Lynne Stewart Gets A Slap On The Wrist As Justice Gets A Slap In The Face. Originally published in 2006.

You know, I gotta stop reading the newspapers. I also have to give up watching tv news shows and listening to news radio; hell, the way things are going I might as well move to an isolated island for that matter. You see, it seems that ever time I turn around the world gets crazier and crazier with each passing day. And just when I begin to delude myself into believing that the world couldn't get any stranger than it already had become, something(or someone) comes along to prove me wrong. Believe me, it sure is tough to be an optimist these days.

Every time I look for a pony in the horseshit, I find myself up to my elbows in horseshit but the damn pony is nowhere to be found. On Monday, October 16th, Judge John Koeltl gave lawyer Lynne Stewart a slap on the wrist for committing the treasonous act of sneaking a letter out of prison written by Sheik Omar Abdel-Rahman, her client at the time. The inflammatory missive penned by Abdel-Rahman encouraged an Egypt-based terrorist organization to kill those who did not subscribe to his extremist interpretation of Islamic law. Convicted in 2005,that evil, blind towel head was sentenced to life imprisonment for plotting to blow up five New York landmarks and assassinate Egypt's president. 

Stewart also broke an agreement to use translators at her meetings with Abdel-Rahman solely for legal matters and use them to pass on messages to the sheik followers in Egypt. But instead of having her obese carcass tossed into a jail cell for a well deserved 30 years (a verdict sought by prosecutors), Stewart was given a far more lenient 28 months sentence behind bars. In addition, the judge also ruled that Stewart could remain free on bail while she appeals her conviction.

 Now you're probably sitting there scratching your head in bewilderment thinking to yourself," Why would he give her such little jail time considering her crime of treason?" Well(hold on to your chair), Judge Koeltl felt the light sentence was justified given Stewarts recent treatment for breast cancer as well as her 30 year career representing the poor and unpopular clients. By unpopular he meant clients such as, a former mob hit man and a man accused of trying to kill nine policemen. 

In other words, Stewart represented the cream of the crap, the scrapings from the bottom of an already rancid barrelful of the flotsam and jetsam in our society. Big deal. Who cares? I could give a pinch of shit if she rescued orphans from a burning building while carrying a boxful of baby kittens down a rickety, old ladder. Stewart is a bleeding heart liberal who willingly aided and abetted terrorist activity. Yet, her attorney presented Stewart as a victim. That's right, a victim .

 Seeing Stewarts obese mug smiling in self satisfied triumph as she waddled away from the courthouse while her supporters cheered victoriously was vomit inducing to say the least. My question is, where in the hell were her detractors booing and name calling while pelting her with rotten eggs and moldy tomatoes? Please, I need a moment to calm down before my blood pressure goes through the roof and I end up suffering a massive coronary. This is justice? Not in my book! Now here comes my favorite part, despite Stewart losing her license to practice law(can you spell disbarred?), she sincerely hopes the verdict will vindicate her and that she can go back to her career as a do gooder, liberal lawyer. Not only is Stewart unrepentant, she's delusional as well. Obviously her high cholesterol count is severely affecting her brain. 

 In the wake of the terrorist attack on 9/11, her sentence is a supreme insult to anybody who lost a friend or family member on that tragic day. Still, the judge, in his wisdom,(?) saw fit to give Stewart merciful leniency; a courtesy her terrorist client would never see fit to show his victims. Judge Koeltl felt that since she had lost her license to practice law, Stewart was no longer in the position to repeat her crimes. But, suppose she somehow manages to become reinstated? Let's face facts, she'll go right back to defending the terrorists, the criminals-the scum of the earth. And that will be the ultimate injustice.

Moussaoui Deserves Death! (Originally published in 2006)

The memory of the horrifying events on September 11,2001 still reverberate through my mind even after almost six years have passed. I was at work that day(at a telemarketing office) selling worthless insurance products to credit card holders who could've cared less. Then at around ten'o'clock, the office manager came into the room and calmly told all of us to put down the phones. She said that a plane had just flown into the World Trade Center and the building was burning.

