When sales are down…look up…

Well…book sales have been sluggish as of late so I prayed about it…well I did…Jesus, you guys are such cynics…anyway…I prayed about it and God spoke to me…and you know what…He does sound just like Morgan Freeman…how weird is that?

Anyway, God spoke to me and He said, “Jerr…” God calls me Jerr…denoting a sense of friendly comradery, He says, “Jerr, when I want people to do things they might be hesitant or reluctant to do, I threaten to send them to Hell where they’ll experience unimaginable pain and suffering for all eternity.”

“How’s that working out for you,” I prayed.

“As you might imagine, not as well as it used to,” God said. “Since that micro-cloud thing moved in next door, the younger people have wised up, and the rest are completely confused as to what’s out here.”

“Don’t you mean up here,” I prayed.

God sighed and said, “When you’re standing on a ball floating in infinite space, where exactly do you point to find up?”

“Good point…or bad point, as the case may be,” I prayed, no doubt impressing God with my dazzling wit. “But what do you mean confused?”

“Some of them show up at the gates, their clothes still smoking, asking where the 72 virgins are,” God said. “Others show up expecting time-share condos, streets of gold, and angels hanging out on the corners like celestial hookers.”

“So then…what’s heaven really like,” I prayed.

“Hard to say, really,” God said, but He seemed a bit evasive.

“Come on, tell me,” I prayed.

“Okay…okay,” God said. “Heaven is pretty much like…well…it’s kind of like Fairfield, Kansas without all the fun and excitement.”

“Wow, that sounds kind of dull,” I prayed.

“As a No. 2 pencil after a SAT,” God said. “But enough about my problems…you were saying?”

“My book sales have flat-lined lately, what should I do?” I prayed.

“Write better books,” God said with that all-knowing arrogant smirk you normally find on the lips of an Atheist.

“That might take an actual miracle,” I pray-mumbled, but He heard me.

“No shit, Tolkien you ain’t, so okay, go ahead tell them I said that if they don’t buy your books, they’ll burn in Hell for an eternity,” God said.

“Do you think people will believe me?” I prayed.

God shrugged, “Well, you know what P. T. Barnum said…”

“There’s a sucker born every minute,” I prayed in answer.

God shook his head, “P.T. never actually said that, but he did say, ‘Empty threats won’t clean up the elephant shit, but there’re always clowns around.’ ”

“Okay, I guess that’s pretty much the same sentiment,” I prayed somewhat dubiously. “So you’ll back me up and send anyone who reads this straight to Hell forever and ever if they don’t buy my novels?”

“Umm…sure,” God said, “With a complementary nipple twist thrown in for good measure.”

Another thought occurred to me. “Hey, if my novels don’t become best sellers, would you consider flooding the earth and killing everyone as punishment? It’s not like they wouldn’t deserve it.”

A sly smile crossed God’s lips, “I’m already working on it.”

I remained silent for a moment as I considered His words. “Global warming,” I prayed as understanding came to me.

God put a finger up to his lips and winked.

Thus ended my encounter with our creator, and I think it wise that all of you now reading this take note, and not just for your own safety, but more importantly, for the sake of the children, rush to Amazon.com to purchase at the least one of my novels.

FYI, I suspect buying more than one might just get you a heavenly upgrade of some type. Just saying…

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New under the sun…today only!

IT”S OFFICAL…I created a new word this morning…I Googled it and there were no hits to be found. Tried the on-line dictionary and it chased it’s tale for three minutes before giving up. This makes me an official world class wordsmith, no doubt about it. Oh yea, the word, well I was replying to a rather blasphemous observation made by a gentleman of questionable character, when this new word formed in the deepest recesses of my brain. Holding lesser words like nonsense, gibberish, babble, and bullshit hostage at the point of a point, it forced its way to the surface, stripped off its I heart Books By Jerry R. Travis t-shirt, broke its chains, wiped away the embryonic brain fluid and shouted out, “Top of the world Ma!” Anyway, it’s time to strip the burka off this new expression, and just in time for the political season I might add. So here it is…without further ado…Mumjumary…as in religious Mumjumary, or political Mumjumary…or get thee to a Mumjumary…okay, that last one doesn’t quite work, my apologies to the bard. Time to make this sucker official, © Jerry R Travis  2016

God, Guns and Gummy Bears…

There was a story recently about a man in Arizona, leaving his five-year-old granddaughter alone in the desert with a loaded .45 caliber pistol, with instructions to “shoot any bad guys.” Gramps then proceeded to walk to a bar, have a burger, a few drinks, and call his wife to come pick him up.

This man should most definitely have his World’s Best Grandpa coffee cup taken away, but not because he endangered his granddaughter’s life. That’s bad of course, but I think we can all agree that the worst part of this unseemly story is that the NRA’s campaign to put a Glocker in every locker, a Berretta in every bar, and a Colt in every kindergarten might be adversely affected, if only a little.

Should we be worried about the welfare of this innocent five-year-old? You bet we should, very worried, especially about losing her constitutional rights! The freedom-sucking liberals are already talking about how irresponsible it was for the Grandfather to leave a loaded pistol in the five-year-old girl’s possession, completely ignoring the fact that it is her God-given Second Amendment right to keep and bear arms. Listen up people…if we allow this type of sloppy slippery-slope thinking to go unchecked, before you know it, people in Texas will be required to remove the rifle racks from their baby cribs. Hell, we might as well kick Lady Liberty square in the balls while we’re at it!

