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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 Lost Vegas doctor Pauly 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 Paul McGuire
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 Johnny Hughes
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 Tenzin McGrupp
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...

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 Lost Vegas, señor Pauly 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 Pauly
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 Katitude
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...

My good friend Pauly 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 Truckin' Zine collection?

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?

Sincerely,
Sigge

I am very honored to be featured in the 8th Anniversary Edition of Truckin', with a pretty good story at that! Congratulations all around! Pauly 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 Paul McGuire
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 Brad Willis
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 Paul McGuire
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...

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 Truckin'. There are vacant spots for the summer issues and your submissions are most welcome! Pauly 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 Paul McGuire
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 AlCantHang
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 Broseph
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 Dawn Summers
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 Drizz
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...

Yes! The March issue of Truckin' marks the return of yours truly to the writing pals of Truckin'! 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 Paul McGuire
"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 Change100
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 Johnny Hughes
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...

I have three (3) upcoming stories for your favourite blogzine Truckin' but I was unable to get 'em past the pole before Pauly 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 Paul McGuire
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 Johnny Hughes
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...

The greatest poker blogger of all time & long term friend, Pauly of the Tao of Pauly, is back again with another issue of Truckin'. 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, Change100 (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 brother, 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 Paul McGuire
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 Paul McGuire
Deviant derelicts crawl out of the shadows and invading the parade of freaks. That's when the inmates eventually take over the asylum...

We've been working exclusively on the apartment lately, which my friends can attest to since I haven't been out Saturday nights in over a month, or is it two months now? The three Truckin' stories I had penned previously are the entire results of a few afternoons off, of which there are very few at the moment, so I can't promise any more stories before 2010 sets in. Hopefully I will have a study to write in about that time:)

Luckily there are some quite entertaining writers keeping the ship afloat, but first an introduction by Pauly:

The November Truckin' marks the debut of George Tate who shared a chilling road tale. Since we're on a road theme, Johnny Hughes penned a piece about his rough and tumble days as a gambler in Texas. It's been a while since we had a story from Bobby Bracelet, and yes, this one involves a penis... his penis to be exact. Not to be outdone, Betty Underground returns with another one of her sultry tales. And I wrote a New York City story about friends I knew a decade ago.

Truckin' needs help with promotion. The scribes write at Truckin' for free and you'll be doing me a huge favor by helping get them well-deserved publicity. Think grass roots. Tell your Facebook friends. Tweet your favorite story. Print up an entire issue and leave it in the bathroom at home or at work. You never know when you're in need of reading material.

The Stoop by Paul McGuire
I convinced him to meet me at shit hole in the East Village instead of stalking the hooker. He showed up to the bar totally rejected, like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and nailed to his forehead...

A Young Man and Road Gambling by Johnny Hughes
One time coming out of Mexico with my pals, we had the cash stashed for the 300 plus miles home. Smuggling rum brilliantly, we had the backseat floorboard covered in bottles of rum. It was brutally cold, and we had our coats over the rum. The guys in the back had their knees up real high, and we got caught...

Brain Storming by Betty Underground
One comment leads to another and like the winding road that brought him to that beach house, we are all over the mountain of topics that are just 'life'. The non-specific, yet charmed, lives of two souls who have a lot of blanks to fill in and it seemed this time I was doing a lot of the filling-in...

Dick-Hole by Bobby Bracelet
Chlamydia is sort of like the strep throat of the genito-urinary system. It's killed by an antibiotic, but while it's there it causes symptoms that really aren't any worse than strep, just more embarrassing because of the area of the body...

The Ride by George Tate
While fueling he noticed a young long hair in a robe and sandals looking much like a scriptural disciple who had begun to walk across the I-10 bridge then down the east bound ramp towards Phoenix...

