Posts Tagged ‘C-Jane



Interesting that Sober is the song playing as I write this. The drunken ramblings that are the Shortbus to Hell must change–as I’ve stated now for more than a year. These anonymous blah-blah-blatherings that we have all enjoyed are doing nothing for my career. C-Jane and I intentionally left Las Vegas so as to purge the mean-spirited attitude. I think our escape worked. Life here is not ‘perfect,’ for whatever that word means in reality, but the intense hate has fallen off.  Since its inception, the Shortbus was intended as a way to release hostility incurred by a purely apathetic society. I have left that society and so I’ve also abandoned my hostility. Now that anger serves no one.

I cannot delete the Shortbus, that would be wrong, but the frequency for which I post here will be greatly diminished.  I will eventually leave a link to my ‘professional’ blog, and then one for a new project that is in the works as we speak. Since I write fantasy fiction and I am a huge gaming dork, I’ve decided that I should do fan-fiction of the game Skyrim. It will be as niche as the Shortbus, but with a greater reach and attracting more readers that might buy my books. To continue investing in humorous, yet spiteful rants serves no one.

Those who have remained loyal to this kooky blog, don’t worry, I will still post here. I still have to give ‘Big-J’s presidential endorsement’ — which I promise you will love. Occasionally, if something fun happens, I’ll post it here, but reviews about entertainment need to go to my other blog, book reviews and author interviews belong there too. I’ve sought to post about once a week here on the Shortbus, and that is going to slow drastically. Here is one promised link for those who are interested.


Mr. Samson’s Excellent Adventure (Part 1)

We’d left San Diego and had to come back to Las Vegas for about 12 hours. My car was at C-Jane’s parents’ house as was Samson the cat. Sam doesn’t surf or do Karate, so he decided to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Calamity while we went to California. If he’d come along, we’d have taken Interstate 5 from San Diego straight up to Portland. With needing to go back for Sam and my car, we stayed one last night in Vegas at the Calamity house before leaving to Oregon.

I wake up early. It is how I roll. (Actually, I roll by tucking my arms around my knees and falling forward.)

It was 4:30 AM and we were hoping to leave before Las Vegas early rush hour clogged I-15. I wanted to check e-mail before we left, so I stumbled downstairs as Sam ran toward the back door. This is our normal routine — he waits for me to get up, then I let him outside before dawn so he can eat a couple bugs or whatever.

There is a stick in the sliding glass door. I bend over, remove it, and then unlatch the lock. I slide the door open to let Sam out as the house explodes with an awful noise. “BWEEP-BWEEP-BWEEP-BWEEP.” It is a violence inspiring sound. “Oh my Effin God!!” I set off the house alarm at 4:40 in the morning!!!

“BWEEP-BWEEP-BWEEP.” Samson is gone. Where? I haven’t a clue. Want to know why? “BWEEP-BWEEP-BWEEP.” It is maddening. I’m going to jam the pointed end of a pencil into my ears to stop this bone-liquefying noise. Running to the control panel, maybe there is an off button.

“BWEEP-BWEEP-BWEEP.” I’m at the panel, but I don’t have my glasses. There are a whole bunch of glowing green buttons. Meanwhile, “BWEEP-BWEEP-BWEEP.” C-Jane appears beside me and in one word says, “WhatTheF***DidYouDo?” Her scream is above “BWEEP-BWEEP-BWEEP.”

I ignore her silly question––obviously––I set off the alarm. Perhaps she meant it rhetorically, so I say, “Hurry, use the secret code to turn off the alarm!” I’m getting nauseated by “BWEEP-BWEEP-BWEEP.” How could a burglar endure this madness? I was ready to run away.

C-Jane doesn’t have her glasses either, so in panic she enters the wrong code. “BWEEP-BWEEP-BWEEP.” Appearing from out of the darkness is Mrs. Calamity and I cry out “Oh my God I’m going to die!!” But she is merciful, and she was smart enough to bring her glasses. “BWEEP-BWEEP-blip—ahhhhh.”

I felt like Chewbacca in the sonic torture room in The Empire Strikes Back. Mrs. Calamity chastens C-Jane, “Why didn’t you turn it off?” Yes, I’m off the hook. I made myself really small and slinked away, leaving C-Jane to handle this battle. As I’m making my break the phone starts ringing, but it is sounds so quiet I almost couldn’t hear it. Shell-shock will do that to you.

On the phone is the security company. Mrs. Calamity tells the operator, “Sorry, it is a false alarm, MY daughter did it.” Whew, looks like being the favorite son-in-law has its value. Sorry K-Dog, I snatched the crown from off your head.

I’m grinning, but C-Jane is steaming.

Mr. Calamity never even stirred. He slept through everything and woke up with a smile, and said he’d miss the cat. Poor Samson. He was a broken, nervous mess, hiding behind the couch. This is just the beginning of his bad day. Little does he know, in less than twelve hours, he’d be 550 miles north in Twin Falls, Idaho.

C-Jane has a great picture of Samson and she said if I used her intellectual property she’d sue me for copyright infringement. Really?


Writing, because I have to

I’m pretty excited—well, about as excited as Big-J ever gets. My second novel is being released on September 1st. I am very happy with book II. It is the next evolution of my abilities as a fiction writer. It is like heroin hitting the brain of a junkie who’s been dry for days.

