Truckin' September 2010: The 9th issue of the 9th volume of Truckin'!

This month Truckin’ presents my 35th contribution to the online e-zine, going as far back as December 2003. My stories as of late are pretty uninspired, because I simply have too much to do to get any real writing done. This month’s story, however, was written as a way to let out some steam. It’s a Daily WTF that I thought would cheer up the possible IT workers reading Truckin’. If you’ve got a good story please consider submitting it. We need more non-poker tales! Here’s what saying:

The September issue features the debut of Wolynski, who shares a tale about Rodney Dangerfield. The issue is anchored by a sensational contribution from Brad Willis. Mark Verve returns with the first of a two part series, and everyone’s favorite Norwegian scribe returns. Oh, and let’s not forget that I whipped up a tale about my last trip to South America.


Punta del Mota by
The last time I was in South America, I had gotten involved in a bar fight in Argentina and a cab driver accused me of being a CIA agent. I left with mixed feelings and wasn’t that excited to return to South America for another assignment…

Meeting the X-Men by
Culver Stockton—Culley to his couple of friends—squinted. He poked at a liver spot on the back of his hand. He sighed and looked sad. The old hand shook as it pulled the bourbon up to the crooked mouth. When the smell hit his nose, Culver’s eyes exploded with recognition…

The Find, Part One by Mark Verve
The moonless night had created an all consuming darkness. The only light for miles around came from my headlights. I was speeding down Highway 82 trying to make the border before sunrise…

The IT Component by Sigg3
The first thought of any man in Jacob’s positions is senseless violence. But violent crimes have a perpetrator, and it is finally he that ends up as the victim in a state where criminal prosecution was highly prioritized. No. Violence was not the answer. The answer was elegance…

Rodney Dangerfield Explains A Schmear by
He rummaged some more and found what looked like half a pound of flour and poured it onto the table. Suddenly the doorbell rang and Rodney shuffled off to take the delivery. When he opened the door, the ensuing breeze made the cocaine swirl all over the room. I got covered in a thin film like some devilish dandruff…

Truckin' August 2010: Late Summer Edition in the Year we make contact

It’s about that time of the month again! And I’m not some emo LSD chick raving haphazardly about her menstrual cycle, no! Not at all! I’m a man. The Alpha Male. It’s what I told my girlfriend Lady C the other week; "I’m the alpha male, baby." and she did not object. Instead she wrote down what improvements she would expect from a Beta version..

This month I’m sharing a musing on an old tale from the bowels of the metropolitan region, a near legendary story unknown to the most of you. Or anyone else than me and Kornelius, for that matter. As far as I recall, this all happened back in 2004 when we stopped by a bar called Connections.. But that’s enough coffee for me. Here’s what author of doctor writes:

The August issue is right on the heels of the delayed July issue. August includes contributions from three vets: Sigge, Johnny Hughes, and May B. Yesno. That power trio anchors this issue which also marks the debut of Mark Verve. Oh, and I penned a tale about insobriety in the City of Angels, while Tenzin McGrupp makes a cameo this month with a throwback story from the early 2000s.

The Truckin’ scribes write for the love of writing, which is a fancy way of saying that they share their blood work for free. I encourage you to spread the word about your favorite stories. The writers, myself included, certainly appreciate your assistance. Good karma will be coming your way for any help you can provide.


Invisible by
I’m about six to seven inches off the ground with each bouncy step. That’s the best way to describe the feeling, like the astronauts doing the slo-mo kangaroo hop on the moon. Floating. Bouncing. Sedated. Happily sedated, I should add. Demons quelled. Anxieties locked away…

Of New Cars by May B. Yesno
The problem, from his view point in his new office, was the distances he once considered large and satisfying were now mean and narrow. He felt he had to expand those horizons…

Connections by Sigg3
Smoking indoors was not allowed… rather, it was encouraged. Nobody had ever bothered to change the wallpaper or interior decorations since the first tenant set up trap decades ago. You could feel the horribly clouded history by placing your hand on the scarred wood that had cigarette burns and scratches from fingernails, broken glass and knives…

