Cole Parker

But . . . ?

I apologize, but I have another novel, a short one, about to appear. It might not sit well with you guys; it's nothing like my usual fare. But one does what one does. In any event, I like it. It's title? The Courier.

Ambiguity is the soul of wit.

We could all use a skilled boy. And I wish we'd have a bit more vigor here. This used to be such a lively place. Could be again if people would get off their duffs. Maybe that's another place a skilled boy could come into play.

Ah, to be young, and your whole life lies before you, and your worries yet unknown. Hard to see how a college education comes into the picture. C

Old people are better at remembering than doing. C

Incredible life you've lived, Jason. They could make a movie of it, but an MA rating doesn't seem high enough. Great entry to your blogs. C

That's how I write: I get the words on paper, but then comes the work of refining, tweaking, adding, changing and beautifying. The final draft is rarely much like the first one. It's in the rewrite that both work and skill, if any, come together. If they do, you have a good story. If they don't? Well, that's what that upper left Recycle Bin is for. I'm like you, I think. I'm writing less now, but perhaps better. I hope so at least. You keep saying how poor a writer you are. Balderdash! You're well up there among the best. Always have been. C

Jason: A new restaurant! Exciting! Is it a full-menu restaurant or another hot wings place? I never heard how successful that was. Is that still running? You must have had a lot of time on your hands to write that much this years. C

Once upon a time, there was a happy little fly buzzing around a barn when she happened upon a large pile of fresh cow manure. Since it had been hours since her last meal and she was feeling hunger pangs, she flew down to the irresistible delicacy and began to pig out. She ate and ate and then she ate some more. Finally, she decided she'd had plenty. She washed her face with her tiny front legs, belched a few times, then attempted to fly away. But alas… she had eaten far too much and could not get off the ground. Wondering what to do about this unpleasant situation, she looked around and spotted a pitchfork leaning upright against the barn wall. She'd found a solution! She realized if she could just climb up that handle and jump off to become airborne she'd be able to fly again. So, she painstakingly climbed to the top of the handle. Once there, she took a deep breath, spread her tiny wings, and leaped confidently into the air. She dropped like a rock and splattered all over the floor. Dead fly. What’s the moral of this sad story? "Never fly off the handle when you know you're full of shit."

Wow! You have to wonder how much of that is scripted and how much is ad lib nonsense. You also have to wonder just how high Seven's IQ is. C

That indeed is beautiful! C

With unlimited time, all that's mentioned would be possible. As you'll see when you continue reading, dawdling wasn't an option. C

Me too!

Good to hear from you at all! Good to hear you're fighting the good fight. We're all pulling for you!! C

John, who lived in the north of England, decided to go golfing in Scotland with his buddy, Shawn. So they loaded up John's minivan and headed north. After driving for a few hours, they got caught in a terrible blizzard. So they pulled into a nearby farm and asked the attractive lady who answered the door if they could spend the night. ‘I realize it's terrible weather out there and I have this huge house all to myself, but I'm recently widowed,' she explained, 'and I'm afraid the neighbors will talk if I let you stay in my house.' 'Don't worry,' John said. 'We'll be happy to sleep in the barn. And if the weather breaks, we'll be gone at first light.' The lady agreed, and the two men found their way to the barn and settled in for the night. Come morning, the weather had cleared, and they got on their way. They enjoyed a great weekend of golf. But about nine months later, John got an unexpected letter from an attorney. It took him a few minutes to figure it out, but he finally determined that it was from the attorney of that attractive widow he had met on the golf weekend. He dropped in on his friend Shawn and asked, "Shawn, do you remember that good-looking widow from the farm we stayed at on our golf holiday in Scotland about 9 months ago?' ‘Yes, I do,' said Shawn. 'Did you, er, happen to get up in the middle of the night, go up to the house and pay her a visit?' 'Well, um, yes!,' Shawn said, a little embarrassed about being found out, 'I have to admit that I did.' 'And did you happen to give her my name instead of telling her your name?' Shawn's face turned beet red and he said, 'Yeah, look, I'm sorry, buddy. I'm afraid I did. Why do you ask?' ‘She just died and left me everything.'

Thanks so much, Nigel. I love the reception it's getting. Hey, and I hope you're feeling better. c

Thanks, John. Hope we hear from him soon! Great news that the BP is stabilized. C

Alan again show his craft and sensitivity in this fine tale. C

I don't understand how the Brits can look at WWI at all romantically, or thinking it was somehow a good war. Everything I've read about it was simply awful, good, courageous men being slaughtered for no earthly reason. Perahps tht's not what was meant here. but it seemed like they were reported as looking at that war much differently than how they did at WW II C

Thanks so much! I feel honored. C

Stuck in the hospital without his computer. Double awful! C

Thanks for the update, and for keeping it positive. C

Thanks! C

Where would the site be without you, John? Thanks so much for what you do. C