“Ludicrous” is Just a Scare Word. (I’m Over My Head, But It Sure Feels Nice.)

But, I am having THAT TIME OF MY LIFE!

My life has taken a turn toward the bizarre.

Recent memory (of which I have not so much)

Recent memory teaches me my life may be falling apart.

But then…

I look at my prolific writing of late.

And I smile a ‘knowing‘ smile while regarding my folly.

I love my LIFE.

Will never give it up without kicking and screaming.

I love my life.

I am having FUN!

I want for NOTHING.

I am living the DREAM!

Below please discover some of the silliness I have recently posted on Face Book.

(If I cannot laugh at me…. Well, what’s the point?)

I laugh at me constantly.



Still Moving IN.  

Should have taken half a day.

Taken almost three months now and still counting.

I am savoring it.

To be fair: There were some ‘detours’ along my way.

Denton, UBH comes immediately to mind…

Happy Saturday Y’all


As well-documented:

My life is an open book.

I hold back nothing. Not sure why. I guess I am just past the point of giving a shit.


This is ‘Social Media’ I really do not know most of y’all, nor would care to. I ‘write’ stuff that is in my head—a scary place–for certain.

However, I love to write. Writing allows me to get deep down–explore what is going on in my head–what I am FEELING. It is usually lame, but….

I do try to add added value to my posts. Generally in the form of some esoteric video or song. (And, more often than not, an oldie)

Just to make your trip not worthless.


In my ‘Inbox’ This Afternoon:

From: Indeed

To: Marcom

Job Alert!

‘Seeking Tinker, Tailor, Sailor, Spy’

Job Description: Sit in Shit-Hole Hotel Room. Write Stupid Shit All Day (and Night)

Spend way too much time on Social Media.

Watch U.S. of A. going to hell in a hand-basket (Preferably On CNN, but FOX News will do as well)


Applicant will be Sixty-Plus White Male.


No self-esteem required.

Must type 40 WPM

(Grammar is important. Spelling not so much)

Must drink 45 Ounces per hour.

Pay: ‘It won’t cost you a dime. Just send One Dollar, Postal Money Order along with your application.’

“Shit! Put me in Coach!”

Applied for Job.

Fingers Crossed.


I am struggling with this whole sobriety thing.

Not sure if it is going to work for me.

I do not want to go back to THAT PLACE

But, I may be Over My Head on this one.

I try to eat.

I try to sleep.

I try to keep up

With current events.

I try to watch old movies.

Nothing works.

In short:

“I am properly fucked.”


So… I wake up and it’s sixty-one degrees in my ‘house’ right now.

(How do I know this? Because I have a fucking thermometer—that’s how!)

I turn my HVAC to heat and guess what?

The fucking smoke detector alarm (conveniently placed right over my HVAC unit) goes the fuck off, thus awakening both my neighbors and my ire!

What kind of idiot did this? Who engineered this?

I pulled the battery out of the damn smoke detector.

Yeah, I like to live on the edge.


This Shit Just Keeps Writing Itself:


Finney Foods

I know you are just trying to scare up customers.

However, I am a writer and I am just trying to scare up readers.

I seriously doubt y’all are interested in my writing.

I only have some few, special friends.

Friends who read my shit.

I am fairly certain I cannot include you in this group.

Therefore, If you are not interested in my HG Stories, I will de-friend you. Comments are your ticket to paradise.

You have thirty minutes.

Clock ticking.

Post Haste.



There is a very narrow window in my world.

Let us call it the “Sobriety Window.”

For lack of a term.

Sometimes, I thrust me out of that window.

Sometimes I just ignore it

Sometimes, I actually make it outside.

Into the Real World.

Then I panic!

Try to get back in.

The Window has already shut tight behind me.

I cannot get back in.

But eventually, I do.

Get back in.

And the whole shit – show begins anew.

(There is a serious post here, fixing to happen.

But not tonight— this one Will require some sobriety to write.)

And that narrow window opportunity….


This is RAW!





I may come back and edit later 

(but probably not)

I am using my ‘Shotgun’ approach to writing these daze:

“Just Shoot! See if you can HIT anything.”

“Look at me! I can… BE…. Center Field!”

Abusive Lovely Muse–Chapter Two

I sat down and starting writing.

Muse was over my shoulder, massaging my hurting neck.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“My Job, Musing.”

“Knock it off! I am trying to work here.”

“Jesus! Relax.”

“Why don’t you sit down? I don’t need a spider looking over my shoulder.”

She looked a bit hurt and started to pout.