This is the third Truckin' issue in a row in which you, the dearest of readers, may enjoy the twat wit of yours truly. I'm not writing any good these days, I'm way too exhausted from everything else going on in my life, but the story below is kind of entertaining. Naturally I urge you to check out the other writers when you're still in there. Who knows, maybe you'll find the story of your life..? And if you don't buy it, well, you don't have to. Truckin' is all free! Spread the love, baby. Pauly writes:

The October edition of Truckin' features the debut of Curtis Krumel with a story he went all the way to Iraq to retrieve. The rest of the roster is filled with familiar faces.... Sigge. Betty. Johnny. Do I even need to tell you their last names? [Yes you do, Pauly, you certainly do. You're an old man and before soon you're gonna start forgetting names. Better memorize them while you still have the ability to. Sorry for the interruption, but I kind of enjoyed it. Anyway, see you later.] My story this week? [That's Pauly's story, btw.] It's a genre called 'Tweaker Fiction'. Hope you enjoy it.

Truckin' needs your help with a bit of grass roots promotion. Tell your friends. The scribes here write for free and you'll be doing me a huge favor by helping get them well-deserved publicity.

The Booth by Paul McGuire
A fidgety Larry had nowhere to blend in as only person sitting in a booth along the wall. The cops had to pass him on their way out and they'd know that he was fucked up. How could they not know...

The Demon of Oscar Braathen's Tavern by Sigg3
The baby wants attention and makes a horrible shrieking sound, making the hairs on my back stand up. That's exactly what you'd expect from a demon hovering above a deserted town. It's just doing what demons are supposed to be doing. But it freaks me out nevertheless...

Just Lunch by Betty Underground
We're not strangers, though perhaps we should be; the span between the time when knew each other before and now, is vast. Back then, we didn't even know ourselves, and what we knew about each other was drawn with immature minds. When we first reconnected I'm sure we imagined what we thought the other had become...

Danger Box by Curtis Krumel
In Mexico they have Montezuma's Revenge. In Iraq, the bane of the visitor is Saddam's Revenge. The source of the condition, like that of the Nile, is shrouded in mystery, but the effects are unmistakable....

Two Memories by Johnny Hughes
I was called in the middle of the night, when I was higher than a hawk's nest, and drunker than Cooter Brown. Joe explained the deal, and he and I both knew Jesse had a handful of warrants out, and unresolved entanglements with Texas laws...

Today's the 9th of the 9th of 2009. If you're a geek with a digital wristwatch that'll be 09.09.09. WHICH IS THE NUMBER OF THE BEACH! Before you ask; whichever beach you want it to be. Incidently it also means a new issue of Truckin'. Coincidence??! I think not! Especially since it was released days ago.. Pauly writes:

The September edition of Truckin' marks the return of the Human Head after a four year hiatus. I'm enthralled to have him back in the mix. Everyone's favorite Norwegian word wanker, Sigge, returns for a second month in a row. We also have a couple of Texan scribes in Johnny Hughes and Milton T. Burton. And of course, I have a story inspired by a recent trip to Colorado. Thanks for telling your friends about Truckin'. May you will increase your karma ten fold! The contibutors here write for free and you'll be doing me a huge favor by helping get them some publicity.

Tangerine Rockets by Paul McGuire
Lennie was an international legend. His father walked away from a plane crash and passed along some of those good luck genes over to Lennie....

The Red Pill by Sigg3
She dropped the face and began to cry, as tensions rose around me. The waiters stopped waiting tables, people stopped talking; they were just exchanging knowing glances and judgmental comments...

Fine Tuning by Milton T. Burton
He looked perplexed. I slipped my hand beneath my coat, came out with the little silenced .22 Magnum auto, and shot him right in the center of the forehead. The hollow-point bullet exited the back of his skull, making a colorful little jet of blood and brains as it went...

On Scoring by Human Head
One look at the eyeliner, eyebrows, gold hoops and herringbone chains, and I knew this was the Angel we were supposed to see. As she drew closer to the door, the tattoo's left little doubt. She didn't say anything. She just looked at me...

