Over the weekend of April 22-23, I’ll be selling and signing books at some Barnes and Noble locations in Aurora, Colorado. I and some other local authors will be at the following stores on the following days:
4/22: 960 S Colorado Blvd, Glendale, CO 80246
4/23: 6300 S Main St Suite N101, Aurora, CO 80016
He is the crispy bacon of vengeance that sizzles in the night. He is the defective tanning oil that singes the back fat of evil. And his book just launched!
The Black Walrus, my new middle grade adventure comedy novel for 5th through 9th grade boys, is now available on Amazon. It’s a laugh-out-loud adventure, and I couldn’t be happier with the way it turned out.
The story stars Alex Portobello, an inventive middle schooler and comic book fan, who gains superhuman intelligence as the result of a strange experiment. Using his homemade inventions, his custom-designed martial art, and his affinity for spandex, Alex dons a costume and wages war on Cremini City’s criminals as the costumed hero, the Black Walrus.
But Alex gets more than he bargained for when a mysterious zookeeper begins to deduce his secret identity. And things go from bad to worse when a new foe threatens to turn Cremini City into a criminal empire. Can Alex truly become the Cheeto® dust that stains the fingers of injustice and keep his city from plunging into chaos? You’ll have to read the book to find out!
Thank you to my editor, my beta readers, my cover designer, my parents, the RMFW Aurora Critique Group, and everyone at Author YOU for making this book possible.
Pick up your copy of The Black Walrus today: bit.ly/blackwalrus or ask for it wherever books are sold!
Hi, everyone. Are you psyched for the release of the Black Walrus? I know I’ve peed my pants with excitement multiple times today!
For those of you unaware, I used to use this website to host a blog, where I wrote articles on various goofy topics. I won’t be writing as many of these articles anymore, as I’ve transitioned to writing The Black Walrus series and will mostly be posting updates regarding that.
However, if you’d like to read my thoughts on such deep, philosophical topics as ketchup packets, furbys, and beards, feel free to take a look through the blog archive.
I think at some point, we all wonder how America will go down in history. I often ponder whether people thousands of years from now will revere us, laugh at us, or do a little of both. There are many cultural and political forces that, for good or for ill, mold the way we will be remembered. But there is a force far greater than any other that will shape America’s legacy. I speak, of course, of 1930s cartoons.
History has been well-documented for quite a while now, but we actually don’t know much about societies that existed a little over three-thousand years ago. This is because ancient civilizations tended to keep their history not in books, but in myths and stories. A civilization’s tales are usually based on real events, but when historians study a culture’s myths, they can’t be sure which parts of the myth are fact and which are fiction.
Take the ancient Greek story of Theseus, who fought the minotaur inside a massive labyrinth on the island of Crete. We know that King Minos, ruler of Crete in ancient times, did in fact have a huge fortress, but that’s about all we know. Historians can’t be sure if Theseus was a real person, if some sort of creature actually lived in King Minos’ castle, what exactly that creature was, and whether Theseus actually fought it. We continue to study and retell these myths because in many cases, they’re the closest thing to an actual historical record we have.
Which makes me wonder: what kind of mythology will we leave behind? When the people of the future (who, I presume, will live in a society that’s something of a cross between “The Jetsons” and the short-lived series “My Little Pony: After the Bomb”) uncover our remains and study the tales we told, what assumptions will they make about the way we lived? Thoughts like these make me concerned about the art we create; specifically, cartoons.
Cartoons are weird. Really weird. And their weirdness isn’t just a recent phenomenon; they were strange from the get-go. If you think a cartoon like “Adventure Time” or “Ren and Stimpy” is bizarre, just take a look at about 90% of the animation that came out of the 1930s. Apparently, the best way to distract people from the woes of the Depression was to stick faces on a bunch of inanimate objects and have them sing and dance for about five minutes.
The stuff that happens in these cartoons can make you question the nature of reality itself. Humanoid animals whistle at awkward moments, objects you thought were stationary suddenly jump up and start spanking each other, and everything moves to the beat of a repetitive, bouncy song. Before Popeye hit the scene, the average cartoon made a hallucination seem like a bland Monday morning at the office.
