I used to get up super early to take advantage of the quiet time before dawn when no one else was up to drink coffee, catch a buzz, and get focused before a writing session. I still get up before dawn, but it’s not quiet and instead of getting focused I get distracted. Something to do with the buzz, I suppose. Also, my meth-infused neighbors. Sadly, there’s more than one. Here’s a little update on recent activities.

It may seem like I’ve become fixated on the weirdness I see from my upstairs deck, but I’m not. All right, that’s a lie. I kinda am.  Can you blame me? When I see not one but two insane tweakers — one on either side of my house — both of them doing bizarre things, it gets my attention. For instance, a couple mornings ago at four a.m. (about twenty-four hours after the episode involving the machete, the treed kitty, and the irate brother described in my previous post), I saw Jesus (the one-legged tweaker’s name) shining his light in his brother Bob’s bedroom window. By itself it wasn’t irritating enough to get the ultra-mellow Bob the bartender’s attention, so Jesus put on some Norteno music. . .which ranks right up there in the World’s Most Intolerable Music ratings and is utterly impossible to ignore. Oh, you can abhor it, but you can’t ignore it. For those lucky ones unfamiliar with Norteno music it is like listening to a 10-piece band scraping their fingers over blackboards. . .not the sound so much (Norteno music is actually worse), but the effect. Norteno music, only sung in nasal tones by a whiny cowboy, features a lead accordion instead of a guitar. No wonder the singer sounds so plaintive. As if that wasn’t a monstrous enough insult to our ears, Norteno bands employ a tuba (I’m serious) where there should be a bass. Then there are are trumpets. Many, many of them. Also, several drummers. None of them seem able to keep time or play in tune (so, a lot like me). Imagine some kind of mutant hybrid between country and rap and then make it much worse.

Anyway, when Jesus found the part where all the instruments clashed together in a ferocious blast of syncopation he raised his boombox to the window and turned it to full blast. He left it that way for thirty seconds. I watched in awe of his temerity, expecting much bigger brother Bob to come bursting out the door with mayhem in mind. Instead of bursting out the door and throttling Jesus, Bob played possum inside. No doubt stuffing wads of cotton into his ears.

Of course, Bob’s saint-like tolerance and pacifism pissed Jesus off big time. So he blasted Bob with Norteno music again. . .about six times. Bob finally came out. He said not a word, just grabbed the boombox, shut if off, and took it inside. With no weapon, Jesus shook his fist and yelled for awhile.

I should mention that while this was going on another tweaker, the neighbor who I’d caught atop our 7′ high block wall contemplating how to steal the power line two feet out of his reach was up to no good.(Something that wouldn’t be easy without tools or a cherry picker, but he stood there contemplating it for two or three minutes as I watched. The whole time with two huge and furious dogs trying their hardest to climb that wall and have a snack. I sensed there wasn’t much going on between his ears and I kinda wished I had a pellet gun. Also, that he might fall into our yard and feed those big dogs. Sadly, when I yelled at him to get the hell away he chose the right direction.)

Specifically, he was sneaking up on Jesus with larceny in mind. His target: Jesus’s crutches, which he grabbed and took off with. He then sauntered down the middle of the street wearing a “Where’s Waldo” shirt and waving the crutches around like a maniac. (The only way he knew how.) The watchdogs saw him through their viewing port in the fence and went nuts while he stood just outside our gate as if enjoying the serenade.

My friend Lanny later explained that Waldo and Jesus are at odds over Waldo’s propensity to cut down our phone and telephone lines every week or so. Waldo probably takes offense that fellow tweaker Jesus frowns on crime. Eventually Jesus noticed his crutches were missing and began an investigation. Spotting Waldo waving his crutches, Jesus came rolling down the block waving a machete. What ensued was sick yet depraved, and I couldn’t stop watching. Waldo let Jesus get almost close enough to give him a nice whack of revenge but the wily Waldo would step just out of reach. After a few lunges poor Jesus found himself and his wheelchair mired in deep sand and unable to move. I imagine about then he rued destroying his prosthesis last week. Jesus does not make good decisions.

Now you tell me, wouldn’t you be distracted, too? Oddly enough, some friends are doubtful of the veracity of my posts. . .those being friends familiar with my books. I showed my friend Earl and Rose how nicely my stump was growing back, and Rose said, “Oh my God, you really did get attacked by a dog!” As if I’d make something like that up. . .