I write better than Snoopy

I have a short story that will be released in an anthology on the exact same day. Sadly, because of all the rotten things I say here, I cannot say which novel or anthology. I realized to vent all these toxic things were to be rid of them. Now you know the truth to why I do this blog. At one time I believed it was possible to get to the bottom of this deep well of unpleasant feelings so I could begin writing about kittens and cute little bunny rabbits. It didn’t turn out that way and I’ve accepted this is where I exercise with my demons. It may look like a lot of jumping-jacks and running in place, but my demons are getting stronger. Put simply, I write these things because I have to.

Actually, the truth hurts a lot more than being punched in the face.

When I write crazy/mean stuff about rotten Las Vegas, it is skeleton work for a story or a character that hasn’t been written yet. Today’s poison is tomorrow’s tonic. I wonder if when I get to the ‘Beaver State’ I’ll become nicer. When I lived in Dallas I was still cynical, but never quite this mean. The saying is, “No matter where you go, there you are,” but is this me? Does environment have an effect on my personality? We shall see.

“Who was that masked man?”

I expect some interesting posts coming up on the Shortbus. I have Part Two of Exit Strategy formulated and it just requires a brave adventure to the Strip for a few pictures. It’ll be the last thing I’ll write before disassembling my desktop. By this time next week, C-Jane and I will be homeless. It is only for a week, but that by itself has got to be worth a post or two. C-Jane will participate in a Karate Belt Test in San Diego during our period of exile. I hope to do lots of crappy photo-shopping merged with a healthy dose of creative bullshitting.

Don’t worry about Samson the Cat. He will not be homeless with us. C-Jane’s parents will give shelter to the Sam Cat. Then he’ll get together with us for our road trip to Oregon. Expect at least one Sam post before the end of September.


White Trash Jack on the Rocks


So, how are you feeling today?


I’m okay. I was sober for a while (again), but then reality became annoying (again). You who’ve been following for some time know my pattern. I am sober from time to time, but it is only because of vanity. I’ll tell you why in the next paragraph.


I’m not fat, I’m just big boned. In my second book, there is a character I describe as being with “scrawny little legs — like string beans in skin-tight avocado pantaloons. By drastic contrast, it appeared as if the little guy had tucked a small melon under his shirt.” I’m not sure if that melon is the result of drinking for that character, but I’m positive it is the case for this author. I do some very evil things to that poor undeserving fellow. I wonder if there is some sort of twisted projection of self-loathing instilled upon that poor bastard.


Sometimes, I sober up to make that melon go away and I swear to you, on the day I stop drinking LIFE is waiting to attack me with brass knuckles. I hate whining to you, if you ride the Shortbus, you already know some of the fun we’ve had over the last couple of months. I could add another wheelbarrow full of shit, but I’m not going to, not tonight.


C-Jane––hero of the free world––has been writing about food. She writes about books, and then she writes about food. She is super-loved by 6000 more people than me. I decided that I want to capitalize on her glory, ride on her coattails for a while.

Today, I’m giving you a recipe that will make her very jealous. Here is my recipe, and it is an original.


White Trash Jack on the Rocks

You will need:

6 cubes of ice

2 ½ ounces of Gentleman Jack Whiskey

1 hammer (bigger isn’t better, whatever.)

1 Ziplock bag (don’t be cheap, use premium bags.)



Take six cubes of ice. Place them gently into Ziplock baggie. Remove excess air from the bag to avoid disaster. Seal baggie, then take hammer and beat the holy-F out of those damn deserving ice cubes––make them pay for all that is wrong in this world.


Feel better? Good, now take those battered fragments of abused water and put them in a rocks glass, measure out two shots of Gentleman Jack Whiskey, add those wonderful ounces of liquid ecstasy to your rocks glass and you’ve got Big-J’s White Trash Jack on the Rocks. Yay, now FTW.


PS. C-Jane, you better not steal my recipe. Read it…and weep.






Absentee Message #2

(I’ve gotten away from Legal Disclaimers — see about author if you are insulted by anything I’ve written.)


I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. It isn’t that there hasn’t been anything to write about over the past couple of weeks, it is that I haven’t been feeling very nice. I’m tired of being mean all the time. I’m trying to be a happier fellow — all smiles and stuff.

Being a writer is one thing, but being a respected writer is a real pain in the ass. I hate political correctness. I prefer to be genuine, and at my core, genuine isn’t nice.

I’m rubbing elbows with some fantastically great writers. I shared a cool little conversation with Michael Sullivan the other day, and if I get brave enough, I’ll ask him if he’d like to do an interview. I just got published along-side some up and coming authors like Gary W. Olson, Mark Lawrence, Gene O’Neill, Nick Cato, Lee Mather, and Edward M Erdelac to name a few. I hope to capture a couple interviews with some of them as well. I’ve established an ally with book critic Ryan Lawler. Next week, I’m having  lunch with horror writer Tim Marquitz — I’m reading his fourth in the Demon Squad series and hope to have a review of it posted in the next couple of weeks.

All of the above things are happening because I haven’t been being my typical dick-self.

Anyhow, C-Jane has a big karate tournament in Riverside California on Saturday. I hope to write a post before I head to Texas for an important graduation in Dallas, and then on to meet Mr. Marquitz in El Paso. The next couple weeks should open plenty of awesome opportunities, and maybe I can stay nice about them.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Wrong Way Down by Jake  Elliot

The Wrong Way Down

by Jake Elliot

Giveaway ends June 01, 2012.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win


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