Russian Spies by
In the Army we did a atomic bomb drill. We put on our plastic, rain ponchos. The Sergeant said to sit on the ground and cover your head with the poncho. Then he said, "Now kiss your ass goodbye."…

A Troll’s Life by Mark Verve
Look for the hottest girl in the place that’s crying. Approach and ask if there’s anything you can do to help. Use sympathy and understanding. You’re going to have to do some listening…

Bryant Park by
A suit on a cell phone almost ran over a group of trust fund yentas with freshly painted manicured toes, the unoriginal ones carrying Gucci handbags with tiny yapping poodles given French sounding names by their malcontent owners…

Truckin' July 2010: I'll be back (next month)

The summer issue of Truckin’ is here! Print it out, fax it to your mother and text it to your friends! It is a versatile literary experiment from a whole range of eco-friendly authors with a seal-clubbin’ hidden agenda. Read more to find out!

My friend, poker blogger and published author of , señor writes:

[We] have an amazing batch of stories for this issue. Ernest makes his debut. What can I say aside from the fact that I love any short story that starts off with a pregnant woman slamming Jager? Katitude is back with another stellar road tale about a motorcycle adventure she took last summer. Waffles is also making his debut with a story about a webcam scammer. And yours truly penned two stories; the first was inspired by TV shows about hoarders, and the second is an excerpt from a novella that I never got around to finishing about a serial killer on the loose in Seattle.


Everest by
What was supposed to be the family room was completely unorganized clutter — bags of clothes, empty containers, Betty Boop memorabilia, canned goods, grocery store fliers, and boxes of Christmas decorations. Everything was piled on top of each other like ever shifting sand dunes…

Baby Boo and the Canyonlands Motel by
The sun is blazing into your eyes, and no matter how you squint, you can’t really see what’s up ahead. You can feel the mother of all headaches begin to take up residence between your temples. You’re hot. You’re tired, and tired of being on the road…

The Lonehorseman by Ernest
The extremely pregnant woman did a shot of Jagermeister, and then started slowly sliding off her barstool. The bartender ran around the corner of the bar and caught her just before she hit the ground. That’s a sound I was glad I didn’t have to hear. The sickening thud of a drunk pregnant woman hitting the floor…

Art of the Bluff by Waffles
I was a little bored when one of those Facebook web cam whores came on. You know the ones I am talking about. The ones with hot pictures who call you baby and tell you how hot you are while trying to get you to enter your credit card information on their webcam sites…

Free by Pauly
That abrupt shift in reality does not happen over night. It’s a gradual decline as your brain slowly loses touch with reality. It was as though he had been hanging on by one last little thread for many weeks before it… snapped…

Lost Vegas by Pauly McGuire

My good friend has finally released his long-anticipated Lost Vegas diary and depiction of decadence. As far as I know, it’s a collection of shorts he’s written in and about Sin City, feat. existential conversations with strippers, the World Series of Poker as well as every other dirty aspect of the only place on Earth where angels snort cocaine. Order your copy today!

I’ve got mine down for Oslo, Norway. So, how about that collection?

From my Outbox: The Anniversary T-Shirt

In this "feature" I present to you e-mails that I have sent-to-all at work. They are mostly about local matters at work, but so damn funny that I know you’ll enjoy them. I sent this out yesterday as a thoughtful response to a particularly red T-shirt we got for our Managing Director’s 50th birthday anniversary party. Click here to search for more: From my Outbox

Regarding the summer gifts, do they also feature the black and white happy mug of our Venerable Managing Director printed on the chest or in large type on the back?

I recently wore the red "50th Anniversary Limited Edition" T-shirt going to the local shop for groceries, because it was the only piece of clothing still untainted by the life of renovation. If you are slightly paranoid or somehow inclined to favour such dispositions I would have to recommend against wearing this particular clothing in public as preventative measure. Here’s why.

