Since it is Christmas Day itself, we add a bonus story by our own Hugh Cron. It is not our object to deride those who have faith or get sentimental about the holiday. And Hugh’s The Perfect Personification of Religion states the true meaning of Christmas better than a fleet of Rudolphs. It is a tale of common decency and a priest who made himself holy through his dedication.
Continue reading “Bonus Christmas Rerun – The Perfect Personification of Religion by Hugh Cron”
Merry Christmas, even to the humbuggers. Today we present two in a series we call the Reruns of Christmas. James McEwan began this party yesterday, which will last through Sunday. And there will be no rest for the wicked because the new year begins with new stories next Monday.
Continue reading “Christmas Rerun – A Little Red Wagon, A Long Remembered Face by Tom Sheehan”
Merry Christmas Eve. And as foretold in yesterday’s post there will be Ghosts of Reruns past attending the site this week. Consider this very early site post by our friend James McEwan, a herald, who will lead off with this Rerun today, the first of nine replays over the next eight days. Enjoy!
Continue reading “Christmas Eve Rerun: The Lady in the Bauble by James McEwan”
Well here we are, Christmas. Today I choose to remember it well. My family used to include a Dachshund-Chihuahua mix named “Fang” who joined the team when I was in sixth grade (named after Phyllis Diller’s fictional husband). Fang was a fairly peaceful little guy but he hated Christmas trees. Every year he would attack the damn thing late at night at least once. His partner in crime “Rags,” a tiny Rat Terrier, would encourage Fang with little barks, but feign innocence when the light came on.
Continue reading “Week 460: Terminating The Tree With Extreme Prejudice and Welcome to the Holiday Rerun Fest”
Prologue
A psycho doesn’t need to explain her actions until the trial begins. And even then it is optional. Thus the answer to all things “Why?” in my make-believe land of Saragun Springs is almost always a case of a shrug and the words “shit happens”–a concept that is a byproduct of Free Will. Still, everything sounds fancier in Latin, and telling someone “Stercore Accidit ” gives one an air of scholarship; the following is a case of Stercore Accidit if there ever has been one.
Continue reading “The Giant Clock Radio by Leila Allison”
Christmas is just around the corner and there is something that I want to ask.
I suppose I need to put in some sort of waver:
I, Hugh Cron have no thoughts either way but am interested to see if anyone has any comments.
Let me explain.
Continue reading “Week 459 – Love Affair Never Meant Tacky Merchandise, Is Basic Teaching Extinct And Ewan Links Two Souls Again.”
Personality
Hypocrisy and altruism stop at roughly the same point in a person. Although finally copping to your own rottenness and experiencing exhaustion at the highest level of do-goodishness you are capable of are not the same thing, both terminate close enough to the center of a person to form a picture.
Continue reading “458: Personality Issues; Beautiful Losers and Winners”
I wanted to write something ironic about writing something ironic.
Ironically fuck all came to me!
…Wait a minute – Did I just do it??
I absolutely hate that phrase for having sex. ‘Did they do it?’
Continue reading “Week 457 – Fornication Is Even Fucking Better, What Would They Call The Kid And Claude Raines Rocks!”
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Shig Sagimoto appears to me in one short image, a slim, fedora hatted old fellow on a bicycle coasting down Carlin Hill, both hands on the handlebars. As I observe him, he raises one arm upright into the blue sky of summer, then holds down the top of his hat, and for a few slight seconds, raises high his other hand, and balances as his bike wheels fly downhill through the hot afternoon air. Then, he sees I’m watching. Both hands press back to the handlebars, and he moves his head down as he pedals into the Tappen Esso parking lot.
Continue reading “The Bicycle Man of Carlin Hill by Harrison Kim”
Behold the little god of half-assedness
Officially nameless, Charleston’s “Alone Park” was once part of neighboring New Town Cemetery. “Once” because In 1973 two-hundred square feet of graveyard property was accidentally left out when chainlink replaced New Town’s original fencing. Upon discovering the error, the city council refused to cough up another cent for link-fencing, but it didn’t want an inch of their property left unconquered, either.
Continue reading “From the Files of the Alone Park Project By Leila Allison”
literally stories 