Sunday, May 26, 2013

The Overabundance of Technology Has Ruined Everything

Don't get me wrong...I like technological advances in communication and acquiring instant knowledge that is there at the touch of finger. I enjoy keeping touch electronically and shopping from home and being able to click on current weather and the latest news. However, when it comes to my phone, I want it for two reasons. One, to receive incoming calls. Two, to send outgoing calls. That's it.

It is almost impossible to have any kind of conversation with someone these days. I used to think they were constantly looking at their phone and furiously pushing their little phone buttons because I was too boring. Well...that's part of it. But then I would look around the restaurant, or the conference room, or wherever this would happen when I was in public with somebody, and I see a lot of people doing the same thing.

Remember when we were younger and would see someone on the street talking to themselves? The immediate reaction was, 'That guy's crazy.' Not anymore. I had to train myself to look and see if some cyborg contraption was sticking out the person's ear. They're so small these days you have to circle them like a buzzard to formulate whether you're dealing with a psycho or someone talking on their 'ear' phone. My programming as a kid is so enforced in my brain, that I have to know. Is he nuts...or isn't he. That is the question I must have answered.

In a bad way, we have voluntarily handed our privacy over to governments worldwide. They have a strong method to instantly track us, our movements, who we talk to, what we talk about and when/where. And, we gave it to 'em.

Do you ever watch the Murder Channel? That's what we call it at our house. It's Investigation Discovery and I'm an addict. I can't get enough of it. Anyway, one of the first things I learned about murdering somebody is never have your cell phone on or anywhere near your person. You want that baby pinging on a tower three-hundred miles away, I tell ya. Don't text your accomplices and after you've done the deed, kill them right away. You can learn a lot on that show.

The movie that best describes what is happening to us as we ignorantly plod along is the one that Bruce Willis starred in, called 'Surrogates'. Great movie, by the way. All the 'people' stayed in a trance like state while their young, gorgeous, well muscled doubles went about the daily routine they would have normally been doing.

We have become a people reliant on being fed. When I was a young boy, my parents didn't feed me entertainment. I had to go out and manufacture it myself. It wasn't done for me. My imagination was forced upon me and from that grew an inventiveness that you don't see much of in our society today. I think that's why I eventually became a somewhat decent writer. People are surprised that every story I write is in a different genre. They say, "Where do you come up with all these ideas?" John Grisham writes about what he knows. When have you seen him come out with a western or a horror story. Louis Lamour' would have been lost with writing a science fiction book. Stephen King has poked his head out of the horror genre a few times, and with great success. But he is one of the few to have done so. So, my answer is that I come up with these ideas from decades of inventive imagination when I've used it to entertain....myself. And, for a lot of people who grew up in the new computer age, they don't have a clue what I'm talking about.

Friday, May 24, 2013

A Story of Disgusting Proportions...and it's true.

Back in the '70's there wasn't any such thing as cell phones, personal computers or video games. Except for 'Pong'. If you lived in the city, you could always go to the arcade or to the park or whatever kind of amusement that kind of life offered. But, if you were like me and growing up in the country, personal entertainment had to be invented.

It wasn't that late on a Saturday night in Saratoga, Texas. I, along with five or six other boys, were sitting on the front deck of a store that used to be called Babe's. If one was to cross the highway from Babe's, and walk down the street that intersected it, he would come up on West End Baptist Church after a little more than a quarter mile walk. In those days, they still had the one liter 'glass' soda bottles. With all of us being between seventeen and twenty years old, our high levels of testosterone were telling us to do things that would make us look more like men. Things that we had seen men do. Like chewing tobacco and dipping Skoal.

So here we were, lined up like turtles on a log, dipping Skoal and chewing Red Man, sharing this glass soda bottle as a spit jug. As I look back on it, it wasn't too sanitary and the mixture at the bottom got uglier as it got deeper. We were mostly listening to this one guy who was the oldest. His name was Haney Hunter. Haney wasn't too much good, as far as some of his actions went. But he was always polite to me and seemed to like me. Not only that, I felt as if he had a charisma about him that exuded cool. He wore a fedora under a mat of long, black hair. His stories also oozed a coolness as he told it to us and the smoothness of his voice made you feel like you were listening to Walter Cronkite. Haney's sense of humor was very good, and we were having a great time laughing, chewing, dipping and the same jug.

