It’s that time of year again. I’m sitting at Toyota of Dallas (whose name implies they’re the only game in town), for some maintenance. The Grey Ghost is worth it.
She’s a 2021 Tacoma I leased a week before the infamous DFW Snowpocalypse, then purchased her outright. She’s the best vehicle I’ve ever owned, and I’ve owned a lot of them. The Grey Ghost comes from the nickname for the President’s unmarked doomsday plane they kept at E Systems/Raytheon. It resembles the “Janet” flights that carry workers to and from Area 51 daily. My former step father flew those Janet flights for a bit. Not only did I work for UFO/aerospace royalty, but I was stationed at both Ft. Huachuca and White Sands Test Range.
Sometimes I feel as though that path was laid at my feet without much effort on my part, and the future of said path is yet to be determined.
I’ve seen things.
My techs name is Jacob. He assures me he’s not the Jacob who pissed me off two years ago here, but we crackers all look alike in my eyes. The HCIC is wandering around in a red polo, asserting his questionable authority while exhibiting the fact he’s never watched a single episode of Star Trek. The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance if he gets pulled for an away team. At least they’re not violently raping my ears with volume-eccentric Sports Center broadcasts.
I’m not much of a sports guy anymore (I turned my back on the Dallas Stars when they announced they’re moving to the suburbs), and I’ve never understood those guys who can spend their days listening to other men debate the game they just watched, plus tomorrow’s game. When they get off work, it’s sports talk radio during the commute. I guess I subliminally transformed that desire into learning how to successfully please women as I grew up. You’re welcome, ladies.
Women were the perfect sport! All equipment provided and, if you’re courteous enough, the concessions came free with the seat. I never blew a tryout, but the post seasons were always a bit much. Too many Game 7’s in this career. I retired with an inevitable spot awaiting in the small town girl hall of fame. They never took the midnight train going anywhere; they knew exactly where they were headed when they purchased the ticket sans cancelation insurance. I tried to warn them, but to no avail. No Applebee’s dinner is worth the signed waiver required for the rarely successful dessert offering.
My advice when dealing with large vehicle dealerships? Sit closest to the service desks so you can monitor how frequently and intensely they bullsh*t your fellow customers. Shenanigans roll downhill, and there’s some douche hiding in an office somewhere on property who mixes it up from time to time. He’s probably the dude who dodges my vengeance from my last visit. How did he even get hired without passing the camel-toe test? Do any mid-twenties “working class girls” wear denim anymore, or are they satisfied with exhibiting what could easily be confused as a fleshy, upside down credit card reader?
“No, honey, I have no idea why my card is glued to the inside of my wallet.”
This is why we can’t have nice things, with the exception of my truck. She doesn’t wear pants. Removes the guesswork.
I’m 3 years retired from the workforce. How does one survive alongside this many humans performing minimalistic feats, advertising their card readers for the inevitable, yet fuzzy, Friday evening post-intercourse first name introductions?
Can you tell I’ve worked in an administrative role before?
Nothing truly changes except for our personally acceptable, and inebriatedly advertised scruples. If I were 20 years younger, half this place would be pregnant. That’s by no means a brag, just an observation.
Child support nightmares in a baby powder & cinnamon dream.
Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.
Spoke too soon. She’s back on the rack, and I had to cancel my lunch date. They screwed up again. I can’t come back here anymore without letting go of my own principles.
Must be true to me.
One hour later, I’ve driven all the way back to the other side of Dallas because it’s making a noise it wasn’t making before they worked on it.
I can hear my veins tightening. That can’t be normal either. A second hand lie is still a lie.
On the bright side, I’m half a mile away from the largest record store in America…
Want to help support The Gonzo Wolf? Buy and review some fiction!
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. 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
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