Christ, It's Been Over A Month Since I Last Updated This Thing!

You Can See Where My Priorities Lie

Ugh. Blogging. Seriously, seriously lame way to spend your time. So many better things to do out there, in the big, wide world! Go for a long-ass bike ride! Look at the stars! Go to the beach! Hit the gym and do some reps, Brah!

Yes, it's summer, and I'm a Canadian. As a Canadian, you must horde each warm, sunlit hour jealously. You'd kill for those precious hours ... because the cold, dreary tyranny of Winter always looms close in our hearts. Always. Seriously, winter fucking sucks. It's terrible.

Anyway, I know that I keep shooting my big, stupid mouth off about it, but the micro-fiction anthology that I'm putting out with The Assembly is, in fact, going to happen. Shit just takes time, is all. Relax! It's coming - by the end of August, you'll be able to download a copy or order a paperback online. Seriously! (I hope - now that I find myself still talking shit about it, aha). Shit just takes time, is all - oh wait, I already said that.

I've been (slowly) writing a series of micro-fiction shorts for a little while now that feature a narrator whom my Assembly cohort, StupidDialUp, has dubbed as "The Creepy Dos Equis Guy". He's an interesting character, this fella: he's an aristocratic member of old-money society ... a drunk, a playboy, a bit of a degenerate ... and a man who has had many, many brushes with the supernatural.

The Devil And Mr. Manciotti

Another splash of Chivas, young man? No? My dear boy, it's not even midnight, yet - at your age, I'd just be getting started at this hour! Very well, then; I shall have one for the both of us. Say there ... I heard, through a mutual acquaintance, that you'd recently lost a fair sum of money on a wager involving a sporting event. Oh, come now, my nephew - of course I'd know such a thing. Your stuffy, doddering old uncle has rubbed elbows with all kinds of unsavory characters in his day ... all kinds. You'd be surprised. I'll say this to you: you'd do well to stay away from Mr. Manciotti, the gentleman who brokered your wager. He's in league with the Devil, that man.
You see, back in leaner times, Mr. Manciotti was managing a number of illicit side-projects on the sly - profitable ventures that his bosses were not receiving the required dividend from. When they found out, they were not pleased - Mr. Manciotti had to come up with almost a hundred and fifty thousand dollars within 72 hours, or he would find himself at the bottom of a river. In those days, that was an astronomical sum of money - even through foul means, he could not hope to come up with such an amount in the required time-frame. With scant hours left to the deadline, however, Manciotti showed up at the Don's house with an expensive leather attache case, and he paid his due in full. Soon after, his fortunes rose rapidly, along with his status. Today, he is a very powerful man, indeed.
I asked him one night, as I shared a bottle of port with him in one of his night-clubs, how he'd ever managed to find so much money so quickly. The man gave me a narrow smile and said, "I made a deal with the Devil. Best decision I ever made. Hey, there he is, now - I'll be right back. Don't kill that bottle while I'm gone!" I snorted at this, and he excused himself from the table to join a tall, handsomely-dressed man who was waiting at the bar. They left for Manciotti's inner chambers, presumably to discuss business matters. I poured myself another drink and watched them ascend the lush spiral staircase, still chuckling, when I abruptly realized something: Manciotti's visitor didn't have feet beneath the fine hem of his trouser cuffs. He had hooves.


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