Suddenly, a car came driving up at a high rate of speed, coming from town. The driver came off the highway and threw dust in every direction as he pulled in to the small parking lot in front of Babe's. Now, I won't tell you this gentleman's name; as I think he might be offended if I did. So we'll just call him Hiawatha. Anyway, he staggers from the car...obviously drunk...and walks up to where we are sitting. For a few moments he just stood there, a blank stare on his face as he tried to find his balance. It was finally Haney who spoke up.

"You been drinkin' tonight, Hiawatha?" The question elicited laughter which just egged him on. "Or are you always that clumsy?"

The roar of laughing made Hiawatha mad, but his intelligence level wasn't up to the task. He was going against a master, and we all knew it but him.

"Don't matter, none," Hiawatha belched at Haney. "I kin drink you under the table any day and twice on Sunday."

That statement has never made sense to me. Why, on the day of rest, would you want to do something twice as much? But, I digress.  Haney had set the hook, and it was now time to reel Hiawatha in.

"You don't know nothin' about drinkin'," Haney accused. "All you drink is beer."

"What's wrong with that," Hiawatha shot back, his chin jutted out in defiance. "Beer's good."

"Yeah, beer's good," Haney agreed. "But only drinkin' beer don't make you a drinkin' man."

"I kin drink anythin' you can drink, and twice on Sunday." Hiawatha slurred.

Haney was holding the spit jug. It was dark and the only illumination came from a street light about thirty yards away. He held it out to Hiawatha.

"I bet you can't drink this and keep from pukin'," Haney challenged.

Hiawatha would not be outdone. He stepped up to where Haney was sitting and grabbed the jug.

"We'll see about that!" Hiawatha exclaimed.

He then lifted the jug to his mouth and craned his neck as far backward as he could. We all watched in horror as the contents slowly drained from the jug...into Hiawatha's mouth...and down his gullet. The bottle was about one-fifth full and it only took seconds for him to drink it. He threw the bottle on the ground and spat, almost retching.

"Whut the hell was that?"

"You never mind that," Haney scolded. "Now, you got to keep from pukin' for thirty minutes. If you do, I'll give you ten dollars for your trouble."

"Thirty minutes?!" Hiawatha complained. "I ain't hangin' around here for no thirty minutes."

"Suit yourself," Haney said with outstreched arms. "But you gonna hate losin' that ten dollars."

Hiawatha thought about it for a moment and finally agreed to stay. I guess his inebriated state was so advanced is why he didn't see the rest of us giggling like school girls. Even while our stomachs were still churning from what we just witnessed. Hiawatha lit a cigarette and began to chit chat with Haney. After about five minutes, Hiawatha started to rub his front and groan.

"What's the matter?" Haney asked, smirking.

"My stomach's burnin'," Hiawatha muttered.

With a loud groan he fell to his knees, both arms wrapped around his front. From that point came a tirade of rude monosyllables that were directed straight at Haney. Now, I don't know what all that tobacco spit was doing to Hiawatha's insides, but whatever it was we knew there was a goshawful battle going on in there between that nasty crap he just drank and his stomach. Eventually, he rolled over on his back, knees drawn up to his chest and he was praying to anybody that would listen to kill  all of us. About fifteen minutes later he rolled over on one side and curled up in the fetal position, begging for his momma. I had to hand it to him, though. Hiawatha didn't puke. He almost died. But, he didn't puke. Haney helped him to his car and stuffed a ten dollar bill in his shirt pocket.

"Haney," I said, "you aren't going to let him drive, are you?"

Haney smiled with, I'm sure, a twinkle in his eye.

"Why not?" He said, chuckling. "If that didn't kill 'im, do ya think a car wreck will?"

Hiawatha started his car and slowly drove away. I heard he had the drizzles for about three or four days after that. He had a heck of a time keeping anything down while that odious and foul mixture coursed its way through his system. I always wondered if he was ever the same after that. Physically, I mean. I'm also very confident that he never told any girl he ever dated...and especially the one he married, that he drank the tobacco spit of several dudes for ten dollars. Even if he was drunk, that was pretty stupid...and pretty disgusting.