Not only does our logo in small print appear very similar to parts of the swastika — of course that isn’t true on closer inspection, but people’s reactions say something else. Rule number one of logo design; do not emulate known previous dictatorships despite being immediately recognized. The symbols ARE immediately recognized mainly BECAUSE of the previous dictatorships thing. But the face of Che Guevara is only superseded by Edward Munch’s The Scream in terms of popularity and EVERYBODY has some relation to it. The T-Shirt however does not picture the face of Che Guevara but [PUB dept’s] rendition of A Smiling Managing Director closely resembling the fictional mascot Alfred E. Neuman of the MAD Magazine. We will not speculate whether this was the artist’s intention or not, but the conflicting messages between what people expect and what they see confuses them and only invokes more scrutiny in their further investigation of the matter.

(An example of what Heidegger wrote about in Sein und Zeit (1927); when Dasein encounters "an error in the flow" the mode of consciousness is immediately transcended by the investigative focus and the world announces itself in all its worldhood (die Weltlichkeit der Welt). Or in this case the t-shirt brings into being the being-as-interest-of-the-qualitative-Bossness-of-the-Boss-t-shirt etc. Trust me, it’s funny.)

I had people carrying their grocery items _following me around_ the shop just to get a good look at it. Young people making stupid faces since MY Che Guevara didn’t match THEIR Che Guevara as they know him from the traditional "Porn Star" t-shirts and the equivalent capitalist fashion. And if there’s something non-conformists hate it’s people going against the established norms. You don’t mess with the Jesus like pictures of Che Guevara. That’s just plain wrong.

There was an elderly couple by the counter and the husband took issue with me wearing an apparent Nazi symbol. While his wife was paying for the cabbage, her husband spouted long-term preserved hatred about kids of today that don’t show no respect whatsoever because we JUST DON’T KNOW what one of history’s most peaceful occupations was like. IT WAS HARD! A few people were dying like flies some places! And I said that it wasn’t a Nazi symbol but the logo of a prominent Norwegian research foundation very much invested in peace and democratic policies, and he suggested I move to Sweden with the other traitors. Death just wasn’t good enough for assholes like me.

I was walking home head down in shame and avoiding all eye contact, when a couple of taxi drivers stopped their cars, honked their horns and rolled down the windows only to yell at me how enraged they were by the Mohammad cartoon I was wearing.
"Don’t you know people get killed for that", one of them shouted, adding "not as a threat but as a warning". I said: "it’s not a cartoon it’s a drawing, cartoons are supposed to be funny. And this isn’t Mohammad but my boss" and they immediately issued a fatwah for comparing the Prophet to a business executive. But at this point in time I was getting fed up with all the negative attention so I counter-issued a fatwah right back at them for not keeping their opinions to themselves as professionals, adding "not as opinion but a matter of fact". They wouldn’t have any it and drove off into the sunset with the moral superiority and inner tranquillity the Oslo Taxi drivers are getting famous for..

I finally got home alive and tore off the damn thing having finally realized it was not an appropriate attire in a modern society with freedom of speech and other such accessories. It was intended for that one birthday, not to be worn again ever and that was it! So I donated it to a Christian charity sending clothes to impoverished youth in Africa.
… Somewhere in an African village, far from the barbaric ideas of civilization and bigotry, there’s a little kid running around playing soccer in the dust fields who’s wearing a red "50th Anniversary Limited edition" t-shirt with my boss and our logo on it, hoping to one day get drafted in a major football club in the Champions League. Let’s just hope he leaves the shirt back home.

ON THE OTHER HAND, if the new jackets are not thusly designed I would recommend them wholeheartedly! Especially since my former company jacket WAS ACTUALLY STOLEN from a colleague’s car. It’s true. They were very popular back then as I recall, probably because they conformed to the informal dress code of the Oslo S subculture, and Pushwagner being all the rage these days we can look forward to a summer of social acceptance and approval among the hip kids of the streets.

In closing it must be said that there’s nothing wrong or visually, politically or religiously offending about our logo or my boss’ happy mug nor their conjunction on a red t-shirt emulating a communist guerilla leader. Well, actually there is quite a lot wrong with that prospect especially when confronted with public scrutiny. But not in theory. And that’s what we care about here. So, what’s the story with the new jackets?