She parked her lovely self on my nasty couch. And glared at me.

I went back to my keyboard.

“Uh, Musey, What should I write?” I finally asked.

“You’re the fucking Genius; figure it out.”

“No! I do need and love you.”

“Write what is ON-YOUR-MIND.”

“My Erstwhile Girlfriend is on MY MIND.”

“Well, write that then.”

“Okay, I will. How should I begin?’

“A long apology letter might be a good start.”

“Alright; I will start with that.”

“Now we are getting somewhere.”

Chapter One Found Here: 

Escape From Memphis–Chapter Twelve and a Half– Friends

I have very few friends.

But the ones I have are ‘keepers.’

I love them.

They, of late, are ‘concerned’ about my

Mental state.

“Doan worry,” I assure them. “I am in a good place.”

“Ya sure?” They always ask.

“Yep. I am certain, anything else on your mind, or did you just call to borrow money?”

“Lance,  yer funy.”

“Yep, I know.”

Moving on….

My posts are all over some place…

This does not escape me.

No one reads.

Don’t matter none.

I am writing now for my own edification.

So there!

Escape From Memphis–Chapter Twelve–I have found me a home

“The days drift by

They don’t have names

None of the streets here look the same

And there’re so many quiet places

And smilin’ eyes match the smilin’ faces”

–Jim Buffett

So here I am.

“What now, Cowboy?”


I am ‘managing’ my disease.

I suppose this is a ‘plus.’

A ‘good’ thing.

Okay, there is that.

But, other than that, what are you going to do with the rest of your life?

Large questions…

“Write, I guess….”

“Good luck with that. You cannot ‘write,’ you suck at writing. Try something else. Ditch Digging comes immediately to mind.”

“I used to build barb-wire fence…”

“Yeah, try that.”

“Too old.”

“You are full of excuses, ain’t ya?”

I have settled into some kind of ‘new normal.’

Cast out those delirium tremens daemons.

At peace.

(For now)

Yet now, what next?

I am living Large.

I love my life.

I’d like to keep it.

‘Keep on keeping on,’ as they say.

(They say a lot)

I do tend to ramble.

‘Tis my wont.

I am determined to finish this series.

Even if it hair-lips the Pope.

To be continued.

Escape From Memphis–Chapter 11–Checking Out

Some many minutes (hours?) later a Brand New Pretty Female Doctor arrived to wake me.

I really was feigning sleep.

She introduced her lovely self.

“I am Doctor So-and-So and I am day shift. How are you, Mister Marcom?”

“Passing fair,” I said.

“We have all the arrangements made for you to go to Garland and get the help you need.”

“Groovy” was all I could muster.

“Well, Okay then. I’ll be right back.”

“And, I’ll be left front,” I said, but not out loud.

Several minutes later, she reappeared.

“OK, it’s all set. Just a few more minutes.”

As I was lying in my bed, thoughts began swirling:

Internal conversation and arguments inside my head:

“Lance, Cowboy, you cannot to Garland.”

“Why not? I need this.”

“Because you have obligations! Asshole!”

“What, which? What obligations?”

“You have the imaginary dog, for one.”

“Oh, yeah, that.”

“And other duties you must perform.”

“Pray tell.”

“In Garland, you will not be allowed to drink.”

“Shit. You are correct Sir.”

“Didn’t think of that one, did you?”

“No. ‘Fraid I did not think this one completely through.”

“Well then.”

More minutes passed.

The New Doc came in.

“Mister Marcom, are you ready to go?”

“Uh, no.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going.”

“Not going… but you said…”

“Changed my mind. I have unfinished business here in Commerce.”

“Lance,” she said.

(suddenly we are on ‘First Name Basis’–well OK then)

“If you don’t get treatment, you may die.”

“I’ll study that later.”

“So, you just want to go back to your apartment and….”

“Yeah, ride the wave.”

“I think you are making a mistake. I do not think you can do this all alone.”

“Doc, you may be right, but I am gonna try.”

“Okay then, but know this: we are here for you if you need us.”

“Thank you. I know this. And I do appreciate all of Y’all, but I need to go home, to whatever it is that I call ‘home’ these days.”

“Okay,” she said. “I will be back with some paperwork for you to sign.”

“I’ll wait.”

Several minutes later, yet another pretty young thing appeared.

“Lance, the VA says they do not have you on record.”


“The VA says you are not in The system.”

“Impossible,” I said.

“No, we called them. They said you were not in The System.”

“Well, shit,” I said.  Isn’t this a fine state of affairs?

“Here is their number. Once you get home, please call them.”

“Will do,” I lied.

Now, isn’t it funny? I could not get kicked out of the Navy when I was in the Navy, but now, I have been kicked out of the Navy.

After all these years.

Spacemen from Mars stole all of my money.

To be continued….

Chapter Ten here:

Chapter Nine here:

Chapter One here:

Escape From Memphis–Chapter Ten: Psychiatrist Interrogation

Attractive Young Psychiatrist Nancy began her questioning in earnest:

“How long have you been drinking?”

“All my life,” I said.

“No, I mean recently.”

“Oh, ‘bout forty days and forty nights.”

(No chuckle; guess she was gonna be all business from this point.)

“Do you feel like hurting yourself? She asked.

“Pretty certain that is what I am doing right now. You ever been on a ‘forty day/night drunk?”

“Have you ever attempted suicide?”

“Of course,” I replied. “Hasn’t everyone?”

“How many times?” She went on.

“Only twice, but they obviously didn’t take.”

“When was this? At what age?”

“First time, I was thirteen. Second time nineteen.”

“And what prompted these two attempts?”

“First time because my football shoes were too tight, excruciatingly so, and this was affecting my performance and my passionate desire to become a High School Football Star.”

“Describe your attempt.”

“I pointed a locked and loaded , hammer back, .45 Caliber pistol at the roof of my mouth for about 5 seconds, finger on the trigger.”

“And the second?’ she asked.

“Oh, that was just over a woman. I would not call that unprecedented in the ‘History of Man.’”

“Describe this attempt please.”

“Well, as I said, it was over being dumped by a woman, a thirty-year old woman and it was also over the fact that I could no longer afford the car payments on my Chevy Monza 2 Plus 2.  So I drank a pint of vodka and at a high rate of speed on a deserted Texas FM Road, turned a hard right and flipped the car. Thrice. I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“Were you abused as a child?”

“Do you mean do I hate my mother?” I asked.

“No. Were you ever abused?”

“My Grandfather shot at me with a deer rifle once, but he had cause because I had just a few moments earlier knocked him off the porch with a pretty good right hook to the jaw.”

“Why did you hit him?”

“He was trying to beat my Grandmother and she asked for help. Granddaddy was a mean drunk.”

“How old were you?” She asked.

“’Bout fourteen and change.”

“Does alcoholism run in your family?”

“Naw, it just kinda strolls. I mean, far as I know, it was just me and Granddaddy.”

“Do you want to stop drinking, Lance?”

“Yes. I don’t fancy dying just yet. I’m not ready.”

“Not ready to die, or not ready to quit drinking?”

“The dying part.”

“So, you’d like help?”


I watched her on the screen as she appeared to be writing a short essay on her note pad. After about  two minutes, she looked up and said,

“OK Lance. I am going to make arrangements to send you to a hospital in Garland. They have better resources to help you than here in Commerce.”

“How long will I be there? I am a busy man, ya know? OK, just kidding, but can you give me an idea?”

“Probably three days or so to get you past the delirium tremens and not sure how many after that. Are you willing to go to this hospital and allow them to help you?”

“I never much cared for Garland, but sure. One problem though, I cannot drive it just now.”

“The Hospital will make arrangements to have you transported, so don’t worry about that. You just try to focus on the treatment they will give you.” She said.

“TRANSPORTED??? “What am I? A truck farm product?”

“Thank you Doc, I will. And, by the way, I am sorry for being a smartass, but I suppose you get that a lot, dealing with drunks and mental cases. I do appreciate your time and your help. Thank you.”

“It’s Okay Lance. I am going to talk to the staff now at your Hospital and begin making the necessary arrangements. Take good care.” She said and then severed the connection.

I got out of bed and returned the IPAD to the Staff Desk and thanked them.

“How’d it go?” One of the staff asked.

“You know, you can’t get Netflix on this thing?”

Unnamed Staff laughed.

Finally! (Love it when I can make someone laugh)

“It went just Jim Dandy, I suppose. Looks like I will be leaving Y’all soon.” I said, and then returned to my little Hospital Cave.

And waited.

To Be Continued…

Chapter One Here  

Chapter Two Here Escape From Memphis–Chapter Two

Chapter Three Here Escape From Memphis—Chapter Three—Shawn.

Chapter Six Here  Escape From Memphis—Chapter Six

Chapter Eight Here  Escape From Memphis Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine Here  Escape From Memphis–Chapter Nine

Last Chance Texico