I try to send out an email each month informing my pals of what new wonders I’ve posted on my website, Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen. I encourage, okay I beg, you folks go to my website and read my latest stuff. I know you already know that. Isn’t that why you’re reading this now. Anyway, some of my come-ons or teasers are kinda cute. Here are some of my emails that you’ve deleted over the last five years. Doesn’t that make you feel bad? No?
Up For a Mystery
The days are getting shorter and the air is a bit nippy in the mornings. I’ll bet you could use something to warm the cockles of your heart? What the hell are cockles, anyway, you ask? I just looked it up and cockles of the heart means the core of one’s being. Aren’t you glad we cleared that up? Anyway, take a look at my latest story, Way over My Head at Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen and see what it does to your cockles.
Damn It’s Dark
Damn it’s dark in here. Blacker than black. I can’t see a thing. Maybe if I inch along this wall, or what feels like a wall, I’ll find a switch or something. Ouch! That must be a table. What ever it is, it has sharp, sharp corners, I mumble to myself as I rub the new bruise on my right thigh. It seems as if its getting darker, if that’s even possible. Wait! Wait, what is that? It looks like a faint line of light coming from under what must be a door. I creep along faster now. It is a door. The light is more like the glow of a candle than the brilliance of a lamp. I fumble for the knob. It turns. I slowly open the door afraid of what might be waiting for me on the other side. It takes a second or two for my eyes to adjust and then I see it…er…her, a beautiful young woman silhouetted in very faint light. The light is coming from what must be a computer on her lap. Not wanting to startle this ghost-like beauty I blurt out, “Hey.”
“Shush,” she whispers in an eerie voice. “I’m reading Bob’s new posting at Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen.”
It’s about Time
In a modest home in a +55 retirement community in Southern New Mexico. The wind howls in the background
SHE: Why did you take so long to write your story?
BOB: I don’t know. Maybe I was waiting for the statute of limitations for stupidity to run out.
SHE: There is no statute of limitations for stupidity. Stupidity is forever.
BOB: I know I know. I’ve been to the George W. Bush Presidential Library.
SHE: Seriously Bob, what took you so long?
BOB: Why don’t you quit nagging and read my story. It’s all true, I swear.
SHE: You swear a lot. Where in the hell is it?
BOB: It’s attached it to this email. Now get hot. Let me know what you think.
She clicks on When Lunacy Ruled (or thought they did) while Bob opens his seventh beer. Sam Cooke croons Just Another Day softly in the background
Got Anything Better To Do?
I hold her passionately in my arms; slowly ripping the cloth from her bosom and as my moist lips touch her ear, I whisper suggestively, “Have you read Bob’s new postings at Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen?”
She struggles to catch her breath and murmurs between gasps, “I especially liked the story Bob wrote for his friend Joe, and his new book looks like a wonderful read. What are we doing here? Let’s go read Bob’s blog together.”
Priorities Are Priorities
Just as the earth was starting to move, she murmured in my ear in a wantonly, breathless gasp, “Have you checked out Bob’s new postings at Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen.” The romantic mood was shattered. I jumped out of bed and raced to my computer. She begged me to come back to her, but I had to read Bob’s new stories. Priorities are priorities.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, PRIVATE?”
“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”
“Sir, I was…was looking at my iPad. Sir.”
“PRIVATE, WE DON’T USE THOSE THINGS IN MY MARINE CORPS. WHAT WERE YOU LOOKING AT, GIRLY PICTURES? PORN?”
“Sir. No sir, I was just reading Bob’s latest postings at Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen. Sir.”
“Oh, that’s different. What did Bob have to say this month?”
A Night at My House
It was an atramentous (dark) and tempestuous (stormy) night. The wind was howling and the shutters were banging against the house in loud explosions. We had lost power and were almost out of candles, when she put down her brandy, caressed my hand, and whispered in my ear, “Let’s go to bed, Honey. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I fumbled along the dark hall, confused, and then I saw a dim light under the door to the study. I threw open the door and there she was, sitting at the computer.
She turned in her chair and with a giggle gasped, “You must read Bob’s latest postings at Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen.”
10,000 Is a Big Number
My humble little web site Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen had its ten thousandth pageview last month. 10,166 to be exact. I know pageviews are a goofy unit of measure but that’s what the folks that power my blog keep. If you go to my website and read two stories that counts as two pageviews even though each story may be ten pages long. So storyviews or postviews would be more accurate terms, but what do I know. Anyway, I want to thank all of you that read my stuff. That’s everyone except that damn Russian that keeps sending me ads for his porn site in Russian. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against Russian porn per se, it’s just that I don’t trust anyone that says things like: большие красивые груди. Do you think it’s a hang-up left over from the Cold War.
Psst – don’t tell anyone that I told you—but that above Russian phrase translates to big beautiful breasts. Not so bad, huh?
A Slight Tingle up Your Spine
Have I got a story for you? I was playing games on my computer when this thing speaks to me from cyber-space or some such hi-tech place. I still haven’t figured out who she was or why this bitch is on my case. I am anxious to hear what you think after you read Carla at Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen. Let me know.
PS: If you know how to get rid of her, tell me, please!
Some Bubbly down Her . . .
