Today I made a bargain!

I study philosophy at the University full-time these days, spending quite a few days in the library of humanities. There be dragons, Latin bolstering nerds and frustrated art students lingering for decades like dusty old clothing.. And free stuff!

The library strives to keep a current collection of literary material, and regularly place out-of-circulation books they no longer want on a trolley near the entrance for your perusal. Here you can find some really obscure gems, like the Introduction to Artificial Insemination of Scandinavian Eels and similar intriguing titles. Today I made a bargain with this find:

  • The Evolution of Life (1962) by F.H.T Rhodes 
  • Retorik – Klassisk & Moderne (Rhetorics) (1977) by Jørgen Fafner 
  • From Discourse To Logic: Introduction to Modeltheoretic Semantics of Natural Language, Formal Logic and Discourse Representation Theory (1993) by Hans Kamp & Uwe Reyle 
  • Introducing the UNIX System (1983) by Henry McGilton & Rachel Morgan 

That’s a great deal of knowledge for the price of nothing! Cheers:)

"In der Strafkolonie" by Franz Kafka

In my German 1300 course I am currently writing an essay on interpretations of Franz Kafka’s In der Strafkolonie (In The Penal Colony). As a philosopher I naturally research Kafka like I do other meaningful material, with the supposition of truth. And there is no ambiguity in this particular work of Kafka, it can only support one interpretation and still make sense. I am currently leaning towards the thoughts of Ingeborg Henel, on this one.

It also made me realize that Kafka had a (or more) literary project(s). From my own prejudice, I always thought he wrote semi-automatically. On the contrary, they are very well thought-out. He just lacked the confidence to follow through. His projects are philosophical in nature, and as such, I am quite capable of shooting them down.

Before I started this tiresome adventure in German, I found Kafka an interesting storyteller, but a poor writer. See: Thoughts after reading Kafka’s "The Trial". Today I stand corrected. His stories are profoundly ignorant from a philosophical point of view, most probably from his life defining father issues, but quite competently executed. Let us not forget the goatse either. And so, having delved further into the tales of Kafka, this time in is own language, I am further strengthened in my conviction that he was a pathetic and decadent fucked up little twat.

But this superficially gruesome metaphor of his is the key to understanding that, so it comes highly recommended from yours truly. After you’ve read it, you can move on. Kafka does not matter to you any longer.

EDIT 12th of May 2012:
The English translation provided above is pretty simple. For example, the tell-tale quote "Die Schuld ist immer zweifellos." has been moderated to the literal: "Guilt is always beyond a doubt.", when I find it should be "Guilt is always beyond question." To say that it is beyond doubt indicates prior investigation, which is exactly what Kafka indicates is NOT the case. It is unquestionable from the outset, in that it does not make sense to question its truth. We are talking about a universal always valid truth here and not a "Basic principle". But what do I know, I’m just a philosopher:)

ScaryDuck goes to print: Samuel Pepys: Lust for Glory

The weird running man also known as or known to also call himself as or hereforewith referenced to as mr or mrs has released his latest provision for those annoying trapped-on-a-desolate-island or sick-inna-hedge situations: SAMUEL PEPYS: LUST FOR GLORY

Samuel Pepys: Lust for Glory

He recently got a new webdesign, and I told him: I like your new design.
But I lied.

That has nothing to do with this book, however, which is 100% approved. Like the others. I would like a paperback of THE BIG BOOK OF CONDENSED MOVIES though.

The book can be bought from a mythical female warrior or a French prostitute, if you like.

Truckin' zine on hiatus until January!

My latest Truckin’ story is absolutely awesome! In fact, it’s so awesome that has decided to put it on the shelves until JANUARY!

Seriously though, I can understand the need for a break. Even without all the volunteer work behind Truckin’ both Pauly and Nicky a.k.a , I know he would have his hands full with his other e-zines. I’m very grateful for the effort to make my effort eatable to the public. It’s a hiatus well deserved!

Allegedly, it has nothing to do with the murder of Michael Jackson.

Truckin' June 2011, Vol. 10, Issue 6: Happy 9 Years of Truckin!

Yeah, that’s right! The decade old online rag of world-weary travellers’ tales has just turned 9 years old, and I’m celebrating tonight in Oslo by drinking Red Stripe beer (a Jamaican brew). The site was created by , edited by (big shout-out!) and written by some 120 alcoholics with typewriters.

I have not published anything on Truckin’ since 2010. This is not a conscious decision but the result of working 100% at work and 100% at home with other matters. And the alcohol. And the fucking money. I promise change in this department, but more about that later. The internationally published author of Lost Vegas and Jack Tripper Stole My Dog, Tenzin McGrupp aka Pauly writes:

June is upon us, which means Truckin’ would make a great addition to your summer reading pile. So print up this issue and bring it with you to the beach, or the pool, or into the bathroom with you.

Before I go, I want to thank you, the reader, for supporting us every month since 2002. Nine years? Wow. The long-form written word is slowly dying off, but each of you keep the spirit burning alive with your unwavering support for Truckin’.


Cusco to Ollantaytambo to Augas Calientes by
People were streaming in all directions from all areas. A group of Peruvian guides, all short men around 5 feet in height with reddish brown skin in alpaca hats, had disembarked from what looked like a cattle car and two Peruvian rail workers at the train’s doors hurled backpacks into a pile on the platform, where the guides hovered to retrieve their gear. Meanwhile, hundreds of tourists were getting off the train, while hundreds more were scrambling to catch the train before the doors closed. The train from Ollantaytambo to Machu Picchu ran on the same singular track. A couple of times a day it transported tourists and supplies back and forth, back and forth…

The Chosen by
But it’s still annoying. I’ll grant that visiting a box that hasn’t been touched in 25 years might raise an eyebrow or two, but I’m still blaming the attention of the lummox in the off-the-rack suit on my unwanted companion’s unabashed card-counting. Either way, the brutes in suits might have had a few questions for me that I wasn’t fully prepared to answer at exactly that moment, so I looked at my old pal Lucky….

Isn’t It Good? by Kent Coloma
I once asked my mother if I could change my name to Jesus. I used to quiz my friends and they all wanted to change their name at one point in their youth. I have a stage name now. It’s not Jesus. The usual Hollywood pseudonym. My friends and I used to intentionally mispronounce “pseudo” like “suede-oh” for our own amusement…

Zen and the Art of the Frijol by George Tate
Being able to focus and enjoy the simplicity of everyday things is the joy of living. You’re asking yourself where this bullshit is headed. I believe there is a Zen return to the Art of making a pot of beans. Breathe deeply and pour a fine glass of wine. Savor it and its flavor for the moment….

The Beatles and I by
To a child growing up in communist Poland, the Beatles were everything. There was Lenin, Marx and Brezhnev staring grimly from posters everywhere, promising a life of desolation, but just beyond the horizon, there was John, Paul, George and Ringo. We couldn’t buy Beatle records, but they filtered in anyway….

Jack Tripper Stole My Dog! by Pauly McGuire

Since as long as I can remember (2002-2003 or something) has been writing on a book called Jack Tripper Stole My Dog!, and yesterday he could finally announce that it’s finally available for purchase!

Jack Tripper Stole My Dog cover

As a writer myself I can only imagine the anguish and pain bound to those leather bindings (paper hardback, really), what insane hours and what crazy obsessions such an undertaking requires of the human mind; when on top of it all he’s also running around reporting on poker at the Tao of Poker and churning out tales for the well-familiar Truckin’ e-zine. It’s a testament to him, his GF, and even we — the people — who have supported Pauly for so long. Congrats to everyone!

You can order it on Amazon here:, which I just did. It’ll fit nicely into my library right next to Lost Vegas. Don’t expect the E-books until mid-June. All things considered, you should be set for a great weekend!

Truckin' January 2011, Vol. 10, Issue 1: What's the Last 3 Topics?

With a Happy New Year comes another edition of ! Keen readers will have noticed that we’re entering the 10th year of Truckin’, champagne all around! I mean, it depends on how you count it, like Wikipedia turns 10 with regards to 10 years completed. on the other hand is celebrating its coming of age, as it enters the 10th year of existence. That’s amazing! I wonder if there was a party and I missed it? Damn. writes:

2011 kicks off with a diverse January issue that includes the debut of veteran cabbie and journalist Gerald C. Cruz. I’m honored that Truckin’ gets to publish his epic story involving one of four favorite topics: strippers. After a brief hiatus, May B. Yesno, returned with a gaseous tale. Dan England shared another story about living life on the edge as a mountain climber. We also have a Lebowski Fest-inspired contribution from Ernest. And lastly, I penned a bit of junkie fiction about a trustafarian dealer named Eastman.


Waiting on Eastman by
I knew Eastman was a dealer. He knew that I knew, which meant that he also knew the cardinal rule: no dealing inside the bar — especially the bathrooms and in front of the bar…

Scores by Gerald C. Cruz
“What’s the craziest thing that’s ever happened in your cab dude?” they’ll wonder, or some variation thereof. And that’s all fine and good as I don’t mind indulging a curious mind from time to time. But you know what nobody ever asks me? They never ask what my favorite ride was…

Creation Of Magely Green by May B. Yesno
The volume of her original utterances was such that the muted conversations of the minions seated on the floor of the hall ceased almost immediately and thereby allowing all of the two hundred assembled to follow the near musical confrontation of the Bass-like, prolong and drawn out, Belch and the slightly higher pitched Fart, as they played out their fanfare and slowly died away…

Conflicted Pain by Dan England
when a bunch of large rocks swept under my feet, threatened to swallow me under their granite and bashed into me, I fought for my life, flipping through the air to stop myself and walking 17 hours after I was hurt to get help from the hospital…

Lost Angle Lease by
rom the sparkling ocean, to the Dr. Seuss-like palm trees, to the not too distant mountains, the scenery was stunning. Sure, it might be chock full of self centered douchebags, but there was no denying the physical beauty of the place. Just then I looked to my right and saw the iconic Capitol Records building in the distance. Far out, man, far out…

Truckin' December 2010, Vol. 9, Issue 12: Call me on Christmas!

This month I’ve got a little concept story for you which is work-related. I’m sure most of you will be familiar with it however, I’m sorry to say. I wish a merry Christmas to all the readers and writers of and look forward to Twenty-Eleven. Esteemed author of Lost Vegas mr. says:

The December issue includes four seasoned-themed stories and one tale about support hell. Norway’s Sigg3 wrote a story about awful phone support that I’m sorry to say we’re all to familiar. Texas author Johnny Hughes whipped up a Christmas doozy about musicians and jail. Ernest returns with a trippy story about New York City. Mark Verve delves deep into Santa’s bad side. Lastly, my seasonal contribution is a piece of jazz-inspired fiction.


Christmas Bird by
Shap drank whiskey and soda but with no ice. He’d nurse two or three drinks in five hours and sat the end of the bar for hours on end attempting to finish the NY Times crossword. When he was done with the puzzle, he’d engage in spats with Sully, the resident encyclopedia of sports statistics and knowledge of everything sports…

That Musical Christmas Meeting in Jail by
When Sheriff Dink staggered across the room with Lonnie’s guitar, both men pulled guitar picks from their pockets. Ryan reached out and grabbed the guitar. He picked a few notes, tuned it, and then quickly demonstrated that his finger picking style was more advanced than Lonnie’s cording and strumming. Then he launched into House of the Rising Sun, and he and Lonnie stood facing the others, singing together, obviously delighted…

by Mark Verve
They were replacing some of the couches that line the walls. The old ones were in the alley when I arrived. The crushed red velor was torn, soiled, and stained with spilled drinks and god knows what other types of fluids. No one would ever consider sitting on them if they knew…

NY, NY by
Most of the peep shows and porno theaters were already deserted, so the city had sponsored an art exhibit. The lobbies and display cases of the theaters were filled with crazy sculptures and graffiti pieces, and all the marquees had cool phrases or haikus on them… cool Basquiat type shit…

by Sigg3
Did you know that most of the tools and drivers our technicians use are available on our website? Just go to support dot euro dot hell dot com. Your call is important to us, thanks for holding. We’ll soon find an available technician to answer your call. The conversation may be recorded for training purposes…

Truckin' November 2010, Vol. 9, Issue 11: Not who you think it is

Spread the love, people. Spread it like a venereal disease. Spread it far and wide, honey. Spread it like money. Spread it on a sandwich – just above the lil’ layer of home-churned butter, right below the egg and spam and egg and spam. Spread it like spam. spread it like the Wu Tang clan. Highly esteemed author of , doctor writes:

The November issue features the return of everyone’s favorite Norwegian scribe, Sigg3. Wolynski is back for a third issue in a row with another peculiar celebrity encounter. Dan England contributed to Truckin’ in the past and he shared a tale about adrenaline junkies. This issue also marks the debut of Adam J. Weise’s piece on his experiences in Africa. And lastly, I whipped up a short story about my favorite topic — addicts.


