October 21 2016

Oh boy

A bunch of things to cover

I’m still working on chapter 12 of Mr. K.

Tonight I’m going to head to my kids’ school and start construction on the haunted house. I’m not going to hit the sheets until sometime around midnight. Tomorrow I’m going to get back to the school and start up again around 8am. Then come Saturday I don’t expect to hit the sheets again until midnight.

Work… my boss asked me to take some funny pictures out of my cubicle which she deemed as “offensive”. Here they are…

80039 casting-pearls-before-swine imagesi18rrabo

The swine one is a religious reference (Matthew 7:6). Can you tell I don’t like my boss? I went to our EO office today to check in with them and see if these qualify and being “offensive” and they agreed that I should take them down.


I don’t typically swear but WHAT THE FUCK?

Come Monday morning, when I’m more over this, I will abide and take them down.

(Mostly joking) I think I need to go walk into her cubicle and point out stuff and tell her I find that stuff “offensive”.




(Yes I know this makes me sound bitter)

I hate stupid people.



October 12 2016

Ever get upset when you don’t make somebody cry?

I kid, I kid…

Okay not entirely true. Being evil and destroying peoples hopes and ambitions takes time and effort. Besides being an abusive father, a rotten husband, and all around piece of scum, I have little for much of anything else. In what time I do find I try and write, when not writing I try to crush the spirit out of others.

I recently finished reviewing the works of another Kids In The Hall victim and sent it back to him.

He sounded like he enjoyed the  beating which has left me a bit (more)founded. I used the word (more) because we already know what word was supposed to be there as it is a given.

This troll of a human being wrote some good stuff. It wasn’t perfect but he had a decent enough story and some good zingy points which I tried to point out. The less than zingy stuff I also tried to point out in my naturally evil way. THE BASTARD DIDN’T CRY!


I think I’m genuinely upset over his not being destroyed over my review. I think for my lunch hour today I’m going to have to go to the local pound and pick up a six pack of puppies for lunch so I can get my evil groove going again.


I guess I have to get started back in on my Mr. K story again. Chapter 10 here I come.


October 7 2016

Mr. K – Just finished Chapter 9 of 35 (skipped 5&6)

I just finished chapter 9 of my newest draft of Mr. Kobayashi. Yes, I temporarily skipped over chapters 5&6 because I know I’m going to need some quiet time to go over these. What’s quiet time? I can’t ever seem to find it so they are going to wait. Chapters 5&6 are from Rikado’s and Kinni’s perspective. I think they play into just who Ehm is from the viewpoint of other characters but aren’t totally crucial to needing to be done at the current time. Later on when I approach chapter 20+ they come back into the story so I should have them completed before then.

Earlier today I ran my excel sheet and came up with some numbers.

So far I’m not that over my prior word count. This is a good thing.



October 6 2016

My half nickel divided by 1.25

My half nickel divided by 1.25

Today our writing group got a little bit smaller. Our leader had to ask one member to leave and the other volunteered to leave due to things being stressful.

I’m sorry to see them leave but I also don’t care. In a world with starving children and diseases killing babies I’m not going to waste my emotional energy on something they had a part in doing. I know they could have influenced the events towards another end should they have elected to do so.

To plagiarize and twist Yoda’s words, “Either you do or you do not.” Their lives are in their control.

Recently I had the pleasure(?) of making somebody cry over a review I provided on their writing work. It wasn’t intentional, the making her cry part, as I was just pointing out things that didn’t make sense to me. Isn’t that what a reviewer is supposed to do? Are we not supposed to point out inconsistencies? What is the point of sharing/publishing if you don’t want to make it the best you can. Yes, I also get that people are fearful of having their stories, their inner thoughts, their true inner being, exposed and picked apart. I really do get it. That’s why I don’t write porn or romance novels, or anything of any real substance… anyway…

If you are not ready to have that happen then you are not ready to be an author. Writers make mistakes and not all of it turns out in your favor. You have to own what you can and bury the rest in a shallow grave deep in the woods as you can.

Here is a piece of honesty. This might sound dark and twisted but its the honest truth. I wasn’t truly ready to share my first pieces of work, which were pieces of shit, until I read other peoples own pieces of shit and saw just how bad they were. I am going to say this again. It took me seeing just how bad other peoples (amateurs) stuff was for me to feel confident enough in knowing that my stuff was on par with the shit they were producing.

I equate it to watching that show that Bob Saget used to host, America’s Funniest Crotch Shots or some other name that doesn’t describe it as well as I just did. I needed to see (on paper) all of the testicle squeezing anguished that they called a story. I needed to see them fall over so my own falling over wouldn’t seem so out of place. I was just as dumb(er)er as the best of them. I needed to see that perfection doesn’t exist and my voice, as mispelked as it is, has a place of its own. Granted for most people that might end up being the garbage can. I can accept that because I know that of all the crap I read from other people, most of it isn’t my cup of tea either.

Now that isn’t to say that all of it is crap. Some of it I truly enjoy. Some of it is darn good. Unfortunately one of those people just chose to exit our writing group.

I wish them well. I hold no ill will. In life there are rarely second chances. Them quitting now isn’t the end all of endings but it is another self-created road block that didn’t need to be there in the first place.

I think what I’m trying to say that life is short and people need to stop Sageting themselves.

October 2 2016

It’s October already? WTF? (… Wait Til Fall?)


It’s Sunday and it’s 5:39pm right now. I’m currently sitting in a Wacky Tacky playland as Drew is running around screaming and having fun at the birthday party of one of his new kindergarten friends.

