Saturday, May 10, 2008


About those nasty EC Cavemen…

I’m sure by now that many of you reading my blog will have read others’ comments about how raunchy the Ellora’s Cave Cavemen were at the recent Romantic Times convention. Well, re: their dancing, depending upon how prudish you are or how open-minded, you can judge for yourself here. Does this seem inappropriate for a romance writers’ convention to you?

About those nasty rumors regarding the fight between Samhain and Ellora’s Cave…

HELL NO, I’m not gonna comment. I WILL say this: I have never ever received a late payment from EC (in fact, my sales there are better than ever), I have never had reason to question their ethics, motives, or handling of my books, and saying something nice about one of them is no crappy reflection on the other one, so get over yourself if you think it is.

About whether or not RT should have a separate “goody room” for their attendees next year…

Unequivocally YES. Say what you will about RWA, but there would never be the same problem at one of their conferences, so I don’t see the big deal in securing one freakin’ room for authors’ promo materials during the RT conference. Sure, RT would have to pay for it, but c’mon. Our conference fees are steep enough to cover the cost.

#1, it would keep those who haven’t paid for the conference from snagging materials that are there for the readers, booksellers, authors, and editors who DID pay for the conference. #2, it would keep some unsuspecting hotel guest from bitching about promo materials that they shouldn’t have access to in the first place. #3, it’s unfair to the authors who pay for those promo materials to have them removed simply because someone outside the conference objects to the content.

Do I think that people who paid to stay in that hotel should be subjected to material that offends them? NO. I also don’t think that authors paying for a writers’ conference should be forced to cater to the needs of anyone outside the confines of that same conference. Therefore – secure us a room for our promo materials and be done with the issue.

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avoid the (nasty) funny tale if you are offended by fart jokes...

Subject: Home Made Chili (story about a man, not me, FYI – lol…BUT…there by the grace of God go I type stuff…) – He says…

I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that said course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented "You're definitely going to mess yourself" chili.

Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat the next day both of your butt cheeks WILL fall off.

Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No "Watson's Movement 2". Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through my intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my next door neighbors as thunder and lightning.

Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet not sure of when, I bravely set off for the market; a local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often haunt in search of tasty tidbits.

Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't until I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me. Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm referring to that "Uh oh, gotta go" pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different. The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt. In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.

There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly woman turned into it.

I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she walked into it unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate. I could've warned that that poor woman but didn't. I simply watched as she walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving her arms about her head as though trying to ward off angry bees.

This, of course , made me feel terrible, but then made me laugh.


Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things "clamped down", if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.

Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took place.

Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable "Oh my, Oh my", floating above the toilet seat because my butt is burning SO BAD, purging.

One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of "Shock and Awe". He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said, " Oh h h h!", then quickly left.

Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, "Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem."

That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me.

The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, "IT'S YOU!", then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.

Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Albertson's. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter. They claim they're going to have to repaint the store.



At 10:03 AM, Blogger Amie Stuart said...

I envy your tv-phobia! *sigh*

At 10:55 AM, Blogger Lyn Cash said...

actually, I think it's called having a life...sort of - lol

At 7:09 PM, Blogger Beth said...

If I was "offended by fart jokes" I would have left home years ago. With three boys, the topic (and the actual emitting of) gas comes up (and out) frequently.
Good and funny tale! Poor guy.

At 11:04 PM, Blogger Denise Patrick said...

Very funny! And, I didn't think the dancing guys were bad at all.

Thanks for dropping by my website.


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