After a week of various tunings, I finally settled on “standard” (so much wasted time), came up with riffs for both verses and chorus and a rhythm bridge. The lyrics are done-ish as well. Sigh. I may have a new song tomorrow. Maybe next week.
It’s been a minute, and I’m in the perfect spot to let ‘er rip. I’m in the parking lot of the Dallas Country Club. It’s not necessarily my chosen wake up spot.
It’s complicated how I got here, actually. I rolled down my window, screamed “wassssaaaaappp!” to the gate guards, and drove in behind a real member. I’d personally be pissed if I paid dues to this place. I mean, I’m just another random psychopath in the city of Dallas. We’re allowed here without question so far. Think I’m lying?
Im just parked here. Waiting.
How much longer can I sit here without being approached? Curious.
I’m no fan of Highland Park as a whole. I don’t care much for generationally wealthy coat-tail riders who have cooling fans on their putting greens. I haven’t played golf in 25 years, but I dont remember it being so excruciating that I needed to stand panting in front of a cooling device. Also, I played in Arizona. That’s real heat, and they have a rattlesnake drop rule printed on their score cards. Are score cards still a thing? Is there an app for that now?
I’ve always claimed that boring people drive white vehicles. This parking lot is proof. I can’t imagine waking up every morning to have breakfast with Bennie & Snookie on the veranda. I’ve heard my share of Country Club horror stories.
It’s the home of such peckers as George Bush and Jerry Jones. Once, a wealthy black family came to see if this place was worthy of their money. They left when people kept giving them their drink and food orders. Pitiful.
I’m 15 minutes into my rich poon occupation and I’ve not been approached or questioned. These guys are squeezing every ounce of “give a damn” from their just above minimum wage jobs to smile at the Trumpers as they cruise on by. Not that I’m a terrorist or a mass shooter, but this is exactly how terrorist attacks and mass shootings happen. No one cares until after the fact, then they donate prayers worth exactly $0.
Part of me wants to press my luck and spark up, but that would get into illegal territory. Not that I mind; I just prefer to do so in the comfort of home. Texas just banned all the THC gummy dispensaries so they could turn right around, medicinally legalize weed, and hold these store owners as hostages of the Texas state government. I have no proof of this yet, but it sounds like something I would do as a capitalist, conservative politician.
Someone tried to convince me that everyone around here is driving “Teslers”, but there’s not a single one in the parking lot. They’re just Nazi’s and having difficulty coming to grips with it. I know I would!
The old men, older than me, are walking around here in their shorty shorts revealing excess ball skin whenever they sit. The women? Not a smile to be seen as they sneak behind their burnt-out husband’s back to screw his best friend at the 19th hole. Disclaimer: Beware of the 19th hole. It’s about an inch away from the 20th hole. The no-no hole. Just grit your teeth and putt, ladies. It gets easier with time. At least that’s what a lifetime of Ron Jeremy movies taught me.
I’m at the 30 minute mark and nothing has changed. Im idling in my truck, trashing the zombies who pay to be here and listening to Sturgil Simpson sing “Old King Coal”.
Let’s set the mood…
I wonder what would happen if I dropped my shorts and took a dump in the middle of the buffet table. I think MAGA has deserved it since January 6th, 2021. At least choose better representatives for your cause whenever you host an insurrection. This is the heartbeat of Dallas high society, and I’ve infiltrated it like cancer.
There’s Cheeto dust on my shorts from last night’s season 7 binge of Clone Wars. Not necessarily country club attire. This reminds me of the kind of place where I’d get arrested and questioned after the fact. Money “trumps” race here in the explanations department, but I’m not going out like that. They’d have to catch me first. This must be what Bill Murray’s character felt like in Caddyshack.
Wow. My phone converted Caddyshack to Daddy’s Hack. I must be accidentally picking up texts from Doctor Dipstick’s wifi as he’s attempting to woo the help. Honkeys are alive and well in Dallas, and I may have just stumbled into their secret breeding ground. Ew.
The security guard just drove by me and waved in his golf cart.
Shit. My luck ran out. He’s coming to the window.