The Joys of Gambling by Johnny Hughes
Saratoga Springs, New York in August was the gambling capital of America in the 1920s, with the horses, the spa waters, large and ornate casinos, and America's wealthiest citizens in a gilded age, when money and wine were treated like water...

Yeah, that's right! After a long hiatus, nearly a year! I am back in the pond of extremely talented, inspiring and godawful writers that walk the tracks of Truckin. Not a big piece this time. I wouldn't want my thousands of readers to strain themselves because there are two-three more stories to come the next couple of months. I don't write much these days. I'm on vacation, and have a full-time job redecorating our new flat. I'll have an update for you "shortly" in the meanwhile, here's what Pauly's saying:

The August edition of Truckin' marks the debut of Katitude, who shares a true road story about her adventures to Alaska on a motorcycle. This end of the summer issue also has several veterans with Art Rosch and Michael Friedman returning to the mix, and everyone's favorite Norwegian, Sigg S. Amdal, is back with a dazzling tale. I'm happy to say that we'll be seeing more of Sigge in the near future.

Modigliani by Paul McGuire
Rafi handed me $25. The $20 bill was crisp, but the five singles were wrinkled. One of them had the eyes of George Washington blacked out by a pen...

Locust Swarm of One by Sigg3
Bright light stung his eyes like an impenetrable carpet of white needles. He winked to dull the eyeball itch, trying to carve out some detail in the white dark. Was it completely clear or clearly a blizzard, he wondered, as everything outside the windows just displayed the distinct sharpness of a void?...

Top of the World by Katitude
The road twisted and curled around the mountains with no guardrails to soothe my fear of heights, and my bike was not handling well at all. The street bike, with the tires that already had a major trip's worth of wear on them, was not made for this kind of terrain. The weight of camping gear raised the center of gravity and with every curve I thought I could feel the rear tire slide a bit...

Maui Rescue by Michael Friedman
I had heard numerous horror stories about unsuspecting people being robbed on the side of highways by people they thought were going to help them. My heart almost pounded out of my chest when two 300-plus-pound Hawaiians got out of the small truck...

Fish Store by Arthur Rosch
He gunned the motorcycle. He turned the amplifier all the way up and thwanged a huge chord. He was going to accelerate into the swimming pool, electrocute, overdose and drown himself all at the same time. Someone would find his corpse in the next couple weeks, sitting there at the bottom of the pool on his Harley, with his Claxton Wanko guitar strapped around his shoulder, his Boogie Amp short-circuited, his blood full of dope...

Another issue of Truckin' 100% hygienically proved to be the best relief in combating your bad breath. In this issue, even, it seems as though Pauly tags me by writing a story of Sven, the pickle picker from West Norway. Either this story was written on large amounts of synthetic stimuli, or it was a breathtaking piece of trial & error in trying to reduce the Homo Norvegicus to petty Texans. Don't get me wrong, I'm not looking to get in a pickle. (WAS THAT PUN INTENDED OR WHAT?!) But there must be some cryptographic message here I'm not getting.

Why West Norway? West Norway as in Maine? What's the research here? Brothel in Sandnes? Can't say I know any. And what kind of Scandinavian name is Maeve? According to the Central bureau of statistics, there are five (5) women in the entire country with that name. Hardly discreet. And hardly true, but it wouldn't surprise me if it was. He writes nothing about his own piece to reveal more insight, so you're better off just reading it yourself. And all the other ones too! Pauly writes:

The July edition of Truckin' is late but it's definitely worth the two week delay. Betty Underground is back with one of her sultry stories of living the hard like in L.A. in the 1990s. Johnny Hughes goes back, way back, to his days in the Boy Scouts with his contribution this month. I'm honored and pleased that Milton T. Burton shared another one of his fantastic short stories. I'm also excited to announce the debut of Broseph. I have a feeling that we'll be reading more from him in the future.