Every time I lose the Internet now, which, given local service, is fairly often, I assume one of the local tweakers has cut down the telephone line again. Aside from the inconvenience and desire to annihilate the aforementioned tweakers, I find my neighboring tweaker perversely entertaining. Not perverse in a sexual sense, at least on my end, but by secretly watching his bizarre actions, am I. . .well, sick? I wake up well before light and have coffee on the upstairs deck. The one-legged tweaker is always up as well. . .I imagine he hasn’t gone to bed yet. Three nights ago, he had his radio blaring and was taking an outdoor shower, doing a bit of Karaoke for the neighborhood. Loudly. His brother, who tends bar, gets home late, and would love to sleep at three in the morning, comes storming out of his door to vent on his tweaker sibling. The following morning, the tweaker, who has foregone his prosthetic leg and chosen his wheelchair, which he always rides backwards (seriously) and propels with a crutch. Since his yard is sand, he gets stuck constantly. The ensuing cussing wakes up his brother, and the usual argument ensues. This morning, the tweaker, again in his wheelchair and with a flashlight in one hand and a machete in the other is yelling at a cat to come down and take it like a man. The cat refuses, so the tweaker takes it out on the mesquite tree next to him. After ten minutes of whacking, he is surrounded by branches and can’t move his wheelchair. Pissed off when the kitty casually jumps down and scampers away, he starts ranting at the branches to get out of the way. Pissed off at being whacked to the ground, they refuse, stay right where they are. More yelling. As you might have guess, out comes the bemused brother. . .and, well, you can guess the rest. So, a bit of entertainment before I sit down to write. If you are familiar with my books, you probably think I am making this up. No, this is one of those cases where truth is weirder than fiction.

I meant to write a post over the weekend but a couple things set me off my routine. The first was waking up Saturday morning to find my latest revision of a future release called Kona Gold (which was 90% finished) had disappeared. So, several days of intense concentration interrupted by occasional belly laughs vanished from Earth. Oh, I looked for the file in question. . .everywhere. When I ran out of ideas, I Googled the problem, then I YouTubed the problem, and after a couple more hours I still couldn’t find the file. I turned to my computer expert Randy and after six email exchanges with ideas and Recuva programs, etc., he couldn’t find it either. I swear to God, I started questioning my sanity. I can hear you murmuring, “Well, it’s about time, Mike,” and you have a good point. Anyway, I am now 60% revising the previous draft, so all is not lost.

So, once I reconciled myself to several more days of intense concentration interrupted by occasional belly laughs, I chilled out. The day was hot and when the late afternoon shadows covered the route to a little nearby store, I took my sweet doggy Lola for a walk, thinking I’d grab a sunset beer to assure total tranquility. It would go good with the sunset doobie. Our first dog encounter was with Goldie, this little pitbull/something mix that wags its tail like crazy to people but is known to charge cars and other dogs. Goldie, who I like, came over for pets the other day, snuck behind my back at lightning speed and bit Lola for no reason except, well, turns out Goldie can be a dick. I mellowed him with pets and a stern rebuke, “No biting, Goldie!” He shrugged and cruised off. Next, the crazy black dog with four dew claws. . .something I can’t remember seeing before. Along with me, that made at least two mutants on the block. The black dog is named Berzerka, and as you might guess, is out of its mind. At least it’s friendly. Then comes the huge pitbull near the corner. Fortunately, though muscular, Whitey is old. . .sort of the Jack LaLanne of dogs. . .too ancient to get up to bite us! Good boy, Whitey!

So all was cool as we approached the corner and hung a left. Up ahead I saw a group of people petting a German Shepherd. I love German shepherds, even crazy Luna (a dog that barks at birds, the air, and sometimes, nothing at all). I suspect her full named was Lunatic. We’d recently adopted her from a guy who bragged, “She’s an outdoor dog, absolutely no hassle.” He didn’t mention she and everyone in the vicinity stayed awake all night. Well, there was that pesky air to bark at. No doubt he was an insomniac who is now sleeping much better. I solved that problem by letting Luna in at night. The German shepherd up ahead spotted playful Lola (who loves all other dogs and wags her tail like a maniac to make sure they know that). He immediately left the people petting him to come say hi. Shepherds are so friendly! He seemed excited by the prospect of meeting a new pal. For some reason, Lola seemed less than excited. The shepherd picked up speed and went into full sprint mode, so eager was he for affection. Lola sensed otherwise and darted behind my leg. That way, when the German shepherd lunged teeth-first, he buried those teeth in my knee. . .to be specific, on both sides of my knee. He had quite a set of jaws. Smart move, Lola!

After mauling me for awhile, he let go. But only because a passerby had picked up a rock and hurled it into his back. Startled by the rock, the shepherd ran into the street, right into traffic, where he narrowly escaped injury but caused a four-car fender bender. I stood there thirty feet away, eyes popped out, jaw on my chest, and bleeding like a stuck pig. I looked at my knee and almost puked. With all the blood gushing out, I couldn’t tell how bad the wounds were, but the man who threw the rock said, “You better get to the hospital!” I was thinking, “First the vet for poor Lola,” only she didn’t have a scratch on her. I limped on home, my leg covered with blood, scaring children back into their houses but attracting every dog in the neighborhood with my tasty blood reek. After fending them off, I put Lola in the pad, hopped in my truck for a ride to the Emergency Room. At the corner I saw two police cars, four crashed cars, and four furious drivers. But no German shepherd. The guy who threw the rock said, “Hey man, there you are, everyone’s looking for you.” “Why?” “You kidding, you caused a four-car accident. You fled the scene. You’re gonna have to talk to the police. . .” Whoosh. “Hey, where you going?”