 The entire room feel into silence at that moment as all of us looked around at each other. Then came the news of a second plane crashing into the other World Trade Center building and a sense of disbelief seemed prevalent among everyone in the room. The office manager said that she was closing the office for a few days and would let everybody know when they could return to work. A group of us stood outside discussing the events that had previously unfolded, when one of the co-workers walked up, an expression of shock on his face, and announced that The Pentagon had been blown up.

 First, The World Trade Center towers had been attacked by two passenger jets. Now the Pentagon had been hit. What was happening? I tried to calm down my co-worker saying that we should all go home and watch the news on television for further information. He grabbed my shoulders and said in a panic stricken voice," The Pentagon's been destroyed, Joe! It's all gone!" I reiterated we should all go home to watch the televised coverage and find out all of the facts.

 Like most of you on that day, I spent hours watching the televised newscasts of the triple tragedy created by the extreme radical Muslim group al-Qaida. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of religious group, who supposedly love God, could engage in this act of mass slaughter without such a heinous act weighing on their consciences at all. It seems that their God is a God of hate and destruction ;not a God of love or compassion. Well, what can you expect from a band of yellow cowards who behead their victims while covering their faces with a towel. These punks are a craven bunch, if I do say so. And now we have Zacarias Moussaoui on trial for conspiring with the al-Quaida to fly a plane into the White House. During the trial Moussaoui had been defiant, mocking and unrepentant. 

His lawyers have attempted to elicit sympathy from the jury(and the rest of America) by citing his impoverished childhood in France and throwing in a claim of mental illness into the mix. Pardon me if I don't boo hoo hoo for this waste of a human being. And while the majority of Americans want Moussaoui put to death for his part in the 9/11 massacre, his lawyers(whom he has shown nothing but contempt for)want him to be given a life sentence. So while the families of those killed during that horrifying September day will for the rest of their lives have to live with the results of Moussaoui's heartless actions; Moussaoui will be eating three squares a day, sleeping in a warm bed, will be afforded medical and dental care; all at the taxpayers expense. 

There is an outcry that if Moussaoui is executed he will become a martyr to the al-Quaida followers. Well, so what? If he is executed, he'll be a dead martyr and that's just fine with me. In fact,(the A.C.L.U be damned) on that glorious day when Moussaoui The Traitor is put to his rightful death, let's bring back the gallows for this very special occasion! Hang 'em high! It's exactly the sort of justice he and the rest of his al-Quaida buddies richly deserve.

A Moral Dilemma: Doing What's Right.

During the summer of 1990, I began working for a now non existent sandwich company as a route driver. The money and the benefits were substantial enough to make the decision to leave the other McJob I was at(a well known storage company) a particularly easy one. As I said, the money was good and having tangible medical benefits(as opposed to being constantly promised them)was a definite improvement. Plus I enjoyed the job. Except for having to put up with the owners, Dick and his wife Shelley, two people who should have put an end to their wretched excuse of a marriage a long ,long time ago. 

 Not a day went by during the four months I worked there that myself and the three other employees  weren't subjected to their petty bickering and naked animosity. One time, Dick was so infuriated by an insult hurled at him by his shrewish wife that he gave her the finger in front of everyone. Their rancor extended to Dick arriving at work driving his beloved black Mustang while Shelley drove her white Lincoln Continental. Whenever she deigned to stay home during one of her moods, Dick would be in high spirits. No wonder, he didn't have to argue for eight hours incessantly with Shelley. And since the wife was away, Dick felt free to regale us with stories about the twenty five year old mistress he was screwing on the side. One time he was bold enough to bring her by and show her off to us! Dick was always going on and on about how young and pretty she was, unlike Shelley. And we were treated to blow by blow descriptions of their sex life, while Dick nudged whoever was closest to him in the ribs all the while winking and giving a thumbs up.