I can’t help but speculate on what future civilizations will think after they unearth some of our old cartoons. I mean, pretend you’re an anthropologist living a few hundred years in the future. What would you think of a culture that produced this:
You’d probably come to the conclusion that, throughout the 20th and 21st centuries, North America was populated by a people who revered chickens above all else and believed that, should you disrupt the sacred birds, a gang of singing, jovial demons would inhabit gravestones, haystacks, and even the Earth itself to wreak horrifying judgment upon you while dancing to catchy swing music. You might even write your graduate thesis on the giant chicken god worshiped and feared by the ancient Americans (5:26 into the video.)
We can’t change this. Like it or not, we’re going to go down in the annals of history as the civilization that thought we could fuse our behinds with chickens and in so doing, create chicken babies (1:53 into the video.) I just hope animators will start to realize what they’re doing to our culture’s legacy and start to offset the ‘30’s weirdness with cartoons that are a little more grounded in reality. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go write a story about a treasure-hunter and his talking, cybernetic llama butler.
Once every few decades, we are faced with a tragedy that defines a generation, a heart-wrenching event that shakes us to our very core. Such events linger ominously over our lives and make us question why God would allow such indecent and inhuman calamities. My generation has already faced such a tragedy: the disappearance of Burger King’s chicken fries.
I eat fast food. A lot. I imagine that, over the years, my arteries have developed a thin coating of crust, making them like little glazed donuts inside by body that pump blood. But future health problems aside, my fascination with the world of fast food has allowed me to become something of a connoisseur. And like any expert in fine wine or 18th Century decor, I would have difficulty describing to a layman which fast food joints I like more than others and why. Ranking fast food restaurants is a delicate and complex process, as each minute detail of the establishment would have to be taken into account, but if I had to make a list of my favorites, Chic-Fil-A would definitely be at the top and Burger King would probably occupy the bottom.
The tale of the chicken fry’s rise and fall begins with a look into Burger King’s history. For years, the folks at Burger King just didn’t have much going for them. Consider the four foremost burgers of the fast food world (the “Four Pillars of Burgerdom,” if you will.) I don’t have anything against the Whopper, but it’s just not as good as the Big Mac, Carl’s Jr.’s Famous Star, or whatever Wendy’s signature burger is called.
The same goes for the fries. McDonald’s has the best fries (This statement is not up for debate. It is fact.) and the Burger King fry, while tasty, will always live in the McDonald’s fry’s salty shadow. From chicken nuggets to fish sandwiches to ice cream-related edibles, Burger King was always a step behind its competitors. It was a dark age for the monarch of burgers and all throughout the drivethru line there was weeping and gnashing of teeth.
But then came that glorious day. Like a holy cherubim descending from the heavens, the harbingers of deliciousness known as the chicken fries descended upon Burger King. Though they contained chicken, these were no mere nuggets or patties. They were filled with a mysterious, magical blend of spices and fried to cylindrical perfection. Biting into a chicken fry was like eating a unicorn sprinkled with fairy dust and dipped in ranch dressing.
I started going out of my way to visit Burger King, even choosing the king of burgers over its fast food counterparts. And I always ordered the chicken fries. Everything else on the menu just seemed beside the point. It was a happy, innocent time when all seemed right with the world.
And then, just like that, they were gone. I went into Burger King one day, asked for my beloved chicken fries, and was told by an apologetic employee: “Sorry. We don’t have those anymore.” Those words pierced my very soul. The sacred fries of chicken had been snatched from my hands like so many hopes and dreams. And so darkness has come once again to the realm of the Burger King. There is no more laughter or joy, just mediocre hamburgers with too much mayonnaise.
And so, once a year, I pause in a moment of silence for Burger King’s chicken fries. I may never taste them again, but I will always feel them. In my heart. Especially in a few years when I have to go in for a triple bypass.