A couple years later I heard the sad news that Haney had been killed in a boating accident. We were never close, as friends. Yet, I will never forget that night. It's as clear to me now as if it happened just moments ago. I suppose you never forget something like that. Whether you want to or not.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

The U.S. Federal Government is Out of Control

The founding fathers of this great nation did everything they could to make sure there were so many checks and balances that the people who lived under it might be safe from tyrannical leadership. They debated long and hard over the separate branches of government and the powers each would have and share. There was no quarter given when it came to keeping the possibility of one government taking complete control and forcing its citizens to become subjects. And for 237 years it has worked. Until now.

Now, we have a president in the White House who was brought up and trained...from a young boy...on communist, socialist and anti-American ideals. He has put Eric Holder as the top law officer in this country...who has a history of anti-establishment activities and even was involved in the take over of a building at Columbia University, wanting the building to be named after Malcolm X. The president comes from Chicago, notorious for decades at being a slime pit of corruption, from the garbage collectors to the mayors. There was a reason why Obama studied, and even taught, the Constitution. He knows it backwards and forwards. But, he doesn't like it, doesn't agree with it, and wants it gone. As Patton read Rommel's book on tank warfare and beat him at his own game, so Obama has studied our Constitution and is now attacking every weak point in its structure that he has found. He is dumb like a fox. Know your enemy is his mantra, and he knows it well.  His personal lackeys in the IRS, the Treasury Department, Homeland Security, the FBI, the CIA, the Secret Service and the White House, push his anti-American agenda at every turn; while at the same time absolving themselves of knowing anything about anything...ever.

It has come to the point where the United States Government firmly believes it does not have to answer to the American people. If that were not the case, then why did one of the top agents in the IRS plead the fifth in front of those who were elected to represent us and be our voice? Obama, Holder, Lerner and all the rest have snubbed their noses at us and told us that tyranny is not around the corner...only to find out it is raising its ugly head, slowly but surely. How is it that a government designed to be accountable to the people is now accountable to no one? Obama said this is the most transparent government in the history of the country and for some reason is not laughed out of the building. We are at a dangerous crossroads, my friends....and to be complacent about it and to take an apathetic stand is to then get what you deserve. To remain staunchly on your political pedestal just because the president is of your party affiliation is to be almost treasonous to all your American neighbors who share the same ground, the same history, the same love of life, liberty and happiness.

It's time to put away your personal pet projects and issues and pay attention to what is happening. It's time to stop fighting with each other and look to see who the real enemy is. It is, the United States Federal Government. It is the Executive Branch, the Congress and the Supreme Court. It is the IRS, the FBI, the DHS, the CIA and yes, maybe even our own armed forces. For I do not now truly I used to...that they would disobey a direct order to take us down and put us in chains.

It is time to rise up and do what we can right now. It is time to write our congressmen, our senators and even the Speaker of the House and tell them we have had enough of a government that feels it doesn't have to answer OUR questions. It is time for lawful, civil revolt against these pretenders of loving the Constitution and disrespecting our rights as free citizens in a free land. It is time for passive disobedience. And if lawful, civil revolt and passive disobedience will not do it....then it will be time for the gloves to come off. I am not a terrorist and I am not a violent man. But I will not be anyone. I will not be herded, cajoled, dictated to or coerced to do another blessed thing that infringes on my rights, freedoms, liberties and pursuits of happiness as an invidual. If you wish to lie down like a sheep, shame on you. It is better to live one day as a lion, than a hundred years as a sheep. There are worse things than being imprisoned or killed. One of them is to look in the mirror and see a weasely, limp wristed, noodle backboned, sniveling coward looking back at you. That has never happened to me, and if the Lord wills, it never shall.

My government take the fifth when it comes to MY questions? Those are fighting actions, if you ask me. It is answerable to us. Not the other way around. Give me liberty...or give me death. This government's treading on me is over.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

A Letter to Lulu

My Dearest Lulu,

                It has now been fourteen years since you left us. It has taken me this long, and for all the wrong reason, to write to you. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to think myself crazy for doing this. I have tried to focus my mind on other things….anything…other than not having you with us.

                I wish I could tell you that we all are doing well since your departure. I guess all I can say is that we are doing better than we expected to. It was tough in the beginning. Then, it gradually got worse and worse until we finally were able to cope with what happened. You see, it wasn’t just your leaving, but all the circumstances leading up to that and the fall-out afterward.

