LOS ANGELES, April 11 – It must be a fart reference.

The guy’s shirt that says GOT GAS? in white lettering on black. I’m guessing it must be a fart reference. I mean, I could be wrong, but that’s where I’m putting my money. Guy’s shirt is a big fart joke done up to look like a GOT MILK? add.

Witty bit of pop cultural repurposing that.

The shirt goes with the look: Shaggy backwoods bar fly via Southern California beach town.

He goes with the place.

He goes with the taped up red vinyl and the candles in red glass holders and the popcorn machine at the end of the bar and the bottle of Four Roses and the PBR on tap.

He does not, however, go at all well with the karaoke machine.

The first question that comes to mind walking into the place is, why the hell is there karaoke happening at 4 in the afternoon? I ask this having long ago given up asking why karaoke happens at all. By now I’ve resigned myself to its existence and my personal belief that it must be the result of some profoundly fucked up shit I did in a previous life. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Clearly I once burned an entire orphanage to the ground and urinated on the ashes of dead babies. For this crime I am being, quite justifiably I admit, punished with karaoke.

I regret the rest of the world is forced to pay the price alongside me.

Justice, she’s a cruel bitch, and sometimes her sword cuts down the innocent along with the guilty.

I’m trying to live a better life this time. In hopes of a karaokeless reincarnation.

A better world for all.

He’s singing.

Man, he’s belting it out. Song after song.

Think about it. Karaoke at 4 in the afternoon. The crowd is light. The rotation at the mic is thin. There’s a group of college kids celebrating someone’s birthday, doing Jager shots and taking turns singing Donna Summer tunes and the Grease soundtrack. The fellow who runs the karaoke likes to step up and tear off the occasional number. Leaning heavily into top 40 whiney rock ballads.

That leaves every third tune or so for the guy with the clever shirt.

GOT GAS?

Guy’s got a voice on him. Guy’s got a voice, sounds like I don’t know what. Sounds like he’s been eating gravel and drinking broken glass his whole life. Sounds like he’s got a belly full of both right now and he’s fighting to keep it all from coming up his gullet.

The words weren’t on the screen to read, you’d have no fucking clue what the guy’s singing.

The melody, it’s getting eaten alive. Has no chance going against that voice.

First number, it’s almost over before I realize he’s been singing Glory Days. Song’s got like five lyrics. Way he sings, you’d never know he was on the chorus. Guy sings LALALA, each LA sounds different. Each sounds like a different cat puking a different essential organ into its food dish.

Guy’s got a voice.

Kids get up, two of them, sing Ebony and Ivory. One of them’s black. They think it’s cute. Song generally sends me into a murderous rage. Just now, it feels like tonic in my ears. A soothing interlude that allows the scar tissue forming on the nerve endings inside my drums to stop bleeding for a minute.

But songs end.

Guy’s got a voice.

Gets up there, one of those karaoke intros start, the ones that make you think, what fucking song is this? Guy starts singing.

Sounds unhealthy. Sounds like a curse. Sounds like I did worse that burn an orphanage. Sounds like I must have blown up a nunnery. Bit the heads off fuzzy bunnies at children’s parties. Eviscerated Santa, fed his intestines to the reign deer and did unspeakable things to Mrs. Claus.

Swear, the sound coming from his mouth, sounds like it’s from another dimension.

Sounds like forbidden chants from a dark universe, intended to open portals and let in Cthulu and the pantheon of Elder Gods.

Fucking hell, he’s singing I Will Always Love You.

A song guaranteed to open a vortex to another reality.

Finding a new bar,

Charlie

Ask and Yee Shall…

I whined a bit here recently about odd pairing between some my books and some legitimate works of literature on Amazon. I was mostly riffing on how amusing it was to discover CAUGHT STEALING being offered at a discount when purchased along with THE RAZOR’S EDGE. I will, however, admit to thinking at the time that it would be nice if my books were offered at a twofer discount when paired with my books. Good for me, good for my readers. Yum. Well, turns out someone at my publisher, Random House, read the post, contacted someone at Amazon, and whiiiizzzzap! My books are now paired with my books. And, while I will miss the random poetry of being lumped with the likes of Isabel Allende, I am delighted to be in my own company. More to the point, if the responsible parties are reading this, my thanks. It’s more than gratifying to have someone from your publisher sense a bit of annoyance on the part of one of their writers and take action. Small beans, yes. But it made me feel good. Thanks.

Thing, Man-Thing

Marvel’s Legion of Monsters #3 is out this week. I wrote the Man-Thing story. Klaus Jansen drew the pictures. I like it. Maybe you will, too.

Magic Bus

Spring is here and it is time for the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books. Fuck, man, it’s a freaking festival of books. I must go. And go I shall. In fact, I’m gonna ride a fucking bus there on 4/28 from Vroman’s Books in Pasadena with a bunch of readers. To find out how to ride that sucker and watch what I’m like at 8:30 in the morning, go HERE. Or you can stop by the Mystery Book Store booth (#411) on 4/28 at 10 a.m.