Truckin' June 2010, Vol. 9, Issue 6: Truckin' turns 8 years old!

I am very honored to be featured in the 8th Anniversary Edition of , with a pretty good story at that! Congratulations all around! writes:

The special birthday issue features some of your favorite writers including Brad Willis, Sigge S. Amdal, and May B. Yesno. This issue includes the debut of Miles Harvey, and two contributions from yours truly. I cracked open the poetry archives and found one of my favorites… 152 Peaches. (…)

I want to thank all of you, the awesome readers for taking the time out to support the arts. Thanks for keeping the spirit alive as we begin our ninth year.


Inertia Junction by
She told me that she was on a year-long holiday after her mother died from a serious illness. She had a sorrowful smile. Her friend looked like your pissed-off lesbian cousin. Short spikey hair. Only one ear pierced. Constant scowl…

One Guy, One Cup by
I clutched my specimen in my hand. A pretty blonde woman with a little girl stood beside me. They cooed at each other, and I was sure they knew I was holding. The elevator dinged and donged, but didn’t arrive before a pregnant nurse sidled up beside me. She knew. I knew she knew. It was like that scene in Reservoir Dogs with the doper walking into a bathroom full of narcs. I nodded at the nurse and clutched the bag even tighter…

The Sherman Incident by Sigg3
Six years ago. That’s when he first had it. The itch. He remember not taking notice, not paying attention, not even caring about it. But the itch had remained. And it grew worse…

Chasing the Facts by May B. Yesno
I found a corpse no-one had bothered to bury. There was at least twenty-five people living there and the only building large enough to remotely qualify for ‘commercial’ status was a dairy milking shed…

Rural Road #7 by Miles Harvey
He saw a warm house, a glowing kitchen and a moon-faced girl puttering about making dinner. She probably didn’t even notice the sleet that was coating his car’s windshield in vanilla pudding…

152 Peaches by
His savvy talents were no match
For his jealous wife’s twin brother.
Who longed to tell knock-knock jokes
In French, while wearing a
Kiwi colored tu-tu…

Truckin' May 2010, Vol. 9, Issue 5

In Norway there’s a patronizing saying (really a question) to unpublished authors that really gets on my tits, e.g. "Har du en forfatterspire i magen?" Literally it translates to "Do you have the seed of a writer in you?" which sounds very much like a nasty request of a street prostitute. But anyway, it IS patronizing and it really pisses me off. It’s as if unpublished writers are children trying to write and completely failing to do so because they’ve yet to be published. Well, fuck off! I write better than most published pricks in Norway any fucking day. And let’s NOT make a list of all the brilliant all-time classics of the world, who never were considered for publishing, ’cause I don’t have all day. If you feel in any way like me, you should check out . There are vacant spots for the summer issues and your submissions are most welcome! writes:

This issue marks the return of a couple of former contributors including the triumphant re-emergence of AlCantHang. Broseph eloquently weaves his story about a not-so-perfect night out. Dawn Summers shares a comedic tale about an unexpected flood in her Brooklyn apartment. Meanwhile, Drizz digs deeps and reflects upon the friendships in his life. My selection this month is a spinoff and an exploration into character from a previous Truckin’ story. And I decided to change things up a bit and add an old poem that Tenzin McGrupp wrote almost a decade ago.


Uncle Louie by
He used to be full of life and love and generosity, but no more. These days, he was capable of saying horrendous things that made you feel like you were three inches tall. He had the madness of an angry blind dog…

State Line by
It has never once failed me when I yell “OY!” and look like I’m going to eat your next born. People generally shrink away even though I barely reach 5-foot-nothing. Not once in my life had it failed, that is, until the “old dude” took a fucking swing at my gourd…

If You’re Gonna Lose, Lose Big by
I was starring at their boobs and I got the idea of maybe trying some threesome action. It’s a tough bridge to cross, and I had no idea where to start. I decided to just start making out with Gwen and hoped that would work…

