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Jeph could remember the smell of charcoal, beer, and freshly cut grass that day. It wasn’t the only memory he had from way back when he was eight years old on Mom’s wedding day, the day she got hitched to a man who called himself “Dad” on the first day. They hadn’t known each other long, although the memory of exactly how long alluded him. But it wasn’t long enough for Jeph to be calling the man, “Dad.”

Read from the start to get a better experience, Joker Joker Deuce Halloween Series Part I – A Monster Awakens…

Jeph didn’t know why he was having this memory. But it was one of those that snuck up and captivated him until it was over, even though he had lived it. His mind was going to make him live it again. The pathetic day his mom wore a smile all morning while she ran around the house getting ready for her big wedding. She had a humble flower sundress and cork wedge heels that made Jeph admit she did look nice. He remembered her running down the hall toward the bathroom while trying to hook her earrings.

But Jeph had no idea why she was making all that fuss. Especially when Dad came dragging his feet out of the bedroom in his underwear and took one look at Jeph, “Better get dressed, boy. Your mother’s almost ready for her big day!”

Why did they need a wedding? The man was already spending the night. Jeph looked at the clothes he had put on and wondered what was wrong with them. Then he looked back at Dad, and a whole different thought went through his mind, “Me? I need to get dressed? What do you mean, I need to get dressed?”

But Jeph didn’t have to say anything about that when he heard Mom, “Oh, the boy’s fine. But you need to get some clothes on, honey.”

He smacked her on the butt as she walked past him and into the bedroom. Then, he scratched his belly as he let out a loud yawn. He stood there and stared out the window for a moment before turning around and dragging his feet back into the bedroom. But not before stopping to study Jeph for a second. It was a stare that lingered, and there wasn’t much context behind it. So, Jeph had no idea what that was about.  

Within an hour, they were off to the courthouse. A quick ceremony with a clerk of the court acting as a witness, and their new family was off to a barbecue, where Dad introduced them to one of the most interesting men Jeph had ever met. Stone had long hair and smelled very organic, but he had a calming presence, a stark contrast from the kind of life Jeph had at home.

“Well, we went and done it. I made her the old ball and chain,” Dad said as he patted her butt, something he particularly liked to do all day long.

Mom rolled her eyes as she waved at Stone, obviously already acquainted with the man, “Hi, Stone. How’s it going?”

“It’s good, Doll. Haven’t seen you in a while,” the man said with a huge smile on his face. Then, his eyes floated down to Jeph. “This must be the little Tiger. How are you doing, Jed?”

“Jeph,” Mom corrected.

“Jeph! That’s right,” Stone made a deal about it like he had just cussed in front of a nun. “I’ll get it right from here on out. My promise.”

Jeph just smiled and nodded. It didn’t matter what Stone called him. He could make up names if he wanted. He was just that cool of a guy.  

“Got something to wet my whistle?” Dad blurted out as soon as the greetings were over.

“You know where they are, brother,” Stone pointed at the refrigerator in the yard by the trailer.

When Dad looked at Mom, she knew what was going to come out of his mouth, “Why don’t you head over there and grab us a few?”

“I can do that,” she answered, and then she started walking away.

“It just dawned on me that’s your first official act as my wife,” Dad yelled like he was claiming his territory.

She turned around and just shook her head as she looked back at him. But it wasn’t long before a bunch of ladies had surrounded her with smiles and questions. She was showing off the ring like it was a lost treasure from the Nile. Jeph could remember her smile. He could also remember the feeling he had of how out of place she seemed.

Everyone else was dressed casually in shorts or jeans. She was the only one wearing a dress with healed shoes. Dad didn’t even put anything nice on for the occasion, and Jeph didn’t have anything nice. The barbecue they were at wasn’t even for the wedding. It just happened to be on the same day they decided to tie the knot.

The more Jeph watched Mom interact with the others, the more he thought about how sad it all was. She wanted some kind of life so bad and was willing to do whatever it was to get it. What Jeph knew about Mom, she was funny and thoughtful. She seemed to be better than all these people she surrounded herself with. But there was something to her that Jeph just couldn’t name. People didn’t see her or treat her that way. It didn’t add up, and he had no clue why.