Oh the fun.

So while he is screaming I’ve got my little $110 dell laptop out and am trying to be quasi-productive. I know, I know, I could be socializing with the other parents and crap but honestly, I just don’t care. I’ve got ACDC’s “back in black” blowing through my Bluetooth headset and into my brain. F’em! Losing one’s hearing has never been so worth it.

So I finally received word back on that writing contest I submitted to back in April. Guess who has two thumbs and won third place in the contest. Yep, my friend Greg. Congrats Greg. I got nada. Yep, I’m the real zero here.


Guess I will have to post one of the two stories I submitted to the contest on this site here.

Now where did it go?


And I’m back.

This seems rather appropriate considering where I am today. Not I didn’t plan this puny event, it planned me.


The following is my story.



Journey into the Pits of Bhal

By David Wheeler

Josh reached over and grabbed the shoulder of the woman he had first met two hours ago. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Susan glanced at his hand, causing Josh to pull it away. She focused upon his face and said, “We’ve been training for this. You can do it.”

Their drill instructor, in his crisp sharp uniform, stepped upon the raised podium so as to be seen by the entire room full of recruits. All the chatter and noises of preparation came to a halt. “It is almost time.” A murmur of nervous talking washed over them. It evaporated just as quickly as it started. The instructor added, “Do you have any final questions before the blast doors open?”

Josh wanted to raise his hand to quit. He wanted out. Nothing in the universe sounded better than to strip out of his uniform and flee. He wanted to cower under his blankets, pretending that all this didn’t exist.

But it did. It was now and he was here.

“You will face fire from the enemy. Those of you that are lucky will be killed instantly. Those of you that are unlucky bastards will survive this day but not without scars of your own. Someday, if you manage to live that long, you might have beasts of your own to whom you will share stories of glory. You will tell them of your exploits and how you avoided death on days like today.”

Josh heard the crashing of metal striking the floor. He looked over and noticed the man before him had dropped his water container. He forced his eyes back up while trying to remind himself to step over the spill and thus avoid getting himself killed because of his dumb ass slipping.

Josh knew war was hell, but this just seemed so much worse.

Susan turned to face Josh and he could see the terror working its way across her face. She was losing her resolve. He knew he needed to try and help her. He tried swallowing his own fear, not for himself, but for her. “You can do this!”

Her eyes started tearing up, “I…”

Josh cut her off, “I’m afraid too.” He swallowed, “But that don’t matter right now. We are here to get a job done.” He forced a smile, “Right now we can’t afford our fear. Try to focus on something else. Try to focus on why we are doing this… like world peace or something.”

The slightest smirk etched up from the corners of her lips. Lips that now seemed to be the most beautiful things in his life. Josh cursed himself for even going there, but with what was about to happen, why shouldn’t he embrace one last moment of joy before getting splattered to the four winds.

That smirk came with a roll of her eyes, “Oh my God. That is so dumb.” Her faced hardened up again, “Thanks, Dinger.”

That wasn’t his name, but it was the name she had given to him during their training. When they had first met, she said he was a dead ringer for somebody else she had known, so that is why she started calling him ‘Dinger’.

A part of him hoped that the prior person was somebody she had been close to. He could feel himself yearning to exploit that advantage in order to get closer to her. The only part that bugged him about it, besides it being creepy, was that he had no idea what that person was to her. Somebody who reminded her of her uncle could put some serious baggage on his game plan. What also bugged him was that his anointed nickname came in part from the word ‘dead’. That was something he had a vested interest in avoiding right now.

Not thinking through on his actions, he extended his hand out toward hers. She looked down at his hand and gave him a look as if questioning his sanity, and pulled hers away.

She was right. What the hell was he thinking trying to pull something like that at a moment like this? They were about to face almost certain death and needed to keep their focus sharp. Another part of him screamed out internally, ‘What is the point of all this if we can’t accept what it is to be alive in the first place?’

His instructor spoke again. “Thirty seconds until the blast doors open!” Josh swallowed hard. “Today is a day that will live in infamy.” Josh closed his eyes and tried to picture something beautiful, but all that came to his mind were images of carnage. He forced his eyes open once more. “Today is the day you will go out there and give everything you have!”

Josh was feeling the need to relieve his bladder. No, he would at least save that for after the battle. He then thought of just letting it go during the battle. Besides out there amongst the beasties no one would know who it had come from.

The instructor stepped off the stool and pulled it to the side. He checked the monitor on the wall and slapped a button next to the doors, which triggered their opening. He shouted “Go! Go! Go!”

The room full of recruits charged out the doors. Josh had forgotten about the water and ended up slipping. Those out the doors first came under immediate enemy fire. Airsoft cannons started lobbing projectiles at them even before they could clear the doors. Josh, slipping thanks to the wet soles of his boots, somehow managed to avoid being struck. He stumbled out from the gate and landed into the pit of Bhals.

He forced himself to breathe and immediately his mouth and nose were saturated with the scent of urine. Somehow he had managed to land on his ass into another puddle. Either someone else’s or his own. He didn’t want to think about it either way.

Their company, store number 1987 of the Charlie Cheese Fun Time Pizza Factory, was under enemy fire. Their enemy, the little beasties of Kaleb’s 8th birthday party, were there to make sure none of the employees got out of the Bhal pit alive.






I can’t but help think the nexus of that story came from me being at another Wacky Tacky some six months ago.

I guess that’s it for now.


Tootles everyone,


(The man with some slightly deflated balls) Dave