American Hero by
The skies were just this shade of pitch black at nine in the morning. The rain was slamming against my windows. And the wind, oh the wind huffed and puffed and tried to blow my house down…

Self by
With a "normal" middle-income life that most Americans live grinding out work for the man and making enough scratch to satisfy the needs and wants, there’s hardly time to take a step back and enjoy this existence…

In Between Fighting Souls by Tenzin McGrupp
My quagmire of a life resembles
A wretched Fox sitcom,
A Shakespeare play,
A black and white Woody Allen film.
Except that Joey Buttafucco is the lead actor
And stands forty-five pounds overweight…

Truckin' March 2010, Vol. 9, Issue 3: The return of me!

Yes! The March issue of Truckin’ marks the return of yours truly to the writing pals of ! We’re not nearing completion of my study yet, so I have little to no room to write in except when Lady C is out working and I’m not. So it feels great to be able to contribute anyway, with the little that I can afford. Pauly writes:

The March issue marks the debut of British writer Chris Hall, with an embarrassing incident that happened in New Zealand. Change100 returns with a pumpkin story. Johnny Hughes is back with one of his Texas tales. Plus, we have a treat because everyone’s favorite Norwegian is back with a… ghost story. Oh, and I spun a little something about… well… purple pajamas. Sort of. You’ll see. The scribes write at Truckin’ for free, so please do us huge favor and help spread the word about your favorite stories.


Purple Pajamas by
"A girl from Texas once told me that grasshoppers were lucky," said Lucien as he balanced his guitar on his leg and leaned into the microphone. "I didn’t believe her. I used to kill ’em whenever I came across ’em."…

Jonny, No H by Sigg3
I needed a cabbie, and I needed it fast ‘fore anyone wrong around me would pay any notice. This is a dog-eat-dog kind of town as soon as the bar closes and all the police of central Oslo has left somewhere else entirely, never there when you need them and especially there when you don’t…

Fire Confession by Chris Hall
The completely rational part of my brain drowned in a sea of paranoia as I frantically flapped my t-shirt underneath the alarm trying to stop it from going off. I couldn’t really see any smoke, but this was an expensive hotel, maybe it had very sensitive fire-alarms that could detect it easily, but my alarm was going off. Ergo, it must be my fault…

Kankakee by
Well, there were a lot of tractors in these parts and for a moment there, I felt like I was in the opening scene of a slasher movie, the naïve girl being lured in by seemingly folksy farmers who then proceed to hack her to pieces and sell off her organs to smugglers…

Those Grifting O’Malleys by
I parked the car, and walked over the bridge to Mexico. In a half a block, I bought a whiskey and coke for a nickel. It didn’t take much to get me drunk, being only my fourth of fifth time. I bought this big sombrero, and two fifths of fancy, but cheap champagne. That was a mistake, because I had to carry them everywhere, and if I wore the sombrero, folks would hoorah me…

Truckin' February 2010, Vol. 9, Issue 2: A teethy display

I have three (3) upcoming stories for your favourite blogzine but I was unable to get ’em past the pole before whipped out the February issue faster than an Oslo cabby hands you the bill. This month’s pick is author Burton‘s sexy take on vampires. Thanks to the likes of True Blood and Twilight, people with teeth is back on top again! Can’t wait till werewolves get back in fashion, then I can start walking around without a t-shirt again.. Anyway, good story. Feel free to add yours! Pauly writes:

I’m very hyper-excited about the second issue of 2010 which marks the return of Tenzin McGrupp. Remember that hack? We’ll he’s back with a speedy-story about a road trip out West. The Texas boys are anchoring the issue as per usual. Milton T. Burton shared a vampire story and Johnny Hughes is digging deep into the past and whipped up glimpse into his beatnik days. Ah, and I have a piece of L.A. fiction for you inspired by Raymond Carver and Thomas Pynchon.