 Now, I will confess that Shelley was not the nicest person that God ever let draw breath. She was bellicose and rather short with people. I imagine that being married to her was no slice of heaven; more like a long, torturous tour through Dante's Inferno. But Dick once told us point blank that he was staying married to Shelly because it was "Cheaper to keep her"; that a divorce would put a serious crimp in his finances. So, while he remained unhappily married to his wife, Dick would sneak off to get some loving with his girlfriend, whom he kept in a nice apartment and provided living expenses for. Whenever she would broach the subject of Dick leaving Shelley and marrying her, he would paint a false picture of financial ruin incurred should divorce become a reality. Naturally, his girlfriend not wanting to kill the goose laying her golden eggs agreed that their current arrangement was indeed mutually beneficial. The matter, at least for the moment, was dropped. Dick was successfully juggling a sham marriage and a torrid love affair at the same time, while myself and the other three employees heard endlessly about his double life.

 Dick was quite proud of himself. Behind Shelley's back, Dick would refer to her as " Shelley Stank Vein" and" Mama Ugly Vein" because of a rather noticeable vein which ran the entire length of her leg, incurred during the birth of their only child, a son named Bob. Out of curiosity, I asked why he didn't take her to a plastic surgeon to get the supposedly disfiguring vein fixed. Dick replied he felt this was throwing good money after bad and why waste money on that middle aged shrew when it could be better spend on his younger, prettier honey? I may not have liked Shelley in the slightest, but I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Her husband, in my estimation, was a slimy, ball-less weasel.

 By September of that year, the recession was upon America as well as the company I worked at was feeling the effects of it. Sales became sluggish at certain stores, so the routes were trimmed as the accounts who weren't doing sufficient business were eliminated. Unfortunately, someone  was going to be laid off. Three guess's and the first two don't count as to who the unlucky person was. If you guessed me, then put a little gold star next to your name. You know the rule, last hired/first fired. As Dick told me the bad news, he assured me that I would get an excellent reference from him. He then shook my hand and wished me good luck. 

This was during a very bad recession however, so jobs were hard to come by. I lucked out and procured a posit on as a collector at Barklays Bank, a financial institution attempting to rid itself of millions of dollars of delinquent accounts while trying to find a buyer for their white elephant(I 'll go into detail about this story at a later date). The upshot was, this failing bank expected each collector to rake in no less than ten thousand a week or they were shown the door. I was shown the door after a month, so it was back to pounding the pavement in search of gainful employment. Around Christmas time of that year, I received a call from Dick at ten o'clock one night. He was in quite a predicament, one of his own making. It seems that his wife Shelly suspected he was cheating on her and she in turn threatened divorce in which she stood to take him for half of everything. Dick wanted me to verify his story of spending time at a local tavern and lie to her that he and I spent evening in this establishment knocking back beers and playing pool.

 I felt this was simply asking too much of me and that I shouldn't get involved in a situation which was not any of my business. Never the less, I asked Dick if I could take a day or two to think it over and then give him an answer. He unexpectedly roared at me," Tell me now, Goddamn you! Shelley will put my ass into a sling if you don't come through for me!" Now, I felt bad for Dick, but I was at a moral crossroad: do I lie for him when I know this is the wrong thing to do? I mean, was it my job to help Dick maintain he and Shelly's cardboard cutout of a marriage? Or do I tell Dick no and risk offending him? He wouldn't allow me the time to think things through, but I knew in my heart what the answer was. The right answer, that is. I said I wouldn't lie for him and that my conscience was more important than his double life. Dick shouted at me before hanging up," I'll fix you, sonofabitch! I'll fix you!" I thought to myself," What can he do to me? I don't work for him anymore." Talk about famous last words!

 For the next month or two, I must have applied to fifty to sixty places for a job and noticed I was getting nowhere. Then, during a second interview for the position of liquor store manager, the owner informed me that when he called Dick for a reference, he was told," No comment at this time." No comment at this time? Whatever happened to my excellent reference? Needless to say, I didn't get the position. Yes, this is how Dick, that miserable, gutless, cheating pile of crap got even with me for not lying on his behalf. If it weren't for the fact that I would have gotten arrested for assault, I would've kicked his candy ass up and down the street where his business was located. Instead, I took it on the chin. 

From that day forward Dick and I were enemies. A few years later, I heard rumors he and Shelley moved to Florida in order to save their comedy routine they called a marriage and opened up another business. Other rumors surfaced that Dick snuck his girlfriend down there as well and was still carrying one with his double life. Whatever the truth is, all I know is that I stuck to my guns and did the right thing, despite the consequences. In the end, that's all that really matters.

