Hello you patient, clever and tasteful internet browsing folk …

This is now the home of tbaoo and my silly writing. Due to ugly back of house sales and tech support failures I’ve moved my nonsense to this my current host. This lovingly created blog is the result of the blending process. Much silly and odd will be offered here. Please take it as you find it but don’t leave a mess, a comment yes – but no mess.

Now that my short stories compilation has been formatted correctly and with the help of SmashWords, it has been distributed to those fine outlets that market ebooks … mine can be purchased ( or sampled ) for the uniquely wonderful price of “99 cents” … you can invest in the future of modern entertainment … here.

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Here’s a sample of my silly writing.

The scum bag who was aptly named Arthur Rummage, was arrested. He ended up dying in jail from a mysterious glandular disease, apparently contracted by a nasty case of man love without protection. It wasn’t the lack of a condom, it was that the recipient of his amorous and violent advances had serious connections and protection, while Arthur had none.

He was smashed into the smallest representation of a human the morgue had ever seen. The cause of death was put down to glandular disease, all his glands, organs, limbs, bones and bits were compacted that much it caused disease. Arthur was trolly’d to the morgue like one of those compressed cars you see on tv, the ones that become installation art pieces. more ?

Or Maybe.

Ralph had an old leather bound daily planner that he continually filled with torture and murderous scenarios. He would figure out when and how he could act the latest of these scenarios. He’d always practiced the timing, the capture, the hiding and the alibi should anyone become suspicious. He’d been very careful, except for this night, Betty’s snooping would force him into action. Decisive, yet somewhat clumsy action.

Betty had flipped through some pages and seemed to remember a few of the methods outlined within. She watched a lot of cable news and she’d also seen many a news documentary on the crime channel. The similarity of these local crimes and the scribblings in this book were all too real.

Well Betty do you like the plot lines ? more ?

And yet more.

Shizzle my nizzle – it would be come very prophetic, but moony didn’t know what that meant, neither prophetic nor a shizzllng of his shizzle. Life on the research station was returning to normal. Life is a strange word considering that only three personnel where alive. The rest were droids and the fixed auto bot things that kept the place running. Robert the wanker, the head scientist Carol and Moony.

Moony wasn’t attracted to Robert in any way, but he really had the hots for Carol, sure the droid pleasure girls were good, but Carol had that certain illusive, out of reach response that drove Moony mad. A certain something the droids could not replicate, a real in the flesh response.

So infatuated in fact he worried if this fixation would affect his tenure here at the research station. Indeed, whomever decided it should be called “The Science Palace in the Stars” should be blasted. T.S.P.S was so bloom’n hard to say. Robert struggled big time with this anagram as he added a very pronounced lisp to his afflictions, it was excruciating listening to him broadcast his daily reports. The console was waterproof, but shit it took a pounding of spit. Whereas Carol would as well if Moony had his way, spit and a pounding all over the place and often.

So back to work. Moony decided that the best way to pass away the days and nights of this pending 72 hour shift was to dream, not like the classic “Dream of Electric Sheep”, but dream of the real Carol. She was a voluptuous bouncy female creature with an ample bosom, a sweet backside in the tight light grey overall uniform they were all forced to wear and she had a smile that tricked Moony into thinking she really fancied him back. This return of affection was purely in Moony’s mind, as Carol had not shown any such interest.  more ?

Oh yes – there’s more.

Incredibly he had nothing to say. His normally glib, cynically sharp and sometimes rude response was nowhere to be heard. This was rather odd as he’d managed to upset more than a few people over the years and used to delight in doing so. He sat there wondering about his yearning for a glamorous lifestyle and that it seemed to be crashing down into a big fat “less than glamorous” one.

He couldn’t quite understand why. He’d tried his best to be something he’d be proud of but he’d always managed to fall short. He could be quick and bite back at you with an insult, although not as clever as a drag queen’s comeback, but reasonably sharp nonetheless. He sat there and decided. He’d run for a political office. He’d compromise his integrity, refocus his moral compass and adapt his public view on life’s key points. Points such as tolerance, respect, women’s rights, lgbt rights and his basic honesty settings, he’ll become a politician. more ?

No really – there’s more. 

Debbie had choices to make. Difficult life changing choices. Any action will have major ramifications. What to do? when to do it? and how may it flow from the turmoil of her twisted mind. Debbie was very twisted – troubled and completely unsure of her role in current events. Debbie was a character Jill had thought of fleshing out. Giving her life, drama, love and life. But Jill was struggling and couldn’t be fu*ked. Just another rambling exercise that promotes no response, no depth and certainly no closure. That word is really overused and completely banal. Why would we think there is such a thing. Maybe a conclusion to the story, but it ain’t and won’t be closed. Jill just sat and looked at the screen. more ?


If you have some feedback, I’d love to hear it, share it and hopefully learn from it, while if you have criticism, i’d love to learn from that as well …. huge thanks in advance – alan.