Hollister Bootstone And The Tale Of The Night Robber
Spaghetti Noodles • Getting In Shape • I’m A Brand!
One Minute Wit
Spaghetti Noodles
If they made spaghetti noodles in Battleship Anchor Chain size,
you would only need one noodle per meal.
Walt & Stan
Getting In Shape
Now, that is impressive.
Poem
I’m A Brand!
Once I thought I was a writer
I didn’t understand
Being human’s so old school
I need to be a brand
Brands aren’t just for business now
They’re for people too
Don’t worry if you don’t know how
We’ll sell you what to do
Start with an ocean of self-promotion
Add a trilogy of “follow me”
A battering ram of sign up for spam
And a newsletter that’s free
Don’t worry about writing
That’s just a little bait
Use it to get them signed up
Just tell them that it’s great
Everything you do now
Must be to sell yourself
Use that nightmare, social media
If you want to gain some wealth
Be on Twitter and on Facebook
Put yourself on Instagram
Sure, it takes a lot of time
But it’s all part of the scam
Hammer home this message:
You must follow me [pause for dramatic effect]
If you want the good stuff
Only followers can see
It’s eighty percent marketing
And twenty percent talent
You have to sell, sell, sell, sell, sell
If you want to make your rent
Don’t worry if you don’t like it
Most advice is strange
Plus, in another year or two
All the rules will change
I wrote this before I started my Substack. Fortunately, I can just be me on Substack and don’t have to bother with promotion (most of my new subscribers come from the Substack network now.) Of course, I will never “make my rent” writing this stuff. 🤣 But that’s okay. I write as a creative outlet (I need to have one regularly to stay sane), and for the comments. Although, I do appreciate the extra burrito money my super-intelligent, big-hearted, wildly attractive paid subscribers so generously provide.
Somewhere In The Old West
Hollister Bootstone And The Tale Of The Night Robber
-1880-
The cold night gave way to the morning sun. Zebadiah Hardluck shook off the cold, got up, and began the long walk back to town. Thankfully, the stranger didn’t kill him. The campfire kept the desert from doing the same.
It would take the better part of the day to get to town, and he would be tired and hungry when he arrived. But a man without a horse ain’t got no choice in the matter. He can walk or stay where he is. And Zeb couldn’t stay in the desert. Not after last night. So he walked.
It was getting near sundown when Zeb dragged himself into the saloon and sat at the bar.
Clem, the bartender, took one look at Zeb and said, “Ain’t you a raggedy sight. What happened to you?”
“I got robbed last night. A stranger took my horse, my gun, and my pocket watch.”
“Tarnation,” Clem said and slid him a whiskey. “Here. This one is on me.”
Hollister Bootstone was sitting next to Zeb and said, “I’ll buy you dinner, old friend. But it will cost you the tellin’ of the tale.”
“Much obliged, Hollister.”
As Zeb ate, he gave Clem and Hollister an account of the robbery.
“I was camped for the night. You know I prefer to sleep under the stars. A roof over my head feels a bit like a prison to me. Well, I had just finished my dinner when I heard someone comin’. At first, all I could do was hear him. Then he stepped into the light of my campfire. He was swinging an ax and shoutin’ ‘Here chicky, chicky, chicky, chicken’ over and over again.”
“You didn’t think that was peculiar behavior?” Hollister asked.
“Well, now that I hear myself say it, perhaps it does sound a bit unsettlin’. But at the time, I just figured he was a rancher looking for a missing chicken.”
“In the desert at night? You’re far too trustin’, Zeb,” Hollister said. “Maybe I seen him around. What did he look like?”
“Well, he was a man of immense size. He had on raggedy clothes and was missin’ one boot. And there was a cactus stuck to his un-booted foot. I didn’t really get a good look at his face owing to the fact that he had a bandana covering his nose and mouth”
“And none of that made you the least bit suspicious?” Clem asked.
“What kind of world is this when a man can’t walk around in the desert at night in raggedy clothes, missing one boot, a cactus stuck to his un-booted foot, a bandana covering his nose and mouth, swingin’ an ax and hollering ‘Here chicky, chicky, chicky, chicken’ without people assuming he’s crazy or an outlaw. I tell ya, it’s getting where you can’t trust no one no more.”
“I reckon you’re right, Zeb,” Hollister replied. “Tomorrow, I’ll get the boys together, and we’ll track him down.”
Such was life, somewhere in the old west.
Happy Monday. Thanks for reading and responding. You make it fun.
Mark
The poem is brilliant
One of my very favorite PowerPoint presentations is the Brand-Gap (MARTY NEUMEIER https://vdocuments.net/the-brand-gap.html?page=1). It's dated now (came out about 2000 or so). The gist of it is your brand is not what you say it is, but what others say it is. It's a gut reaction to you. Our products are stories. There seems to be a lot more talking about writing than writing itself. There's a Substack short story writer I subscribe to, Dascha Paylor (eclecticink.substack.com). She doesn't write about the struggles of writing and the trials of publishing. She just writes her stories and that's it. I don't know her other than her Substack page, but I think I could say that's a Dascha Paylor story if her name was never on it. That's a brand . . . And I still enjoyed the poem.