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Love. Love. Love. Hate. Hate. Hate. It’s just a matter of bobbing and weaving through it. I should tell you about my boxing match in South Florida where the fat-asses in the seats yelled, “Get in the ring, sissy.” I’m sure that they bet against me. After my bout, I saw a White Golden...

I've been reading Rabelais and he plays with the latin quotes. For every inane thing that he says, he has a latin quote from a noble Roman or a pious church scholar. So I had latin on my mind when wrote “esprit de corps”. Okay, it’s French. I fucked-up. And I made the dizzy statement...

Yes, "feral hillbilly" is a term of endearment. I don't know how left-wing Thompson was. I think that he was just surfing the anti-establishment zeitgeist. My sense is that he would've agreed with Nietzsche who said that if the edifice is rotten then push it over. So Thompson wasn't a...

Critics. Critics. Critics. I understand, for one thing, that Thompson came from Louisville and that's not exactly Butcher Hollow or Pikeville. After after all, it hosts the Derby. And I understand that his dad was an insurance salesman and his mom was a librarian. So they were probably...

You're gonna hate me for saying this. But at least Bukowski had his old man to beat German discipline into him. And if the ol' man's cruelty was predictable as clockwork, it gave Buk a sense of order. It gave him a sense of pride, too, like a manchild who'd survived a combination boot-camp...

Last night there was a black nylon travel bag outside the apartment building. Really, it was outside the boarded-up storefront next to the Greek diner. Hmmm. I wondered if I should call 911 or Homeland Security. I went inside and stared at it through the upstairs window. This is a good...

And I thought that I was so smart, fitting in a latin phrase on the World's #1 Bukowski web-site no less. This is like having an ugly tear in my g-string in the 2011 Senior Division finals in West Palm Beach. A huge embarrassment. And, like posting here, I'd trained all my life for it...

I'm living in another rooming house in Philly. Down the street from the old place that never quite recovered from a fire. The ol' Greek landlords remodeled the place with the insurance money. They kicked out the drunks, the mentals and the hopeless eccentrics. But all they could get as new...

Ohio farmboy. Ex-Marine. Comic genius and certified nut-case. I am reminded of Buk's criticism of Hemingway: he was at war all the time. Jonathan Winters was never at war. In fact, he treated his characters with real warmth. That's why his portrayals of bumbling hicks and quaint...