Trading Pickles by Paul McGuire
Sven worked in the largest pickle factory in Western Norway. It was a dreary town, but Sven's options were limited since he had a terrible habit of holding a steady jobs. In the four and a half years since he graduated from university, he held no less than 76 jobs. All of them had something in common... he was fired from all 76...

Learning to Steal in the Boy Scouts of America by Johnny Hughes
We had a code similar to the Boy Scout code in some ways. There was no stealing from the mom and pop grocery stores that were on every other corner. No stealing from houses. No vandalism. And as I said, we did not steal while in our Boy Scout uniforms...

Yellow No. 2 by Betty Underground
He had pulled the mirror and the little box from the coffee table shelf and was cutting and lining up the next round. It was the 90s in Los Angeles. We had fallen into the alteration that cocaine had provided for our creative minds. Neither of us addicted to the drug, but walking a fine line of destruction to our relationship. Being almost unable to communicate with each other without it...

The Grays by Milton T. Burton
We froze and they smirked, their bright, gleeful eyes drinking in our fear. Then two of them pulled knives. Large knives. I put my arm around my daughter and drew her close. Cozart was calm beside me but I could hear him whispering a prayer in what sounded like Latin. Old habits die hard, I guess...

Justin Masterson by Broseph
The game was interesting enough, but I needed more excitement. I noticed two young ladies standing on the rail near us, decked out in Bosox regalia and holding a bottle of sun screen. About my age, they were attractive and fit the profile of girls I would normally bone sober...

The literary e-zine Truckin' turned seven years old this month, congratulations everyone! I've penned three stories for Truckin' this past week, but since they are still in editing you won't find them online just yet. I'll give you a heads up when they are available. Meanwhile, Pauly writes:

The June edition of Truckin' marks the seventh anniversary of this monthly rag. I'm honored to have a stellar cast of writers this month including veterans Johnny Huges, Milton T. Burton, and May B. Yesno. And Michael Friedman makes his debut with something inspired by the Lizard King (...)

Seven years. Hard to think that we're still alive and kicking despite the many instances when I wanted to pull the plug and give up forever. I have to sincerely thank the writers for sharing their blood work. Thanks for taking this leap of faith with me. And a special thanks goes out to you, the reader, for your loyalty and support over the years.

Pink Dragons by Paul McGuire
Charles was skeptical and accused me of being a CIA or DEA agent, not to mention the evil offspring of George Bush. There was a strong anti-American sentiment in New Zealand and Charles epitomized that angst. When I unfurled a wad of multi-colored Australian dollars, he abruptly ended his rant and asked me how much I needed...

Holly of Houston: Google Me! by Johnny Hughes
Holly was a former board member of Houston's chapter of the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA). She had donated $140,000 to the Texas Strippers for PETA tour. Her frequent comments in Texas newspapers were strongly anti-gun...

I'll Read Your Madness Later by May B. Yesno
The agent freezes; there on that glorious bed lay two figures. The face and name was banging a woman. The woman clawing gently on the back of the face and name, eyes silted in pleasure, yet aware enough to look at the agent coming through the doorway...

The Collector by Milton T. Burton
He was questioned by two detectives from the Organized Crime Squad---one older, tall, thin and gray haired; the other younger, short, thickset and bald. Raymond Chandler said they always came paired that way. But the old man didn't read Chandler...

Morrison's Lament by Michael Friedman
Society no longer values the divinity of the self, so I find myself amiss all of the technology, discontent, and terror and although it takes only a moment to imagine that I am free from the nastiness that the universe leaves on my lips with every gut-wrenching soul kiss...