September 11, 2001: The Day America Was Attacked.

 

Even twenty years later, I find it hard to express my thoughts on the tragedy of 9/11. It's a painful place for me to revisit. But it's necessary. There are those who consider it history. To me, 9/11 is a day that will burn in my memory forever.  

On September 11, 2001, I was working as a telemarketer. To me, it was just another day at work as I sat at my desk calling people to encourage them to buy some totally worthless product they didn't need or want. I'd been there for two hours, when suddenly the supervisor came into the room and told us to put down our phones. She then said that The Twin Towers had been attacked. Then she added another bombshell: The Pentagon had also been destroyed. The shock and the horror echoed throughout the room. What was happening? We were told to go home, but we would be paid for the entire shift. Just as an aside, the company only paid us for two hours.

Out in the parking lot, people listened to their car radios to find out more. The unthinkable had just occurred : America had been attacked by Al-Queda terrorists. How could this have happened? Myself, and many others, believed that something like this could never, ever happen to us. We held the mistaken notion that America was invincible. However, in reality,  we were vulnerable. And it was scary. After all, this hadn't occurred before. All of America had been living for years with a false sense of security.

We were bombarded with reports of the attacks and were trying to sort out all of the information as it was being broadcast. Everyone was going home to watch the news reports on tv. As I was going to my car, a fellow employee, Godford, ran up to me in a panic saying, " The Pentagon was destroyed." Although I was in a state of shock, I replied, " Let's get more information from the news reports when we get home." He grabbed my shoulders and said loudly, " The Pentagon is gone! It's all gone." I tried to calm him down by saying, " Godford, let's go home and find out what's happening." He agreed.

I spent most of the day riveted to my TV as reports came in. The images of the destruction and the devastation were both horrible and disturbing. I remember the rage I felt when a news report showed Islamics chanting gleefully at news of the attack. One women, a rather ugly one at that, was waving an Islamic flag and making victory sounds. How I would have enjoyed wiping that smile off  her face. Now, I' m not going to lump all Islamic people together. That would be unjust as well as unfair. I'm talking about radical Islam. Let's get that straight.  

 I personally know of several people who would not leave their homes, because they felt the attacks would find their way to Delaware. I told one person, " If you refuse to leave and stay holed up in your apartment, the terrorists win." Around three in the afternoon I went for a drive to clear my head. There were firemen taking donations in my area to help the police and firemen in New York City. I gave what I could to help out.

But despite the terrorist attack, America showed the world what we're made of. People from all over rallied to the aid of New York City. Some went so far as to drive up from other states to offer their services. The terrorists struck America a terrible blow, destroying property costing many innocent lives, but they didn't win. We banded together to show the world that you can injure us, be you can't defeat us. We became more patriotic as a result as a nation. 

However, along with the heroes, there were scoundrels, people who profited from the attack for their own financial gain. There were reports of black owned radio stations whose on air staff told their black audience to support their Muslim brothers and destroy The White Devil. I have no way to verify this, and believe me I've done my research, but if it's true these radio stations should have their FCC license's revoked and the announcers tried for treason.

There were psychiatrists who felt the terrorists should be given counseling and treatment. I guess these mislead professionals firmly believed that with enough love and understanding we could turn them into our friends. Well, in theory that sounds quite wonderful. But when they state, " Join us. Kill us or be killed.", that doesn't present us with a whole lot of choices.

My personal favorite was hearing about the lawyer, or lawyers, I can't remember which, who wanted to defend Bin-Laden if he were taken to trial. Really? While it might be a boost for their career as a lawyer, if I were them, I could not in all good conscience defend a murderous thug like Bin-Laden and be able to look at myself in the mirror without wanting to vomit.   

In the end, many of the terrorists were killed, culminating with the assassination of Osama Bin-Laden, who after many years of hiding finally paid for his crimes. As we Americans cheered his death, his followers claimed " We will turn your laughter into tears." Sorry you radical towel heads, I'm still laughing. You may have wounded America, but you damn sight didn't destroy us. Let's always remember 9/11. 

                                         

Bill George:Red Hot Planet and Beyond Pt 4.