Anyway, as they now say in Arizona, Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition…and the gummy bears…don’t forget the gummy bears…

A quick note to my conservative and Republican reader(s), before you yell Yee-Haw, that’s god damned right, praise Jesus, you may want to look up the word facetious. Just saying…

Free Range Expletives…

A writer’s words are their building blocks, their saw and hammer, and wood, and straw, and mud, and all kinds of building stuff like that. It is difficult to explain without getting all wordy and everything, so let it suffice to say that the solid mental constructs created by writers, who by the way, derive substantial discounts at the celestial time-share co-op for their efforts, are the only reason humans have evolved to a point where knuckle protectors are not the perpetual latest fashion.

Why do we do it? Why do we write? There’s the discount of course…who doesn’t love a good discount? There’s the adoration of, at times, tens of people, and then there’s the other whys and wherefores too. Yet, I suppose the greatest reason we write is the knowing…the knowing that with mere words one can develop and refine a concept as strong as steel, yet as delicate as a flower, and then relay that idea, that concept, to others. Or maybe it’s simply knowing that you’ll never be overweight because you can’t afford to buy food. It’s hard to say, really. You may have realized by now that reading this just possibly, just maybe, might be a complete waste of your time. If so, you may place your free-range expletive here: <     >

Reverse Engineering…

Reverse Engineering…

My wife recently pointed out…and rightfully so…that if women wanted backrubs on a regular basis, they would have to move their breasts to the area currently occupied by their shoulder blades, or at least the immediate vicinity. A valid statement if ever there was one I suppose…but look, I’m rambling out of order, and that can lead to unauthorized murmuring, which rests precariously on the slippery slopes of close captioned inner-thoughts, as well as a host of similar maladies…Dangerous stuff!

Anyway, my wife and I were wandering the eastern shores of Lake Michigan recently, doing the touristy-two-step, and occasionally giving back to the First People, when we chanced upon a semi-quaint little village easily described as a once defunct hamlet, hastily resurrected to serve as a money colander for passersby of the human persuasion.

We were famished, having ridden upon motorized wheels of roundness for many miles, when we chanced upon said village and discovered a breakfast establishment craftily named the Early Bird. The food was overpriced…moderately edible…and as it turned out…explosively expendable.

Yet, I’m not here to talk about the early bird getting the shitz, I’m here to talk about breast placements. Well, that’s not true either. I’m actually here to answer the age old question of why men are so obsessed with women’s breasts.

That’s right, I figured it out.

The epiphany, if you will, struck me while I was writing one of my novels, and I used it, but I don’t believe this detracts from the sincere validity of the original intuitive notion despite its contextual origins. So, without further ado…here it is:

…Men are obsessed with women’s breasts because they are forbidden fruits…that actually come in the shape of forbidden fruits…

Yes, it’s that simple, and while it’s not exactly an Occam’s Razor moment, it’s pretty damn close…and I think we’ll all sleep a little easier now because of it…

You’re welcome.

God Vacations in Obvious Ways

I woke from a dream yesterday morning, and in this dream, I was out in the vastness of the cosmos, and while I had no body, I did have a hand, and in that hand, I held a great big spatula.

And with this cosmic kitchen utensil, I was scooping up neat squares of the universe, and then setting them down in an alternate location. I’m not sure what all that signifies, although I do make a pretty mean lasagna, well, if not mean, it can certainly be impolite on occasion…but this isn’t about that…it’s about this.

I spent some time in the hospital recently…recovering from an assassination attempt by God.

There I was, just like any other day, moseying through the molecules, whistling show tunes by Gershwin, and wham, God just reaches out and smites me. No rhyme or reason, no pardon me my good man while I smite you, nothing like that. Just wham!

While recovering, I spent some time pondering what little ole me might have done to anger an entity mighty enough to create the entire universe, and then fill it with beings complex enough to create a good bacon cheeseburger.

I have to admit, I was at a loss for a time.

The answer came to me in a slow flash. They say God works in mysterious ways…so that must mean that God vacations in obvious ways…God didn’t try to kill me, he was just on vacation when something else did. Figuring that out certainly made me feel better, although considering the horrific path the people of this tired old world have trodden since the beginning, his vacation seems to be running a bit on the long side.

Anyway, I suppose we now have a better answer to why God seems so callous and indifferent.

Sorry kid, I know you were born with bone cancer, and that your entire short life has been filled with unimaginable pain and incalculable terror, but hey, what ya gonna do? God vacations in obvious ways.

I think we can all take comfort in that.

The universe blinked first

I was lying on the shores of Lake Huron recently, watching the meteor showers, or as the religious types might say, watching God pepper the earth with love sprinkles, when I believe I saw a distant star go supernova. Now you see me…now you don’t.

I haven’t bothered checking with any official source as to whether this actually happened or not. I like the idea that I actually a witnessed star go bye-bye, and we all know how scientific facts can be, those pesky things can come along, and with complete indifference, screw up all kinds of wishful thinking, as well as first-rate flights of fancy. Who needs that?

So, anyway, I was just lying there, it was a clear night, the sky was in deep-end mode, and as I gazed up into infinity, an occasional meteor would slash across the satin, their short-lived tails bereft of wag, but nonetheless glorious. A multitude of satellites zipped across the sky at will, once the horseless carriage, but now the Chevy Malibu. The universe whispered into the vacuum, and smiled with complete indifference when no one understood.

Time ticked, cerebral tumblers clicked, and it occurred to me that the gods we have thus far established on this world are far too puny. We need new and improved gods; gods that get out tough grass stains and whiten better. (Put away your rebel flag Bubba Mc South, that doesn’t mean what you think.)

Yes, we need to create some better gods, and very soon… or I suppose we could simply grow up, and then we will no longer need them.

As always, please hold your applause until the last god barks.