It has been a long while since I sent anything over to Pauly that even resembled the whiff of a story. Except for promises. But as the story goes, I am one to keep promises, just not deadlines. To exert even more pressure on myself I am hereby also letting you the reader know that more Truckin' stories are underway! I've written some of them already and others are in the draft stages, but I've yet to actually type them in before I can send them electronically across the pond to our favourite Poker author. For the record I've got more than twenty stories published at Truckin', all of them are available on the site, or as a list on the bottom of my archives. Pauly writes:

Welcome back to the May edition of Truckin' which includes a gem from David "Drizz" Aydt, perhaps one of my favorite stories in a very long time. Art Rosch is the latest writer to make his Truckin' debut with The Miracle of Highway Six. I'm ecstatic that Milton T. Burton is back with a fable and as always, Betty Underground's voice is always a pleasant and sultry mix to this month's issue. Oh, and I penned a little something inspired by a trip to Virginia.
Please spread the word about Truckin' and increase your karma tenfold by telling your friends and family about your favorite stories. The writers write for free so help me get the word about their bloodwork.

Popeye by Paul McGuire
The beat up truck with Maryland plates included three large green trashbags that were strapped down in the back. A skinny woman in the passenger seat took a swig off of a bottle and handed it to a guy in a baseball hat. He took one long pull and then spit it out of the open window...

Quicklube: A Fable by Milton T. Burton
It's turning out to be an A-number-one-fine day for C.C. Chumly. He and several of his like-minded buddies are quaffing a few Tall Toad Pilsners at the Belly-Up Bar, a truly classy place in beautiful downtown Midland, Texas...

The Regret by David "Drizz" Aydt
My scar is buried under six feet of solid Nordic dirt and ice, among the mass headstones there's a grave marked with her name that has not been seen by these eyes...

Blue No. 1 by Betty Underground
He looked up from the table and our eyes were locked. After so many years, sometimes there is no need for words...

The Miracle of Highway Six by Art Rosch
Nevada is a washboard, an undulating series of mountains and valleys, and the roads cut straight across this ancient seabed. At the top of each peak, the view spreads down the road ahead, which goes in a straight line for miles and miles until it disappears into the next rise of the landscape...

It's 2009 already, and March is here! That means another issue of Truckin! Pauly writes:

Welcome back to a "it's almost Spring" edition of Truckin'. I hope some of these stories bring a smile to your face or inspire you. This issue features the Truckin' debut of Milton T. Burton, a published author, who was generous enough to share a short story titled A Good Beginning. We also have another gem from Johnny Hughes who shared a story about a Lubbock, Texas legend. Betty Underground contributed a sultry and erotica tale for you with Hunter Wellington. Dave Peterson is back with a Valentine's Day story. And I wrote a piece of fiction titled Monroe inspired by James Joyce.

Lubbock's Own: Larry "the Laugher" Larson by Johnny Hughes
Large Mouth Maude Larson once beat a Hockley County man half to death at the Cotton Club with a bowling pin because she thought he stole her comb. Later, she found it in her purse, like all women do. She didn't feel a bit bad. The world-class bitch...

A Good Beginning by Milton T. Burton
He bills himself as my best friend, but he's not. My best friend was a Kentucky farm boy who died in screaming agony in the Mekong Delta forty years earlier. But even aristocrats like to name-drop occasionally, and mine has been a good name to drop since not long after I came to the New York financial world out of a Cleveland blue color neighborhood by way of Vietnam decades ago...

Happy Valentine's Day Tamara Johnson by Dave Peterson
I moved behind the door to investigate and possibly kill someone. I figured I was ready. The deadbolt lock was sprung with a soft – click. I heard keys jangling, a girl's voice laughing, and then the handle turned. I leveled the revolver and pulled the hammer back...

Hunter Wellington by Betty Underground
Her comfort in her own skin surpasses societies modesty boundaries. It is just how she is. Most people come home from work and take off their shoes. She doesn't stop there, she takes off her pants and pulls her bra off through the sleeves of her t-shirt. Discarding them on the floor of the entrance. She prefers the freedom, and cares less about what others might think...