So anyhoo, Baltimore Flavor Magazine, another one of Bill George's money making schemes, not only set him back about fifteen grand, but as I write this, boxes of the magazine can be found in the basement of his home never to see the light of day. The shitty part is: not only did I not get paid for my work, but once again that total control freak George rewrote all of my articles. As I read each issue of his vanity mag, it was extremely difficult to control myself; I really wanted to punch his weenie face for treating me with such flagrant disrespect.

 Bill George has little or no respect for me and has never considered me his equal when it comes to the art of writing. That pompous, self congratulating asshole! His next big attempt at the ever elusive fame and fortune was to help finance a micro budgeted, shot on video turd fest titled Hallows Point. He has vehemently denied investing in this unreleased(or is it unreleasable?)clunker made by an obscure filmmaker named Jeffrey Lynn Ward. George claimed that they gave him the title of executive producer because he was such a big help on the production.

 Yeah. Right. Anybody with even a cursory knowledge of film knows that the executive producer is the one who ponies up the dough to finance a movie. In this instance, it was three misguided cretins who threw their money at Ward's amateur night excuse for a film. George once again tried to cover his ass, so he doesn't come off looking like some doofus who foolishly squandered his money on another loser of a project. But he did. If I didn't have such contempt for George, I'd feel sorry for him. 

George even went that extra mile by going on several horror websites and horror conventions touting Hallows Point as a great film that was destined to be the next big horror movie. On one website, George (under the pseudonym BGeorge238)claimed that " I'll bet the farm this film prompts a franchise." Now, how in the hell can a film prompt a franchise when the first one hasn't been released. It was completed in 2007 and here it is in 2010 and still no takers. But you can't blame George for using such aggressive campaign tactics, he wants to make his investment back!

 A couple of years ago when I talked to George, he was animated about his newest project:3D television. He and a group of people were going to shoot films locally, then show them on television using this new and radical 3D process. To me this was just one more lofty pipe dream for him to foolishly toss his money at, in his eyes it was the wave of the future; the opportunity of a lifetime. You see, Bill George is a dreamer. His dreams are as big and as grand as they come. Dreams that will bring him riches, that will bring him fame. The only problem is, they're never grounded in reality. And that's a big problem. But on the bright side, he has several tax write offs at his disposal. 

 As an addendum: two years after discontinuing Red Hot Planet, George told me he was thinking about restarting the web site. Imagine the egotism of that dick! Doesn't he realize that once you break the momentum of something, it's hard, if not impossible, to regain that momentum? Oh no, not Bill George. In his special, delusional, little world, there are tons of folks who are patiently waiting(with baited breath, of course)for the return of their favorite horror web site. Is he an ego surfeited asshole or what?

Bill George: Red Hot Planet And Beyond. Part II.

It was during my unpaid tenure at Red Hot Planet that another one of Bill Georges annoying traits reared it's ugly head; he is an unbridled control freak. George thinks he's God's gift to the auctorial arts, his talent as a writer is unparalleled and that there are few writers of his caliber. In his conceited mind, George considers himself to be The Gold Standard when it comes to writing. More like fools gold if you ask me. His is a stuffy, pompous, pseudo professorial writing style that looks down at the reader while at the same time pretending to be one with them.

 He once bragged to me that he never writes without consulting his Thesaurus. How pompous! What a pretentious fop! A Thesaurus is an aid for a writer, not a f***ing crutch! Big words are meant to add color or heft to a writers work, you don't write the article or book around the big word or the fancy phrase, that's both pretentious and insulting to the reader. Bill George doesn't care because he is on a mission to intellectually impress you and everyone else he meets. Unlike his parents, who spoke like the regular working class people they were, George speaks with the cadence of a highly educated man with a doctorate of some sort. Nah. He has a liberal arts degree which in some cases isn't worth the sheep skin it's printed on.

 I know of what I speak because in the late 1970's, I had a friend who graduated with a liberal arts degree. The reason for this decision was actually kind of stupid; a guitar player in one of his favorite bands, Hot Tuna, had a liberal arts degree, so he thought getting a liberal arts degree was a good idea. See? I told you it was kind of stupid. Anyhoo, following graduation my friend found it extremely hard to get a job with his measly degree. One company executive told him that as far as he was concerned, a liberal arts degree meant four more years of high school. Eventually, he did land a good paying gig, but the company ended up sending him back to school to add to his rather flimsy college education.