When he overheard Stone and Dad talk, it wasn’t that interesting for an eight-year-old. But it gave Jeph a chance to get to know more about the man who had just moved into his home and attached himself so quickly.

It seemed like he made decent money. Jeph couldn’t quite make out exactly what he did. He could have been a chemist because he talked a lot about dropping acid. Stone seemed to work with him on that.

But Stone was into other stuff, too. It sounded like he was a gardener the way he talked about herbs and greens. The way Stone talked, he made everything seem so interesting. Dad just droned on like the world was paying to listen to him. It was this monotone hum that felt like it was making Jeph’s ears bleed.

He finally had to walk away and find something else to do. There weren’t any other kids at the barbecue, so it wasn’t going to be that easy. Jeph took a tour and walked the driveway up to the drainage that ran at the end of the road. He threw a few heavy rocks into the water and watched them splash. But that kind of fun only lasts for a while.

Then, he walked back to the party where he spotted a football under the trailer. When he climbed underneath, he found himself face-to-face with a snake.  That was an interesting sight. It was hissing and sticking its tongue out, and then it squirmed away.

“You almost had him,” Stone said.

Jeph bumped his head on the bottom of the trailer when he tried to turn around. Stone squinted while Jeph rubbed the spot. Then, he grabbed the football and climbed out from under the trailer.

“You okay?” Stone asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Jeph answered sheepishly, embarrassed by such a stupid move.

“I don’t know how many times I do that a week,” Stone comforted.

Jeph looked up at him, “You do?”

“Comes with the territory,” Stone answered. “You climb under stuff, you’re eventually going to hit your head.”

“You climb under a lot of stuff?” Jeph asked.

“All the time,” Stone answered. “So, imagine that. I do it all the time, and I still hit my head.”

Jeph’s laugh was like a low growl. It was like he didn’t know how to laugh, and that was all he could muster.

“You like football?” Stone asked.

“I’m bored,” Jeph blurted out honestly. “I was just looking for something to do.”

“Let’s do it,” Stone encouraged. “Here. Throw it to me.”

As Stone stepped back a few feet, Jeph cocked his arm back and let it launch. When Stone caught it, he took a look at it, “It’s a little on the flat side. It’ll do, though.”

Jeph shrugged as he watched the ball flying back at him. He caught it in his gut. He felt it a little bit, but he tried not to grunt. He sucked in some air and threw the ball back.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeph watched as Dad sat down in a lawn chair. He pulled Mom on top of him. His hands seemed to go everywhere. When he saw Jeph watching something over his shoulder, Stone looked around and nodded. Then, he looked back at Jeph and shook his head, “Sorry, there aren’t some kids here for you to hang with.”

Jeph shrugged again. Playing catch with the coolest guy at the party was better than having other kids around. The ball went back and forth a few more times before some guy on the other side of the yard yelled, “Food’s ready! Come get you some!”

 That’s when Stone looked at Jeph, “Let’s get a plate. Come on!”

As Jeph walked over to the picnic table full of different kinds of foods, he overheard Dad order, “Hey, honey, why don’t you go grab me a plate?”

She looked at him and nodded, keeping her smile on her face, “What would you like?”

“Oh, just fill her up,” he answered. “I’m hungry.”

She climbed off of him while his hands were still feeling parts of her. As she made her way to the table, she heard, “Hey uh, hon, can you grab me another beer while you’re at it?”

She looked back and nodded. Her mind was so full of the excitement of the day and the happy moment it was all supposed to be that she had no awareness of how she actually looked to the people around her. Jeph noticed them looking at her and looking at him. He couldn’t quite figure out the social cues, but he felt the vibe.

While Mom fixed Dad a plate, a nice lady from the party brought Jeph one. He hadn’t met her before and didn’t know what to say. So, she just tapped him on the top of his head and told him to eat up, that there was more if he wanted.

Jeph looked around, and all the chairs were taken. The table had no room. So, he copped a squat right where he was. When he looked at the plate, he liked what he saw. There was a cheeseburger made with a bun, not with two slices of bread like Mom made at home. He had no idea what the white things were beside it, but he knew it was made of egg, and that smooshy stuff on top was awesome. He was definitely going to go back and get some more of that.