It’s a good thing I’m a fiction writer and can make up stuff on the spot for a living. I just gave him my best and it worked. No ID check. No further explanations. Your membership fees hard at work, Highland Park. It’s only lying if your not a professional.
I’m not doing this to make a point. I’m doing it because I can. I’ve infiltrated the upper-crust while my son takes his swimming lessons. It’s the reason I’ve done most ridiculous things in my life. Because I could. Either batten down the hatches or shut up, America. You’re weak, you’re exposed, and your end is within sight.
You’ve allowed yourself to be led to the brink of destruction by a man who’s privately referred to as Doo Doo Don by his closest of comrades. I can guarantee you there’s a dozen men inside this fake-factory exactly like him. Regardless of the number of invitations I’ve received to enjoy the perks here, I’m not big on nursing homes. How do these people gobble down chicken strips with a load in their diaper and carry on legitimate conversations?
I’d much rather imagine it all than walk inside and discover the truth.
It’s how I prefer to do things. Not every story needs a prequel or side-quest.
Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.
The suck-urety guard is doing laps now. My early summer tan must’ve set off his Klan radar. Can you imagine the damage I could’ve done there if I’d truly gone with ill intentions rather than for humor? This is actually an expose’ rather than a rant. These are the kind of idiots who think it’s “hip” to hand out bibles on Halloween rather than candy. They’d deserve it.
Rev – 3
CC – 0
Yes, I’ve done this two other times and currently pitching a shut-out. Winning is winning in the gonzo world.
The “comments” section is at the very bottom of the page. That way, if you’re going to be a poon, I can try to sell you a book on the way down.
The Reverend’s Reads
To most, 1865 was an eye-opening year. The American Civil War was officially over and the soldiers fortunate enough to survive the bloody conflict returned home to collect the pieces of their former lives. To young Arizonan, Robert Jack, the fateful desert homecoming marked the end to all he once knew. Forgiveness is overrated. Death is final. Revenge, however, dances between the fine lines of mortality and eternity. Love always finds a way.
“Reading Jim Walker and the Redemption Hymn is equal parts quirky fun and riveting action. Cloud’s confident, entertaining voice draws the reader in like an old radio western: the perfect bite-sized story with a main character you’re ready to follow through every adventure he finds himself on. So, tune in next time…”
– Megan Stockton, author of Lovely, Dark & Deep
The history books would read that Jim Walker was brutally executed after the Battle of Goliad, but a few promises in the right ear blurred the contrast between blood and ink. Now an aging bounty hunter on the verge of retirement, his services are requested in the Northern Arizona Territory to solve the terrifying mystery of the Verde River Massacre. With guns from a local Deputy, courage from a saloon proprietor, and a deathbed confession from an all-too-familiar Medicine Woman, Jim sets off on what could be his final adventure. Will he lay the ghosts of his past to rest once and for all, or is he simply whistling his Redemption Hymn?
“Someone call DC and tell them this is how you write a female hero character!” – Lisa Lee Tone, Bibliophelia Templum
Angel Burns is a young firefighter with a shrouded history. During a routine night at work, she stumbles upon a demonic ceremony that brings her memories out of hiding – as well as her repressed supernatural powers. Angel soon learns her life was intended for things greater than extinguishing fires for mortals. Now on the payroll of the Vatican, Angel embarks upon an epic quest to protect the Gutenberg Bibles from evil. If successful, she will secure peace for generations. If she fails, the power of the ancient books will bestow an eternity of darkness upon all humanity!
Toby Liberman is nearing the end of his rope. After a fateful confrontation with his wife’s lover, he is chased into the woods only to be discovered by an unidentifiable creature. He is attacked and rendered unconscious. Upon waking at the scene of a gruesome triple homicide, Toby is arrested as the sole suspect and thrown into a jail cell with a strange man that knows way too much about his predicament. The stranger reveals to Toby that he now possesses the curse of the werewolf. Using his new-found strength to flee his captors, Toby begins to discover that things are not what they seem in the sleepy town of Twin Oaks, TX. Now hunted by law enforcement, as well as the town’s gun toting civilians, Toby seeks vengeance against his false accusers and embarks upon a quest to clear his name once and for all.