                Your mother is doing much better. I have to say that after you left, she was quite lost. Her entire life revolved around you and your care for almost seventeen years. It goes by quickly when you say it, but many was the time I didn’t think your suffering would ever end. Now, you’ve been gone almost as long as you were alive, and I find that so hard to believe. It took your mom almost ten years to get close to her old self again. For a long time, I didn’t think we were going to stay married. We both suffered in our own way and grew apart, drew apart, but somehow landed (awkwardly) on our feet.

                I suppose your sister got the worst of it. She loved you so much and I can still see her crying over the loss on that night. Your mother and I thought we were doing a good job with her, but we failed miserably in many ways. It wasn’t her fault, but ours for being so weak. But, you will be happy to know she is in college now and doing well, making good grades. She has a boyfriend, and they have been seeing each other for more than a year now. Unfortunately, she is more like me than her mother.

                As for me, I thought I might be coming to see you a little more than two years ago. My heart was very sick and had to be fixed. The sands in my hourglass are few, now…and I smile when I think about seeing you again. It will be wonderful to see you free from the wheelchair and happy at being sound in both mind and body. How I always wanted that for you. There were times when you saw me cry, and many more when I wouldn’t let you. One of the worst times for me was when your mother told me that you had said you wished you could walk. Of all the things you could have asked for that I could have provided, that was the one thing I could not do. It was too much to bear at the time. It will be a great joy for me to see you run and walk.

                I know you will tell me to think differently, but I still feel so guilty for not being a better father to you. When you were born, I wanted you to die. At times, when your body would shut down in the hospital…and it happened so often…and the doctors and nurses would rush in to save you, I actually prayed that God would let you die. But, they always brought you back and each time you seemed to get stronger. I have never seen a more powerful will to survive than what you had. Your grandmother used to lecture me about disciplining you, but I wouldn’t listen. I wish I had, now. Each moment I can recall where I would put you in your room or get angry at you for certain things it makes me sad. It had nothing to do with you. It was my selfishness and self-pity that allowed me to sometimes lash out at you. Then, in the end, when I saw you dying…I knew I had been wrong.

                I guess I want to tell you how much you meant to me. In hindsight, you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I got the chance to see what a truly innocent heart looked like. I got to see what real, unconditional love was. When I would come in after a hard day’s work out in this wicked, wicked world, it was a comfort to be in your presence of purity and love. You deserved much better than me. And I truly didn’t deserve to be your dad. I hope God does not give me a pass when it comes to how I performed as your parent.

                I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you, and I’m sorry I didn’t when I could have. I’m sorry for those last few days when I wasn’t strong enough to go into the room and be with you during your final hours. I’m sorry you had to get your mother to come and summon me, even though you made me promise I wouldn’t cry. Those last few moments with you were the best…and the worst…of my life. For all during those seventeen years I slowly came to a place in my life where you were a real part of me. And that losing you would mean that part would die. I always thought it ironic. Most parents, when they have a child, want that child to live. It took me a long time for me to not want you to go. I am taking care of your mother, just as you asked me to. Even when she didn’t want me to…I haven’t forgotten my promise to you. How I miss you. Just remember, it won’t be long now. Soon, we will be with you and this heartache will be over. Until then, know I love you very much. I still cry over you from time to time. But, I also remember the good times and when we were happiest. Don’t worry about us. We are okay. At least we know you are no longer in pain…you are no longer sick…and that you are safe. I love you. 

Your dad, 


Monday, May 13, 2013

Why Are We Afraid of These People?

Check out the story below from the Associated Press:

DETROIT (AP) — The nephew of a Saudi man arrested at Detroit Metropolitan Airport says the case is a misunderstanding, and that the pressure cooker his uncle was bringing for him so he could make lamb.
Nasser Almarzooq (NAH'sur ahl mar-ZOOK') told The Associated Press on Monday that he'd asked his uncle, Hussain Al Khawahir (HOO'-sayn ahl kah-WAH'-heer), to bring him a pressure cooker because the ones he bought in the U.S. didn't work.
Two pressure cookers were used in last month's Boston Marathon bombings.
Almarzooq says he's concerned about his uncle and hasn't been told anything since his Saturday arrest. Almarzooq goes to the University of Toledo and says his uncle was coming to visit him for a couple weeks.
Al Khawahir is accused of using a passport with a missing page and making false statements about why he was traveling with the pressure cooker.
Nephew Nasser says good ole Unk Al Khawahir (pronounced drunkenly it sounds like Ketouttahere) was just bringing a pressure cooker so he could cook a lamb....because EVERY freakin' pressure cooker in the ENTIRE United States of Blessed America doesn't work.
I can only imagine how the phone conversation went before Unk Al left Saudi Arabia.....
Nephew Nasser:  It weel be so good to see you, uncle.
Unk Al: Yes, nephew, Allahu Akbar. Is there anything I can bring from our most Allah blessed country, where Mecca is our holiest of holy sites, Sharia Law is absolute, and all non-muslims must be killed on sight....the great and glorious Saudi Arabiaaaaaaaa.
Nephew Nasser: Yes, uncle, I need for you to bring me a pressure cooker.
Unk Al: Why is that my most blessed nephew Nasser Almarzooq, Allahu Akbar? There are none in The Great Satan where you live?
Nephew Nasser: Of course, but I found out the other day in Boston they do not work so well.
Unk Al: What happened, Allahu Akbar?
Nephew Nasser: Two pressure cookers, made in The Great Satan, did not operate correctly and only 'served' three customers in a crowd of hundreds. Many people got a taste, but only three were 'full'. Do you know what I mean? They do not work so well. I believe the reason is because they were made so well the packages did not arrive as planned.
Unk Al: I see...yes, our products are much more inferior than those of The Great Satan. It wouldn't take a very big to see them fall to pieces.
Nephew Nasser: Exactly my point, uncle. Do you have a valid passport?
Unk Al: Yes, but I'm afraid I went to North Korea to learn more about how to make our better and more productive when they are delivered. Immigration might not let me in to see you.
Nephew Nasser: Just tear it out, uncle. The page with the stamp. They will never know. Allah will protect you.
Unk Al: Ah, nephew, you were always the clever one in the family. I shall do that and hope to see you soon. Allahu Akbar.
They hang up the phone and Nasser remembers something. He calls and calls but only gets Unk Al's voice mail. He finally leaves a message: "Uncle, you are bringing the pressure cooker to help me cook a lamb. Remember that." Nasser hangs up the phone and scratches his head. "I hope he gets that."
I mean...seriously?

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Mother's Day

My mom passed away in December, 2003, after suffering from Alzheimer's and basically grieving herself to death over the loss of my dad in 1999. Almost gone ten years, and every once in a while the thought goes through my mind that I haven't 'called' her lately. I immediately remember there is no one to call and quietly go about my business.

We had a strange relationship. There was nobody else on this planet that could push my 'hot button' faster than she. We used to have some good arguments and disagreements, and by good I mean bad. Almost everyone in the family and out didn't understand us. All that mattered was that we understood each other. There was a bond there...a bond so strong that the love we had for each other could never be broken.

I wish I could say that I was never a disappointment to her. I wish I could relate all the times I made her proud and walked the straight and narrow and did nothing to bring embarrassment to her. But...alas...I cannot. I wasn't a bad son. But, I wasn't a good one, either.

To her credit, she did all she could to make sure my brother and I grew up to be decent people. Neither of us have ever been arrested or even accused of a crime. We work hard and take care of our families. We are both civic minded, realizing our responsibilities to society. We are respectful of others....within reason...and mind our personal business with maturity and commitment. All this we owe to her.

Every Sunday we were dragged to church. She was a Sunday School teacher for almost all her adult life. She worked nearly twenty years as the admin for the county judge in Hardin County, Texas. She was respected and well liked by all who knew her.

All the bad that is in me can be directly attributed to me. All the good can be directly attributed to her. She will have nothing to answer for where I am concerned.

I have many family members who believe I shamed her at her funeral. It makes me smile to think about it. Some have called it a 'Redneck' funeral. In some ways, I guess it was. My take is that once someone is laid in the ground, they're gone. As the dirt is being pushed into the hole they call a grave, anything you could have done and everything you have done is then over and you can't do any more for that person. Oh, I guess you can pretend to carry on the legacy...but the adding to their legacy is over. It is only yours that continues. And, once they bury you...any addition to yours is then over, too. As will be mine.