The more he tried to concentrate on his plate, the more Dad was making a spectacle of himself. He had scarved down his food, and some dropped on his shirt. Mom grabbed a paper towel from the picnic table and tried to clean the mess. She had to fight off his hands while she did it, and they were just making a show for everyone to watch.

Dad would ask for a kiss, and while she was giving him one, his hands were all over the place. But they were doing more than that. He didn’t just run his hands over her dress. He ran them up her dress as well. Jeph saw her legs and even knew what color underwear she was wearing.

Stone hadn’t been paying attention. But when he saw Jeph watching this rated entertainment, not suitable for kids, he whistled. When that didn’t work, he made a clicking noise with his mouth. That didn’t seem to work either. So, Stone did the only thing that came to mind.

“Hey, look at that,” he yelled as he pointed into the distance.

Jeph looked suddenly, but everyone around the party laughed. Then, Jeph overheard Stone say, “Um, you have kids here. Save that shit for the bedroom, bro.”

Dad looked around at Jeph, “See? We shouldn’t have brought him with us.”

“And do what with him?” Mom asked.

“He’s old enough to leave at home, isn’t he?” Dad asked.

“Not at eight years old,” she answered.

“Who would know?” Dad asked.

“So we come to a barbecue and leave him at home alone?” she asked.

“What? We would have brought him something back with us,” Dad answered.

When Mom looked over, Jeph was staring straight at her. At one time, there were two people against the world. It was just her and him, the way he liked it. It wasn’t his preference, but it was the hand he was dealt, and he was fine with it. But those days were gone.

There was a new man in town. Jeph was put in the backseat. No longer the little man of the house. No longer the little man in her life. And by what it seemed, he was hardly anything to her at all.

Warning: Part IV of Joker Joker Deuce Halloween Series is coming soon!

This series is inspired by Joker Joker Deuce, a psychological thriller set in a college town where students are being targeted by a serial killer. Available now on Amazon!

The post Joker Joker Deuce Halloween Series Part III – Wedding Day appeared first on Michael Allen.

Jeph took in a few deep breaths like he was about to lift a heavy weight. He was psyched to the max and psyching himself out even more as he thought about Julie. That was her name, his new obsession. Now, he had a name to go with that beautiful face and those nice legs he encountered at the gas station.

Well, he didn’t really encounter her. He watched her as she pumped her gas, and he pumped his. But she did look at him, and her stare lingered. Then, she looked back as she drove away. So, that could be considered an encounter. He decided to count it because her message was proof. She had written him a nice little note after finding his profile on Wink.

There was no arguing that. It was a short and sweet message he kept reading over and over, “The site says we are compatible. Write me back if you’d like to find out.”

Why yes, Julie. Yes, I would.

He sat back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. That’s when his mind went completely blank. He stared at the monitor, the cursor blinking in the empty form was enough to get on anyone’s nerves. It kept blinking like it was making fun of him.

“So, you have nothing to say now. All you have is your active imagination. But when it comes to actually doing something to get laid, you’ve got nothing.”

He shook his head as the cursor continued to blink obnoxiously, “I think it’s time to clean my keyboard. That’s a crumb, isn’t it?”

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a can of duster that blew out all of the debris caught between the keys, “Jalapeno crackers! I suddenly want some. Is that box still down here or what?”

He spun his chair around and saw the empty box in the trash can by the coffee table, “That sucks!”

“Hey, Sparky!” he heard from behind him.

When he spun around, the monitor was still waiting patiently for him. He looked across his desk, and there was a bobblehead of a throwback to The Shining grinning back at him with that creepy look in his eyes. But instead of saying, “Here’s Johnny!” it just grinned like a sarcastic mental patient.

“What?” Jeph asked.

“Get focused, Chief. Aren’t you trying to write some girl?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Jeph answered.

“Seems to me, you’re looking for anything else to do but focus on the task at hand. Are you allergic to girls, Jephy?” the bobblehead taunted.

“No,” the lovestruck admirer answered.

“Then, don’t you think you should write her back and head off to work before one of those blood vessels in your head pops?” Jack cracked.

“Alright, you don’t have to be so harsh about it,” he answered.

“You think this is harsh, Missy?” the sarcastic-faced plastic head on Jeph’s desk remarked. “You wouldn’t know harsh if it walked up to you and sat on your soft face. Now, get your fingers typing on that damn keyboard or I’ll give you something to whine about.”