Hot August Night by
I never particularly liked Neil Diamond. I always thought that he was fake cool and not tough, like if he and Van Morrison got into a fight, Van would kick the living shit out of him…

The Fat Kid by Sigg3
I was brought up in a Christian home, so when my mother decided that me and Tom would walk to school together, then her little rat spy Jesus would tell on me if I didn’t. And so me and Tom walked to school together for the next decade or so…

The Stain by
The maid pulled back the bedspread, turned the blanket over and gasped. Everyone gasped and gathered round the bed not quite believing their eyes. Right in the middle of the bed was the biggest, ugliest brown stain you’ve ever seen – someone had taken a dump in the Presidential bed and housekeeping did not catch it…

Getting High by Dan England
You run 8,000 feet up the mountain over almost 14 miles, and just when you’re really getting tired, your oxygen gets cut in half. Oh, the pain is so sweet when you’re on your fourth hour, and you can barely breathe, and cramps are knocking on your door. The endorphins are just sweeping through at that point…

Dar es Salaam by Adam J. Weise
I went to buy two bottles of water and after the vendor overcharged me Billy loudly demanded an explanation in Swahili to which her reply was that she didn’t have the correct change so she figured shortchanging me was a completely legitimate thing to do. For good reason white people are the target of beggars and street children and many a friendly conversation devolves into an outstretched hand and word “please” being repeated over and over while awkwardness ensues…

Truckin' October 2010: Who Screwed Jonny Hughes in High School?

The October issue of takes a break from the lowest common denominator, i.e. me, to introduce new & fresh talent, the innocent and beautiful angel tears scarred down on e-paper, akin to that of the very gospel itself. But not to worry, I’ll be back next month! writes:

The October issue marks the debut of one of my favorite scribes, Martin Harris, who shares a pulpy tale. Wolynski joined the Truckin’ ranks last month and she returns with a story describing the events of a surreal Halloween in the 1970s. Everyone’s favorite West Texas author, Johnny Hughes, is back with a witty piece of political-inspired fiction. Mark Verve contributes the second part of his epic series "The Find." And lastly, I whipped up something that may or may not appear in a future novel I’m writing about druggies living in the City of Angels.


The Wait by
Blake was so weighed down by the downers — anti-psychotics, anti-anxiety meds, and anti-depressants — that she was constantly fighting against the heaviness of what her shrinks prescribed her. She combated her sleepiness with sugar-free Red Bull, 5-Hour energy shots, and triple Espressos from Coffee Bean — which only proved to be a costly way to stay awake. That’s when she turned to me for help…

Burial Detail by
The skull was cracked across the front ridge and titled backwards, away from the rest of the skeleton. The lower jaw was apparently still somewhere beneath the dirt, and you could see a couple of fillings shining there in back in the upper jaw. Further down was the breastplate and the sternum or whatever you call it, with pieces of red-checkered material stuck to it here and there…

The Find, Part Two by Mark Verve
It was clear that I couldn’t just walk into the bank and make a large cash deposit. Any amount over ten thousand must be reported. Making lots of deposits under ten thousand was also not realistic. It could attract the attention of local authorities and would definitely interest the IRS at tax time. I would deposit an odd two or three hundred every now and then to cover checks but that was it. Likewise putting it into a safe deposit box was not a realistic option. The sheer space the cash took up was too much…

I Screwed Your Sister In High School by
Ronda had heard talk that Dewey was a lecher with the girls in small towns. She had lost her own husband, an evangelist, when they were teaching at a Christian summer camp in New Mexico. Her husband had been caught giving two teenage girls LSD and malt liquor. They were thrown out that night. Their marriage did not survive the long, painful bus trip back to Texas…

Andy, Andy, and Dali by
Dali planted himself firmly in front of me and said “Madmoiselle!” He launched into a very long, important and animated speech in French aimed directly at me. I was mesmerized. I examined the famous face and the mustache and the eyes boring into me, wondering when he would reach for some change. What was so important he had to tell me? I understood not a word, but enjoyed every minute, especially when he jabbed his fingers into the air…