 Now in George's case the soup thickens; his liberal arts degree is in screen writing. Yeah, there sure is a lot of demand for screen writers in Baltimore, Maryland. Is Bill George an arrogant dick or what? Because of George's penchant for rewiring my work and then having the balls to tell me I should be grateful for his improvements, I began referring to him as The Bard Of Baltimore. (Just as an aside: I didn't know until a year or two ago that this appellation was actually given to that writer/genius Edgar Allen Poe. I used it as an derisive insult to self proclaimed genius Bill George, a self impressed prick if ever there is one.) I even went on several IMDb message boards to disown any of my interviews that George saw fit to completely rewrite using that special auctorial magic only he, that Wizard of Words, can provide. I felt that George treated me like a talentless hack, whose sole talent was the ability to turn the tape recorder on and off  during an interview.

 However, at one point I won a small victory: after one of our arguments, George went to one of his friends as well as The Red Hot Planet's webmaster JB, showed them my article and asked," Isn't this terrible? Doesn't it need rewriting?" They both replied," There's nothing wrong with his article, it's his style." I would have enjoyed being a fly on the wall for that: imagine the look on Bill Georges face, egg splattered all over, as his delusions of superiority were dashed before his eyes. It felt really good to win for once and have George put in his place, if only temporarily. To be contined..... I ain't done yet.

The Capitol Riots Suspects : Chickens Come Home To Roost.

 

 

QAnon Shaman: The Unemployed Actor Formerly Known as Jacob Chansley

                                                                                                                              

            

      On that fateful day, January 6 of this year the unthinkable happened : The Insurrection at the Capitol  in Washington; a violent, deadly protest in which five people died. The reason: they believed the election of Joseph Biden to the office of the presidency was stolen from Donald Trump. Instead of a peaceful, civil protest, these bunch of rabble rousing yahoos stormed the Capitol building causing the death of five people.                                                                                                                              

       The terrible part is that President, a man I used to admire, whipped the crowd into such a frenzy

 that destruction and violence were inevitable. Equally distasteful was Trumps pronouncement " I will 

be there with you." Instead the former President hid like a coward, later claiming, " I meant I was 

going to be with them in spirit." Now wait a freaking minute. There is a damn sight difference between 

 " I will be there with you" and " I will be there in spirit." But the pro Trump crowd bought his rhetoric  like the obedient sheep(or sheeple as I call them) that they are and marched upon the Capitol Building    resulting in death, mayhem and destruction.                                                                                                

In an interesting turn of events, some of the suspects are now conveniently doing a complete 

360 and are now humble and contrite. Could it be that their consciences are bothering them and 

they realize the wrongs they did on that day? Nah. I think it's a case of: they know of the shitstorm

that's coming their way and they're attempting to minimalize any damage that may come raining 

down upon them. Whatever consequences befall them are well deserved. Jail time? It's a 

possible given. Financial ruin? Just might happen. Job loss? It sure looks that way. And all of it

 will be well  deserved by this motley lot of slobbering morons who "acted in the moment."  

The person who deserves a lot of discredit for actions below and beneath contempt is  the doofus 

calling himself QAnon Shaman, whose actual name is the more prosaic Jacob Chansley. In an 

attempt to soften the blow of impending justice, Q-Tip Sha Na Na(as I call him),along with his mommy, is pleading for leniency. Q-Tip has even claimed he stopped some of the rioters from stealing muffins from the break room. Oh my God, he put himself in harms way by preventing the theft of Government Muffins! What a bastion of freedom and liberty! He should get a Medal of Freedom Award from the President! Actually, Q-Tip should smacked in the head with a two by four instead.     