I closed the door with my foot, balancing a tray holding two glasses of champagne. “I brought you something,” I whispered to my sleeping beauty. Opening her eyes, she pushed down the cream-colored satin sheet enough to lift her hand. She took the crystal flute, smiled wickedly, and then pushed the sheet past her naked breasts, down to her abdomen. Slowly, she poured the champagne between her breasts and murmured, “I must read Bob’s new postings at: Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen first.”
In the crowded living room of a modest but tastefully decorated retirement home. Partially filled wineglasses are scattered around the room. A coyote howls in the distance
Bob: Stands in front of the seated group waving his right fist with his index finger fully extended
Group: One word!
Bob: Makes a stretching motion with his arms
Group: Big word.
Bob: Nods agreement as he repeatedly traces a rectangle in the air in front of him with his forefinger
Bob: Shakes his head no as he begins typing on an imaginary keyboard in front of his rectangle
Group: Typewriter, keyboard, computer…
Bob: Interrupts by repeatedly pointing to the person shouting computer
Bob: Nods concurrence as he picks this imaginary substance from his shoulder, neck and hair
Group: Lint, fuzz…ah…I know, spider web.
Bob: Points excitedly as he makes a coming together motion with his thumb and forefinger
Bob: Nods as he pushes his open hands together again and again
Group: (silent for a moment) Together…computer web…computer web…
Bob: Eagerly nods as he makes the stretching motion again
Group Computer web…er…site, computer web site. (Everyone cheers)
Bob: Excitedly makes a come-on sign over and over
Bob: Waves his arms in encouragement
Group: (the group is very excited now and everyone is yelling) Google.com, Amazon.com…ebay.com…yahoo.com. (suddenly the room is silent) I know I know…toomuchtequila.typepad.com
Bob: (the crowd cheers as Bob speaks for the first time) You got it, you got it, Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen
The scene closes with raucous sounds of laughter over the subtle clinking of fine crystal wineglasses. The coyote howls again
Is It e After i Or The Other Way Around?
Does our language sometimes get under your skin? Do you wonder how to pronounce tear? Is it a rip or a drop of moisture? Who the hell knows? And do you get confused over whether to use whether or weather. Well, I deal with all of this and a lot more in this month’s posting titled: Who Shall We Blame, the English? And, who dreamt up these goofy quantities like a bed of clams or a den of thieves or how about an ounce of prevention. Does a bed a den or an ounce mean anything to you? If you’ve ever wondered about this I’ve got a story for you I titled: How Many Was That? You can read both of these thought provoking pieces at: Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen.
Hurry and read this stuff. There will be a quiz on Wednesday.
Ready for Some Fun
Ready for some fun? While you curl up in front to your kiva on these cold winter nights you could be reading my new book, Alone in the Dark. It’s a collection of the all of the humorous stuff I’ve been dishing out for the past five years. It will warm your heart and maybe even put a grin on your face. You can’t say that about too many things now days can you? Okay, enough crass commercialism, I’ve also posted a piece that had the Deming Writing Group rolling on the floor with laughter. I hope it was laughter because they looked awfully funny rolling around on the floor. Anyway, I titled it: I Was Just Wondering. In this in-depth piece I explore all of the questions and heavy issues that have been keeping me up at night. I don’t answer any, mind you; I just explore ’em. Got it? Go to Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen read my story, chuckle a bit then buy my book. No excuses—like you’re too busy or some such nonsense.
Have you had it with Christmas shopping and all of this, so called, holiday cheer? If you’d rather break out the eggnog than look for that special gift for Aunt Martha, I know how you feel. I’m there. Throw down that catalog―it’s too late to order anything, anyway. Put away those Christmas cards you haven’t got out yet and read my latest postings at: Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen.
I’ve written a rant that will strike home with you. I titled it: Who Do We Think We Are? And I (I know it’s hard to believe) had a bit too much sake the other night and thought I was a poet. Okay, you’ve been there too. I feel better now knowing that I’m not the only one. Anyway, you can judge my poetic skills, or complete lack thereof, by reading: Haiku after too much Sake.
ah ... Bah Humbug ... er ... Happy Holidays
Hot Enough for You?
Have the dog days of summer got you down? Now that I ask, did you ever wonder why we blame these uncomfortably hot days on poor old Fido? Well you see the ancient Romans actually thought that since the Dog Star, Sirius was so bright this time of year that it must be responsible the little extra heat. Kinda like a little second sun. Okay, you probably already knew this and people get pissed when you lecture them on things they already know. How about we call this time of year the habañero chili days, the way-to-hot-to-do-anything-days.
The real reason I’m sending you this note has nothing to do with the dog or habañero chili days of summer, it is to plug my website so that I might entice you to read a couple of my new pieces, Storytelling a humorous little anecdote and rant I call Knock off this Name Calling. Now get to Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen before it gets too hot.
Her Lamp Is Still On
Her lamp is still on. Maybe, just maybe if I sneak over to her bed we could make a little whoopee. How’d I ever let her talk me into these damn twin beds? That was dumb. Dumb! Dumb! He eases back the covers and crawls out on the opposite side of his bed. He drops his pajama bottoms to the floor and quietly tiptoes to her bedside. She hasn’t noticed him. She’s totally engrossed in something she’s reading on her laptop. He stoops and gently reaches for her under her covers. He is even more excited when he feels her bare skin.
His touch startles her. She pushes his hand away and screams, “NOT NOW, I’m reading Bob’s new stories at Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen.