From the bus stations of Rt. 66 to the smoky, neon-tinged jazz dives of the big cities, these wanton tales of longing introduce us to vixens on the fringe and those shifty men that drove them there.
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Get your shot glass ready because you're about to enter a retro world of showgirls, drifters, barmaids and thieves.
In this new social media landscape, the question becomes: Is blogging dead? It just may be...
Read the pulp novella that one reviewer called 'A potboiler in the style of old school writers like Mickey Spillane, Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler...'
Blogger Buddy Bish over at Bish's Beat gave my the skinny on this a while back. It seems that some industrious sorts have composed a plethora of stories of poems in the Bukowski vein and titled them "What if Bukowski wrote PEANUTS." It's simply hilarious and I'll post an excerpt. Somewhere we think Charles Schultz is rolling over in his grave.
"Lucy"
It began as a mistake.
The first time that Charles Branaski met Lucy Van Pelt, she was holding a football. He didn’t care for the game, baseball was his thing. Still, she held out that old football.
“Just kick the fucking thing,” she said.
“Listen, babe. You just hold that thing steady and I’ll kick the shit out of it.”
She threw her head back and laughed. She laughed long and hard and propped up the football. Charlie took a running start and he reared back his leg and kicked as hard as he could. Lucy was laughing too hard to hold the ball steady and it slipped out of her hand. Charlie missed the ball and flew straight up in the air and landed flat on his back.
“AUUUGGGGHHH,” he said.
“You should have seen your face, Charlie Branaski,” she said. Then she laughed twice as hard.
“Listen, you crazy bitch. I think I broke my ass. Jesus Christ!”
She helped him up. “Look, I’m sorry about that. You try it again and I’ll hold it real steady this time.”
“O.K., Lucy. I’ll do it on more time, but that’s it. You hold it this time, got it?”
“I promise,” she said.
He dusted himself off. God o mighty, his ass ached! He walked a little ways away and Lucy set up the old football again. He took a deep breath and a running start. He could see she was holding it tight. He was really going to kick the shit out of that old football! He threw his leg forward with all his might and Lucy yanked the football away just as he kicked at it. He landed on his ass again.
“AUUUGGGGHHH,” he said again.
Lucy laughed and laughed and left with the football. Charlie laid there and groaned. Good grief, he thought. What a cunt.