Q-Tip also claimed that he wasn't shouting. Oh no, he was peacefully chanting. Um, sorry Bub, that plane won't fly. There's video of you jumping up and down like a Mexican jumping bean, waving a stick, or something like it, and yes, shouting. So don't try to rewrite the facts in order to create a new narrative. The facts are incontrovertible.                                                                                               

   I don't want people thinking this clown represents the Conservative or Republican Party in any 

  way, shape or form. We are people who believe in less Government spending, less interference in 

     our personal lives and adherence to The Constitution as our fore father's conceived it. Some bozo      wearing a Viking helmet, fur vest, with designs painted on his chest is not like any conservative 

     that I  know. Nor is he anyone that I want to be thought of as a representative of the Republican              party. He's a loser. A joke. An unemployed actor who lives with his mom. Q-Tip Sha Na Na is not 

to be taken seriously by anyone. Except for those nut cake lunatic fringe groups.                    

 As for suspects like Josiah Colt and Dominic Pezzola, Richard Barnett, Jenny Cudd and Derrick Evans, among others, you can bet the last dollar in your collective pockets this incident will follow you around like an ugly, flea bitten dog for the rest of your lives. Don't expect me or anyone else to feel sorry for any of you. To paraphrase an old saying: You've shit the bed. Now go lie in it.                                      

                                              

                              All Hail Q-Tip Sha Na Na! Protector of The Breakroom Muffins!

The Story About The Cover Of Death On Highway 13

                                                             

                                 

Now, I'm the kind of person who usually doesn't dole out advice unless specifically asked. It's just my nature. However, these days with the proliferation of  E books being put out by aspiring writers I would like to offer one piece of hopefully sage council: it's about the cover of your book. The cover is the first thing prospective readers will see, so you should present the kind of artwork that immediately catches a persons eye and draws them in. If you have an anemic looking cover the reader may look elsewhere . In my opinion, the cover is the door, the book itself is the inside of the room. A writers job is to get the reader into that room and tell them your story.  

Some  E book  publishing companies offer to provide you with a cover, for a fee, and they use a company called Think Stock that has templates. These self publishing companies will simply choose the template that comes closest to matching the title of your book and Voila!, you've got a cover. Many times the poor author is stuck with a lackluster cover. The person looking at it will probably think, "Meh. Not worth it."

When I wrote Death On Highway 13, I envisioned the cover as described in the prolog as a truck driving away leaving a dead body in the street. The corpse resembles a child's doll after the kid had tired of it and has thrown the doll away; crumpled up with wide, staring eyes. You might be thinking, " That sounds like a good idea. Joe should draw it himself."

However there was one teensy-weensy problem: I can't draw to save my life. In fact, my high school art teacher once wrote on my report card: Joe has a lot of imagination, but little to no artistic ability. Ouch! So the hunt was on to find an artist to bring my vision to life. The ones I contacted were rather expensive and I simply did not have the funds to pay them for their work. 

I did make the acquaintance of a woman who claimed to be a talented artist and would draw my cover for $400.00. I made the huge, walrus sized mistake of giving her the money first. One day, the so-called artist dropped by my house to show me what she had done so far. It was awful. It was amateurish. She claimed it was just a rough painting and that she was getting ready to put the finishing touches which would look wonderful. Stupidly enough, I didn't know where this woman lived. All I had was a phone number. I blindly trusted her. When I called her to find out when my cover would be delivered, all I got was: This person's voice mail box is full and is unable to receive any calls. For about a month I called the number she gave me and always got the same answer. So I got zip, zilch, nada, zero for my money. Four hundred dollars down the drain. If I remembered the name of this woman, I'd tell everyone across the web to avoid this con artist at all costs.

So, back to square one. In the meantime, I discovered a website  called  Fiverr where you can find artists. Luckily for me I found an artist named Chiara Noemi Monaco from Italy. This time, I paid $180.00 and she asked me what I wanted. I described the cover I had in my mind. When she showed me the finished product, I damn near had a hundred heart attacks and at my age that's not a good thing. Of course, I exaggerate mightily, but that's how much I loved Chiara's illustration. She took my vision and added in her own creativity. 

Remember, the first thing that commands a potential readers attention is a killer cover. It draws and hopefully, rivets their attention to your novel. From that point on, your words and story telling ability do the rest.  When you get right down to it, it's really up to you, the self published author, to promote your novel to the world at large.