What the Hell

Nothing should ever be taken so seriously that you can’t laugh when the politically correct police aren’t around. And if they are? Well, maybe they need a laugh as well. I think there might be an article in here that delves into that. But maybe not.

To find out, click here and download your free copy of What the Hell: Words by Biff Mitchell.

Zen and the Art of Chicken Wire

There is no Zen in chicken wire. The title is a lie. There is only pain and remorse in chicken wire. Chicken wire wants to take out your eyes. Chicken wire wants to scar your face and rip off an ear. Chicken wire will put tiny holes in your arms and legs, your wrists and ankles…and then it will shed micro bits of metal into your coffee…

Click here if you dare go further into the madness of chicken wire and art.

On Being a Self-Identified Tree Talking to the Ocean

These are the days of war and sorrow where plastic oceans devour the burning land because the warnings didn’t kick our asses hard enough or more likely, we just didn’t want to hear no matter how much we listened.

Well, I decided to look into this. I like oceans, so I decided to talk to an ocean and get its take on the current state of oceans.

ME:                Hello Ocean! How are you today?

OCEAN:         Well, Biff, I’ve seen better days.

ME:                 We’ve all seen better days, Ocean, but that’s not what I want to talk to you about. Can we start over?

OCEAN:         Sure, Biff, let’s start over. By the way, I like your shirt.

ME:                 (ignoring the shirt comment) Hello Ocean! How are you today?

OCEAN:         How do you want me to be, Biff?

ME:                 I want you to be blue/green and beautiful.

OCEAN:         Gee, Biff, that would be really swell.

ME:                 Right…so you’re blue/green and feeling really swell.

OCEAN:         Well, not really.

ME:                 You’re feeling blue/green, beautiful and unresolved on the feeling-really-sweet thing?

OCEAN:         No, not really…just feeling like maybe I’ve seen better days.

ME:                 And when would those days be?

OCEAN:         When you people were apes and stayed away from me. You’re so much nicer

                        when you stay away.

ME:                 You’re making me feel kind of unwanted, Ocean.

OCEAN:         Really, Biff? Then you better not talk to the land you live on.

ME:                 I’m going to ignore that, Ocean.

OCEAN:         No problem, Biff, it’s what you do.

ME:                 That’s a pretty shitty attitude (oh look, three words in a row with double ‘t’s), Ocean. We boat in you. We swim in you. We fish in you. We dive deep into your underwater caverns and mountains and admire you. We love our oceans.

OCEAN:         More like love us to death. Your boats and ships pollute us with their garbage and their cargoes. You fish the hell out of us…and good luck diving deep into us…past the garbage and plastic barriers….if you can get past them. And knowing my composition, I wouldn’t swim in me.

ME:                 So you’re saying it’s our fault that you’re in a bad mood.

OCEAN:         I think the whole planet is in a bad mood because of you humans.

ME:                 Hey, did I say I was human? Where to you get off putting labels on me? Maybe I identify myself as a tree.

OCEAN:         You don’t look like a tree.

ME:                 Maybe I feel like a tree. Haven’t you ever felt like something else?

OCEAN:         I used to feel healthy until you self-identified trees came along.

ME:                 I didn’t say I was a tree. I said that maybe I’m a tree. How would you know what I am until I tell you what I am?

OCEAN:         Only a human would say something as dumb as that.

ME:                 Wow, you’re really full of scorn today, aren’t you?

OCEAN:         Tell you what…let’s ask that snail on the fourth rock to the left what it is.

ME:                 You’re on! Hey! Snail! What are you?

SNAIL:           I’m Elvis Presley.

ME:                 See?

OCEAN:         See what? The snail’s obviously deluded. It’s a snail. It doesn’t even look like

                        Elvis. And it can’t sing.

SNAIL:           I can sing! Just give me a guitar and a recording studio.

ME:                 See what I mean. Just because it looks like a snail doesn’t mean it is a snail.

OCEAN:         I hope you remember that when my tides rise above your shores to reclaim the land and we’ll see if you can self-identify as a fish.

ME:                 I think you’ve been drinking too much plastic. It’s starting to addle your brain.

OCEAN:         Now you get it.

ME:                 Get what?

OCEAN:         The snail is Elvis.

And with that, the ocean disappeared and was replaced by a desert, creating an unexpected change in topic.

ME:                 Hey desert…how are things going with deserts today?

DESERT:        I’m not a desert. I’m a sandbox. You can come and play in me but you have tob follow the rules.

ME:                 The rules?

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Just Re-released: Boston Jonson in Murder by Art

My new publisher is starting to reprint my Boston Jonson mysteries. This is the first one…set in Studio4Ward in downtown Freddie Beach right above Backstreet Records.

It’s 2060. In Backstreet Records, a brooding audiophile thinks murder. Upstairs at Studio4Ward where skulls, dreams and beer cans are the stuff of art, 300 pounds of human sculpture dangles dead from the wall.

Click here to see Boston Jonson solve another impossible murder.