We had not been in our new home for three months yet when Halloween came around. My son was six-years-old at the time, and he was excited about going trick-or-treating in our new neighborhood.

One night, as he was getting ready for bed, he asked, “Can we go to a haunted house?”

As he climbed between the sheets, I smiled, “Sure, but what’s wrong with the one we live in?”

“What?!” he exclaimed, his eyes as large as saucer plates.

“That’s right,” I said as I turned off the lights and left the room.

That night he slept with us.

Darkness was beginning to settle as I hurriedly walked home. I had spent much longer at the local pub than I meant to, and now I was in trouble with my wife.

Along with the night came an unsettling fog that slowly wafted its way between the nearby trees and the narrow path I followed. As I approached the corner where I would be in sight of my house, I froze dead in my tracks.

Across the roadway and less than 50 feet from me stood a lone dark figure. We stood there, staring at each other for at least half a minute as I was too frightened to move.

“Batman,” I thought as I noted the pointed ears and the cape draped over his shoulders and hanging near his knees. Then I thought, “…or Satan.”

As I was preparing to run for my dear life, a pickup truck came bouncing down the road, and I breathed a sigh of relief when its headlight flashed over the figure: a horse with a blanket on its back.

Nervous laughter followed as I quick-stepped my way home and the ass-chewing I had coming for not being home when I said I would be.

My Cousin Elmo says, “I stand behind Alec Baldwin because no way in hell will I stand in front of him.”

As Frankie entered my laboratory, I asked, “Whats was wrong, son?”

“The kids at school are bullying me,” he said.

“How so?” I asked.

“They are calling me a freak,” he said. “One kid even said I was an accident.”

I frowned as he asked, “Am I an accident, Dad?”

Frank Jr. is reaching that awkward age, so I knew this was coming.

“Frankie, you are one of the only children who entered this world completely on purpose,” I answered. “I chose every one of your body parts myself.”

He smiled, picked gently at his stitches, and said, “Thanks, Dad.”

My Cousin Elmo says, “So, the bills are washed, the laundry paid, the clothes are in the oven, and the last load of dinner is in the dryer, and my wife claims I’m no good at multitasking.”

The Marketing and Communications Department at UNR has introduced a diversity, equity, and inclusion guide, requiring staff to avoid saying “Native Nevadan,” as it may be offensive to the indigenous population, meaning Indians.

It says: “Refrain from using the term native Nevadan as a general term for people born and raised in Nevada as it is not respectful to Indigenous people who truly are native to the land here in Nevada. Instead, use phrases like born and raised or lived in Nevada their whole life.”

According to the guide, its purpose is to create a more inclusive, diverse, and equitable environment dedicated to “raising up every member” of the community and “helping one another.“

My son is a Native Nevadan, born in Reno, but there is no inclusivity for him. 

Nearly a year after this blog documented the federal elections fraud that happened in Nevada in 2020, a Las Vegas man finds himself accused of voting twice, including once using his late wife, Rosemarie, name, during the 2020 election.

Attorney General Aaron Ford’s office is accusing Donald Kirk Hartle of voting more than once in one election and of voting using the name of another person. Hartle said that someone forged her name to a ballot.

The Nevada GOP promoted Hartle’s claim in its efforts to cast doubt on the 2020 election. Because of this, the Nevada Secretary of State’s office investigated Hartle’s claim despite Barbara Cegavske repeatedly saying that her office could not find any evidence of widespread voter fraud.

Hartle, reportedly a registered Republican, could face up to four years in prison and a $5,000 fine on both counts.

My Cousin Elmo says, “I’m fat and salty. I am bacon!”

Have you ever had one of those days where you’re busy and cannot stop and take the time to write at the moment?

Have you ever had one of those days where you repeat, edit and revise a story in your head because you cannot stop and take the time to write at the moment?

Have you ever had one of those days where you tell yourself that you’ll remember the story because you could not stop and write at the moment?

Have you ever had one of those days when by the time you get home, you’ve forgotten what the hell it was you were going to write?

Arrgghh!

knotted and tangled
indigo shadowed scars
my spirit still bleeds