A Curse Beyond Comprehension. A Power Beyond Belief. A Girl Far From Home. Katie Liberman is your typical eighteen-year-old college student…or at least that’s what her family thinks. Picking up five years after the events of A Taste of Home, Katie has dropped out of school and embarked upon a dangerous quest to find Kurt Jimmerson, the New York City attorney responsible for her family’s werewolf curse. Unknown to her, the attorney’s grip on the ‘City That Never Sleeps’ is tighter than imagined and she’ll need any and all help available to be victorious. But… where do you find friends when you’re Far From Home?
Twin Oaks, Texas is at war! Taking place immediately after the Far From Home events in New York City, Katie Liberman has returned to rescue her birthplace from the clutches of her nemesis. As the paranormal battle of North vs. South rages in the shadows, the tiny town must decide to fight against the odds or become one with the darkness. Blood will be shed and only one will survive as the final battle of the Home Series concludes.
I know this is the part where I’m supposed to talk about the book, but I feel as though the synopsis needs its own preface to truly understand. 2023 was quite an eye-opening year! I began it by living my dream as a vintage steam locomotive fireman, but that dream was soon squashed thanks to my writing career. It won’t matter that you wrote your extreme horror offerings years ago and under a pen name. Also, it won’t matter that your publisher and author friends from days gone by express pleasantries and kind, nurturing words to your face, because they’ll clique-up and talk trash the minute you turn your back. F**k the biz, create. Create for art, not clicks. Click for love, not hate. Those are words true artists should have no issues living by, yet most seem to hide behind their keyboard shields, flinging ill-thought words of destruction toward once-trusted ears. Don’t pour something into everything; pour everything into something. Do it all by yourself if necessary. With any luck, 2024 will be the year of The Reverend. I’m not exactly sure what that means yet, but we’ll find out together. Anyway, here are a few short stories and poems I wrote as C. Derick Miller in 2023. I stole them from myself. Fair and square. Enjoy.
Poetry has always come naturally to me. Whether it is an expression of emotion toward someone I care about, or a display of humor pointed in the direction of those I loathe, it is my true outlet. Several of these works were written in a passenger seat while exploring the highways of the United States and somehow managed to survive “The Great Ex-Wife/Ex-Girlfriend Poetry Purge” of 2019. Others were penned during COVID-19 quarantine. Although it may not be the most epic poetry collection you’ve ever read, it all contains bits of blood and soul. You will feel something. Guaranteed.
“This profound collection of horror brings classic monsters into new light in the modern day” – B.L. Blankenship, God Walks The Dark Hills series.
The modern world is a crazy place. Worrying about childish politicians, empty grocery store shelves, and our pending membership to the “global disease of the week” club, it leaves very little time for the average reader to finish an entire novel. This is where Six from Five Seven: Short Stories from a Short Man comes in clutch! A story per day to keep the impending apocalypse away, with a single day left over to contemplate why you purchased this book in the first place. That sounds like an entertaining week when compared to the one you were destined to have regardless. What do a cursed husband, a privileged brat, a curious prostitute, a repressed savior, a vengeful son, and two hell-bound soldiers have in common? Their stories lie within the pages of this collection and invite you to tag along on their journeys of fate, redemption, and demise. When finished, you, dear reader, can hide this book inside your basement with the rest of those important documents you wished you’d never taken home. The FBI won’t be happy, but at least they’ll know you’re a cool person for owning a copy while conducting the raid. That must count for something, right? Let’s hope the judge thinks so!
Also, there’s a few other things not listed here that are floating around out there. Best of luck with the hunt.
Current Projects
Rev. Dare Cloud
Reverend · adjective. worthy of adoration or reverence. synonyms: sublime · sacred.
is a Dallas author, musician, and gonzo journalist. Some of his works include the controversial splatter-western Starving Zoe (written as C. Derick Miller), the Taste of Home trilogy, and the ongoing Jim Walker series. He is also the co-host of the American Justice Podcast and Senior Writer/Junior Producer for AtuA Productions LLC. His literary crushes are (of course) Hunter S. Thompson, J.D. Salinger, and Kevin Smith. Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.
“You’ve got to press it on you You’ve just been thinking That’s what you do, baby Hold it down, Dare!” – Gorillaz
The Gonzo Wolf 
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