Monroe by Paul McGuire
Monroe sat at the end of the bar on the last stool. He always did. He never left. The octogenarian arrived five minutes before O'Looney's opened and had to be carried out every night when one of his grandkids stopped by to pick him up...

Since 1998 Terry Pratchett has been an Officer of the Order of the British Empire and in the New Years Honors he will be awarded a knighthood as a protector of English literature. He is among the most best-selling authors of our time, and I've read some 10 plus books from him, which have all been entertaining experiences.

Sir Terry has a formula for success which seems to work really well: 1) In-medias-res intro of characters and Problem arch, 2) characters snowball to solve Problem and 3) unwinding the spring. At least that's how I've come to recognize his books.
The two first parts are naturally the most entertaining because Pratchett's Douglas-Adams-style of witty ideas makes for a lot of good laughs, not refraining (at all) from introducing current events in his medieval fantasy world (such as internet chatters). The third parts of every Pratchett book I've read so far seems somewhat less impressive in terms of imagination, and I often get the feeling that Pratchett really is bored writing out the Solution. But it could be me.

In any case, let's raise our glasses for Sir Terry Pratchett!

If you have a story, or a lifestory, to share with dar webz, please submit it to Truckin'!

Pauly is actively seeking non-poker stories for the Truckin' 2009 issues, and if you have a draft, a note or even a recipe lying around, don't hesitate to send it in. Doesn't have to be funny, doesn't have to be genius, but either is preferred. NaNo excerpts are always welcomed. Stuff that you have blogged and are really content with is welcome. Deadlines are on the 25th of the month. Each month. Every year. Forever. UNLESS Pauly runs dry and Truckin' closes down. Which would make the pandas sad... and extinct. Think about the pandas.

If you're still hesistant to write or share your texts with the world, please do your bit to inform the public of our existence. Put the url in your blogroll, print it out and put it in an eggroll; I have the URL in my professional e-mail signature..! In any case, consider the pandas.

The URL is http://mcgtruckin.blogspot.com

You'll find all my previous accepted stories at the bottom of my archives page. As you may well know, I've been pretty busy sorting out my professional and private life lately, and believe it or not but it was planned all along! I've still got stuff to do before the end of the year, but I reckon I'll be back writing anytime soon. I just need to get myself a movable bamboo light wall and a palm tree. More later. Go write/submit!

Random tagline for another brilliant issue of Truckin'. Pauly writes:

Thanks again for wasting your precious time with Truckin'. The November issue features two new writers, Matt Moon and Jonathan Bennetts. We also have two veteran scribes returning in May B. Yesno and Betty After Dark. And yeah, that's a sultry dirty story from Betty! I also added a bit of fiction to the mix for this issue.

Jupiter Four by Pauly
Cal never had a chance. After one season of winter ball in the Dominican Republic, he walked away from baseball. He was miserable down there. His Spanish was bad. He caught a nasty parasite and his girlfriend constantly begged him to come home....

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Conviviality by May B. Yesno
The voice crackles and chatters. The sum and substance of the call is an invite to play with resistors and transistors and bread boards, hot solder and imagination. One of the customers wanted company. His wife was off chasing her particular dreams of sustenance some six hundred miles away across two mountain ranges...

Luna Moth by Betty After Dark
Then you flipped me. On my back. Crawling on top of me. Hovering over me, you pushed my arms above my head. I imagined you had tied me up. You fumbled. We giggled...

The Green Chip by Jonathan Bennetts
In just over twelve months Alex had hit rock bottom and it seemed like he had been there forever. He plummeted headlong into being a hopeless drunk who'd lost everything; his sole reason for living now was to raise five bucks daily for his quart of Orillia Tiger Ruby Red Port wine...

Pizza and the Party by Matt Moon
tried talking and joking with Brittany but she was giving one-or-two-word responses. She was not digging me. She'd rather stare out the backseat window than associate with me. That was very unfortunate. I was really hammered and she had some cute aspects to her. I kept trying to progress the conversation but failed miserably every single time....