the backslashes will give it away i.e.

“Wine” he shouted/And oft did drink/While the bare twig cried ”Tis winter in this house/Be accursed, these cold miseries that have brought me low”/And each faced their separate way.

Even if a poet hides the backslashes you can practice inserting them and if it seems to “fit” – yeah – it’s fucking poetry alright. God save us all.

Anyways – there you have it.

Hey even though I don’t write poetry the example above is pretty damn good. I may have to go smoke a cigarette and I don’t even smoke.

Y’all stay awesome now,