Lymie Malibu by
She was too whacked out to remember any lines and flubbed more and more auditions that we were both surprised when her commercial agent keeps sending her out. Kaya was the quintessential cocaine tragedy, yet somehow, she kept getting callbacks…

From Beatniks to Hippies. The Early Sixties. A Memoir. by
There was a tremendous amount of hustling other folk’s dates, and it would rage all night. Eddie drank this syrupy Richard’s Wild Irish wine. Yuck. The linoleum floor in his kitchen looked like a crime scene from the wine stains…

Fangs by Milton T. Burton
Halfway through her second glass of wine, he was there beside her, a small snifter of brandy in his hand. Startled, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her mind. “You can drink?”…

Thinking Out Loud by Michael Friedman
Eventually my need to ask eternal questions led me to the conclusion that the only way to get out of purgatory was to flow with life instead of trying to isolate my many momentary lapses of reason on a regular basis…

China Rider by Tenzin McGrupp
I told my nephew that his teachers and parents were lying to him and trying to turn him into a soulless zombie. He believes me. He’s a good kid. He knows what’s up. He knows the system is full of shit…

Truckin' January 2010, Vol. 9, Issue 1: It's 2010 Lighten Up!

The greatest poker blogger of all time & long term friend, Pauly of the , is back again with another issue of . Yay! Two thousand and ten has just come around the corner and the OMG! flying cars! stories are yet to be seen, when Pauly goes ahead and makes a comment like: "Thanks Benjo. You’re like one of four people who actually read it. I appreciate that! (Benjo is a small French feller.)

What a load of shite!

The Truckin’ stories are read by a lot of people. To name a few: Pauly, (editor), Sean T. Kelly, George Tate (to name current contributors), me, my girlfriend, a pick of all those you’ve got on your poker blog listing things, my , the Mysterious mr. S, Kornelius (to name a few friends), and all those angsty teens finding our archived stories on the internet a couple of years after they were written. Add to that a little French feller and you’ve got more than ten at the least!

Yes, we don’t get a lot of feedback right now, but who knows? In fifty years’ time they’ll refer to it in History of Literature books. Or not. Doesn’t matter. It’s a small, concise and dependable outlet of the human condition that is somewhat exclusive being that there are so many group blogs and wikis out there for fanfiction and what have you that blossom the first six months and disappear. This is not that. This is Truckin’. Yes, I might not get around to reading the latest issue right away, or even in time of the new one, but I often find myself browsing the older stuff when I’m there (I got all my stories listed right here in case you were wondering), and it’s like a time machine!

Having a lot of readers is amazing for five minutes. Having the right readers is a whole lot more interesting situation. You’ve got the creativity, the buzz, the naked ladies and the guy hanging from the chandelier. If it had been a party it would have been the happening place. Hard work will bring it around soon enough. Check out George Tate’s story by the way. Good stuff. Pauly writes:

We’re kicking off 2010 with a little mystery because I’m publishing the first anonymous submission in the history of this breezy e-zine. The January issue also marks the debut of Sean T. Kelly. I’m pleased to say that George Tate is back with another trucking tale and I shared not one, but two stories for this issue including a taste of fiction and thoughts on a flavorful trip to Miami.


Tubes Under Sand by
The massive and elaborate tunnel system was cluttered with insane Vietnam vets eating black widow spiders, heroin addicts shooting up in the darkness, and methheads cooking up a new batch of Nazi crank…

No Era Mi Intención (I Meant No Harm) by Sean T. Kelly
We weren’t the only local wildlife in that town, population 237. Hawks circled overhead hunting for prey. Iguanas scurried aimlessly across the sidewalks heading for the security of the underbrush…

Unpublished by Anonymous
He could look away from the noose he’s woven. He could find something else into which he can comfortably slip. He has the power and he’s done it before.

Down the Upward Staircase by George Tate
Bebop was one of those guys kind of handicapped in the girl department. He had been shy all his life and never a ladies man. He wasn’t strange or picky. He always looked at the girls and when he couldn’t go anymore would find his pick in a massage parlor or on his running board…

Dispatches from Miami: The Lot by
Deviant derelicts crawl out of the shadows and invading the parade of freaks. That’s when the inmates eventually take over the asylum…