I was fortunate to have a mother who loved me unconditionally and took care of me with all her heart, soul, mind and body. She would have died for me without thinking about it should the situation have called for it. She stood by me through thick, thin, good and bad. I may not have done much to make her proud....but she did everything necessary to make me proud of her. I wish I could call her today and tell her. I really wish I could.

Lena Fay Means Coward - May, 1926 to December, 2003

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

They Were Wrong

I love movies. I'm a movie freak. The only kind of movie I go into thinking I might not like it is a comedy. me...go off better on a stage and not film. However, there are a few exceptions, in my humble opinion. Hangover was funny because it was a unique concept. You were kept glued to the screen to see what it was they had done next and where the groom was. There have been very few western comedies as funny as Blazing Saddles and Dirty Dingus Magee(?). Texas Across the River was another, starring Dean Martin and Joey Bishop.

But, I have to vote for the film I think was the grandaddy of 'em all. Some of the greatest comedic talent of the day was in this movie, and even though I have seen it a hundred times, I still crack up at certain scenes.  The movie is "It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World". Look at the line-up....

Principal cast

Supporting cast

Cameo appearances


The scene I love the most is where Jonathan Winters gets into the fight with the two service station attendants and by the time they're through the entire place has been demolished. Hysterical. That was back in 1963, when there wasn't as many people on the planet, things were basically peaceful, and there weren't as many nuts in the world as there are today. Oh, things were bad in many places and there were wars being fought but, all in all, it was a simpler time. Maybe to the adults back then it was a mad mad mad mad world.

But, after looking at the headlines of today's world for the last twenty-five years, I have come to the conclusion they were wrong. It's a sick sick sick sick world. I'm telling you.

Monday, May 6, 2013

Tamerlan Tsarnaev Was a Human Being

Say what you will, but the Boston bomber that got killed was a human being. He was a low-down, sorry, no good, back stabbing, bushwackin', bloodthirsty human being....but he was a human being.

I never understood why people have to demonize their enemies. I suppose that if the enemy is considered as something sub-human, then it makes it all right to kill them. Hmmmm.  Didn't another regime back in the 1930's and '40's think that? But, I digress.

What happened to Tamerlan Tsarnaev was nothing less and nothing more than swift justice. He got what he deserved...he should've gotten it....and now he's dead. What more can we do to him?

I know...let's deny him a proper burial. Let's all say that we don't want him in our stinking ground. If he hated America so much, then let him rot somewhere else.

You see? That's where the demonization comes in. That's when we ourselves begin to lose our sensibilities and our own humanity. Our self-worth drops when we look at other human matter how not worthy of basic respect for being one of our species. Jeffrey Dahmer got a funeral. John Wayne Gacy got a funeral. Ted Bundy got a funeral. They were just as vile, just as evil and even had a higher body count than Tamerlan. At least Tamerlan had a motive behind his urge to kill.

The funeral home director that agreed to take him in has been called un-American. No...those that have referred to him as that are un-American. Those that have referred to him as that are less than he. Somewhere, when it comes to our enemies...foreign or domestic...we have to keep our sense of decency about us. Okay...we killed our enemy. That's what we should do...or at least incarcerate them so they can't hurt anyone else. But, after that...let's not lose the essence of what we should be in the aftermath. Be glad for decent to the defeated.

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Hell's Gunman

I am pleased to say that all systems are 'GO' on my new western for a July, 2013 release. The folks at Whiskey Creek Press ( have been a pleasure to work with. The editor and cover artist were extremely friendly and accommodating, making sure to keep the essence of the novel intact during the editing process and helping to capture my mental picture of what the cover should look like.

The excitement for me is building as July approaches. I am working with WCP this weekend, performing a final read-through of the book to ferret out any small imperfections that may have still been overlooked. A lot of work has been put in to the novel, and I wish to thank everyone who has helped me. Dave Field, editor. Susan Krupp, cover artist and the whole staff at WCP.

I am still working on my murder mystery as well as a new western. My science fiction book is finished and I will soon be sending it to some publishers for possible future publication. My screenplay, The Keeper's Dare, has been pitched to a movie producer in Hollywood and he wishes to see it. There are three others that have been targeted for pitching the play, and we are keeping our fingers crossed in the hope someone will want to pick it up.

In the meantime, here is the cover of Hell's Gunman.