Though I’d washed the wounds and put some hydrogen peroxide on my knee, by the time I reached the Emergency Room, blood was cascading down my leg again. The nurse who admitted me fainted. “Jeez, it’s not that bad, is it?” After rushing to the restroom to vomit, she humored me, “No, not if you don’t mind a stump.” This was not good news. . .stumps itch like crazy. She asked for some basic info, name, address, phone number. . . “Your name is Michael Gooed?” “No, Good, not Gooed, you know, like Bueno.” Her eyes lit up, then narrowed. “Ah, Señor Bueno. . .wait a moment, you’re Señor Bueno?” “Well. . .” “Wait here a moment, please,” she said and rushed out of the room. Five minutes later, a phalanx of police surrounded me. Their jefe, Capitano Herrara said, “Funny, you don’t look like a cartel leader.” “I get a lot of that,” I replied. “Also, you’ve made a huge mistake.” “Oh, I don’t think so, Señor Bueno,” he countered. “We’ve double-checked with the CIA. Dr. Strangelove has standing orders that you be apprehended for questioning.” Dad was always trying to find out what I was up to. . .and then put a stop to it. “Yeah, well, meanwhile I need a doctor.” “Yes, you do,” he said, gagging at the sight of me. “Urgently,” he added. “Which is why the CIA has already sent us one.” “No kidding?” No sooner had I said that, then I heard a voice that made my skin crawl. It hissed, “So, Señor Bueno, we meet again!” Oh my God, it was my old nemesis Dr. Joseph Mengele, Jr., Chief Torturer for the CIA’s Dirty Tricks Department, and one of Dad’s minions.

I was so screwed. “Well, let’s have a look at that leg. Holy Jesus,” blurted Dr. Mengele, Jr. That’s gonna have to go.” “Seriously, Doc? It’s that bad?” “No, but you know how I love to operate!” Oh, I did. . .who could forget those excruciating sessions with Dr. Kim Chee, evil-breathed CIA Dentist/Interrogator? I would have escape right then and there, except for the restraints and guns trained on me. When I awoke in the recovery room, sure enough I had a stump and it did itch like crazy. No doubt from the effort of regenerating. Again, I thanked Dr. Strangelove for tinkering with my DNA, removing any genes for common sense but tossing in some starfish to make up for it. He knew that would help me heal from all the accidents I’d be incurring through lack of common sense. Alone for the moment in the recovery room, I realized I needed to get the hell out of there before something weird happened and hopped through a window. . . Long story short, late afternoon walks can be exciting!

 

On another note, High In The Andes will be ready to release on October 20th, 2017 (long as it too doesn’t disappear). So I’m excited about that. If you’d like to get a Free Advanced Reader Copy you can join my Launch Team. All I ask is an Amazon review when my book is published. If that sounds cool, please click here to join the Señor Bueno Launch Team!

I’m getting excited! My next book, High In The Andes, the sequel to Breaking Good (the first novel in the Senor Bueño Adventure series) is through with editing. My eagle-eyed Launch Team is proofreading it now, making sure it’s ready to unleash on the unsuspecting public. To make the public less unsuspecting, I’m gonna start shouting about it all over the place. Well, at least here and on my Facebook page. Andes was a lot of fun to write (they all are), and if you’d like a hilarious verbal journey to South America, you’ve gotta check it out. To get a visual glimpse inside, click here to see Story Scenes From High In The Andes. They will take you from the Caribbean Coast, through the Andes, and down to the Amazon.

 

Whether or not you’ve read my earlier book, if you’d like to get an Advanced Reader Copy of High In The Andes for Free, you can by joining my Launch Team. All you need to do is read the book and leave an Amazon review as soon as it’s published. The secret for a new author is creating a buzz around a book release via plenty of reviews, so I value all members of my Launch Team and will offer them all my work for free! Sound good? If you think so, just click here (I wanna be on the Launch Team) and get ready for some outrageous stories.

 

Here’s a little something to whet your appetite:

This gorgeous backwater scene is about a kilometer’s worth of paddling off the Amazon. The water looks enticing, doesn’t it? Given it was hot and humid and we were swarmed by mosquitoes, Buddy and I thought so, too. Then again, it was the Amazon, a place where untold species wanted to eat us. “How’s the water?” we asked our laconic tour guide, Happy Jose. (This was a bit before the bushmaster killed him.) “Wet,” he informed us. “Yeah, but is it safe?” “Jump in and find out!” he challenged. We delayed when we heard some panicked squealing and saw a pack of capybaras (rodents the size of Rottweilers) crash out of the jungle and leap into the water. Moments later, a jaguar burst from the foliage, not thirty feet from us! Seeing his prey escaping, he jumped right in after them. When the capybaras reached the middle of the pristine pool and the piranhas struck, the jaguar wisely made a u-turn. As the capybaras disappeared and a red stain spread across the water, we were glad we waited.