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14 Mar

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New baseball fiction

14 Jan

Bill Barrister is riddled with almost crippling anxiety, the kind of nervous condition that prevents him from having any kind of normal life. Once a teenage pitching phenom, he finds temporary calm…

Source: New baseball fiction

The meaning of life on a fall night

1 Nov

mreuther

Professor Fred Moran peered into the darkness of the woods. The rustling sound from deep in the forest had faded.
“Hell-o-o-o-o … ” he yelled rather tentatively.
“Forget it Fred. The bear is gone.”
“Bear? Who said anything about a bear?” Moran lowered his trusty cane, Misty Blue and came back to the campfire where Ritter and Reuther were huddled, their faces aglow from the flames.
“I suppose the Penumbra State Spy Network is out there again,” Reuther said.
“Yeah,” chortled Ritter. “Out to track down Fred and his stolen manuscripts.”
“Real cloak and dagger dangerous missions,” laughed Reuther
Moran took two steps forward and pointed a finger at them. “Now that’s enough right there.”
“Aw lighten up Fred,” Reuther said. “The days of cold war literary espionage are gone.”
“Quite right,” said Ritter, pulling out his pipe and his pouch of tobacco. “They want to steal your stuff they…

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The meaning of life on a fall night

1 Nov

Professor Fred Moran peered into the darkness of the woods. The rustling sound from deep in the forest had faded. “Hell-o-o-o-o … ” he yelled rather tentatively. “Forget it …

Source: The meaning of life on a fall night

The meaning of life on a fall night

1 Nov

Professor Fred Moran peered into the darkness of the woods. The rustling sound from deep in the forest had faded.
“Hell-o-o-o-o … ” he yelled rather tentatively.
“Forget it Fred. The bear is gone.”
“Bear? Who said anything about a bear?” Moran lowered his trusty cane, Misty Blue and came back to the campfire where Ritter and Reuther were huddled, their faces aglow from the flames.
“I suppose the Penumbra State Spy Network is out there again,” Reuther said.
“Yeah,” chortled Ritter. “Out to track down Fred and his stolen manuscripts.”
“Real cloak and dagger dangerous missions,” laughed Reuther
Moran took two steps forward and pointed a finger at them. “Now that’s enough right there.”
“Aw lighten up Fred,” Reuther said. “The days of cold war literary espionage are gone.”
“Quite right,” said Ritter, pulling out his pipe and his pouch of tobacco. “They want to steal your stuff they go online.”
Moran looked deflated. He shuffled off toward the fire and slumped to the pile of rocks he’d fashioned earlier that evening as a seat. “Alas. Who cares about my stuff anyway? I’m a hack.”
“Er … now wait a minute,” said Ritter, taking a long drag on his pipe as he studied his old mentor. “That piece you wrote earlier this year on Annie Klondike. Top notch, I thought.”
“Right,” added Reuther. “I mean … the sexual tension was not only erotic, but clearly showed the underpinnings of fading youth.”
Moran nodded his head. “It certainly was one of my favorite sections of the book.”
“Buck up Fred. You still have it.”
“Even if your powers of sexual virility have faded,” added Reuther.
Moran looked from Ritter to Reuther. He emitted a long sigh and peered skyward. “What the hell are we doing here anyway?”
“Camping,” shrugged Reuther. “What else?”
“No I mean … What are we doing?”
Ritter took a long pull on his pipe and studied Moran.
“Sometimes I think life is just one long masturbation,” Moran said.
“Mmmmm …” mused Ritter as he took another long pull on his pipe.
“Just might be at that,” said Reuther.
The three of them stared at the dancing flames of the fire. A soft wind shook the bare limbs of the trees on this late October evening.
“You’ve certainly given us something to think about Fred,” said Ritter.

Sex isn’t everything

31 Oct

mreuther

Professor Fred Moran and Jon Ritter stared into the canyon rapids of the Roaring Fork. It was a fine October day in the Rockies, and Ritter, at least, was hell-bent on enjoying the final days of warm weather before the snows came.
“Thing is,” said Ritter, snapping a twig and tossing it onto the small stream-side fire, “I think a trip to Alaska next summer is on my itinerary.”
“Righto,” said Moran, stabbing at the flames with his cane, Misty Blue before pirouetting and making another stab at the flames. “I hear there’s a fine fencing club up in the Yukon.”
“Fencing?” Ritter shook his head at such an absurd notion. “You’re lucky if you find any such organizations up that way.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Moran, stopping to peer into the fire. He smiled and emitted a deep breath. “I’ll find something to keep me busy up there. Life is…

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Sex isn’t everything

31 Oct

Professor Fred Moran and Jon Ritter stared into the canyon rapids of the Roaring Fork. It was a fine October day in the Rockies, and Ritter, at least, was hell-bent on enjoying the final days of wa…

Source: Sex isn’t everything