Jeph shook his head, staring back at the mouthy toy that might soon find its way into the trash can. But for now, it was right. Jeph needed to write her back, and how hard could that possibly be? All he had to do was type a few words into the form and hit send. She had made first contact. What was there to lose?

His fingers started slow and then caught speed at the end, “If the site says we’re compatible, we owe it to ourselves to find out.” Send. He clicked the mouse so fast, he didn’t give himself time to think.

“See, was that so hard?” Jack asked as his eyes stayed steady while his head kept moving around.

“Eww,” the cursor on the monitor made a face. “I can’t believe I had anything to do with that drivel.”

When Jeph arrived at work, he had a little pep to his step. His mind was racing with the possibilities. He had already imagined them on several dates and even fantasized about her in his bed. But stepping into the back of the sub shop was the wakeup call that pulled him right back into reality.

Missy was the first person he laid eyes on as he entered the prep area where the computers are. She was a junior at B.U., which made her kind of the boss in the shop, having worked there the longest. A cute girl on the short side, she was cool at barking orders that made it seem like she was asking for a favor.

Sean was standing on the other side of the prep table with a bag of rolls and a huge jar of mayonnaise. He was getting the bread ready to become subs with thick spreads of mayo slapped into each one. His perfect hair and gold assortments around his neck, wrist, and fingers made him look like he just got the job for something to do, like it was extra credit. Brian was in his station flipping beef around the grill like it had insulted his mother. He was a clean-cut guy on the muscular side, and a sense of humor that kept the shop light.

If Jeph could take a snapshot of this very moment, it would be the same week after week. Missy and Sean in the prep area all day, and Brian on the grill with the meat. The scene never changed. But Jeph had been through this for years. These guys would one day go, and new ones would take their place as the world kept turning and college students went off to greener pastures.

As Missy hung up the phone, she yelled, “Someone just ordered tuna on a meatball sub.”

“What?” Brian yelled from the grill. “What kind of psycho wants tuna on a meatball?”

Jeph was grabbing his delivery bag and stuffing it with napkins when he turned around to study Brian for a moment. Tuna on a meatball wasn’t a normal combination to order. But why is it psycho? There are food combinations that would make tuna and meatballs seem tame. How about ranch dressing in spaghetti, Brian? How does that sound?

“You can’t handle tuna with meatballs, Brian?” Jeph yelled at the college kid tied to a chair in a dark room.

Jeph dipped his hand into a bowl of meatballs and pulled out a handful. He walked over to the young, squirming man in the chair and held him by the throat as he shoved the meatballs in his open mouth. He pushed down on the ground up beef as Brian choked, trying to survive with a throat full. But Jeph wasn’t finished yet.

He grabbed a bowl of spaghetti and started pouring it into Brian’s mouth. It fell all over his face and onto the floor while he kicked and shook his head. When the bowl emptied, Jeph shoved it on his face and watched as Brian fought for air. Then, he remembered the ranch sitting on the table across the room.

“The moon landing was actually filmed in an airplane hangar at the Kennedy Space Center,” blasted through Jeph’s ears. And just like that, he was back in the real world. He looked at Brian, who was happily grilling beef and throwing diced onions in the mix. He had come so close to eating a mouthful of ranch.

But who in the world had the idea that the moon landing had been filmed in an airplane hangar? Had he heard that right?

“You watch too many movies,” Missy slapped Sean on the arm with her towel.

“A movie based on the truth,” Sean fired back.

“It is like hell,” Brian yelled from the grill.

These guys had to be the most entertaining students Jeph had ever met. There wasn’t a dull moment in the shop. The topics they would fire at each other to make the time fly were the most random and so absolutely ridiculous. Some crews over the years were boring. They did their jobs and left like it was nothing. But this crew kept the shop alive.

As Sean spelled out why he thought the moon landing was filmed in a hangar, Jeph watched as he stopped stirring tuna salad with a pasta fork. Then, he set it on the table in front of him as he kept pace with his speech, “I’m telling you, Nixon was up against a lot of things, and landing on the moon was very important for his Administration. He couldn’t let the American people down, not after being given an entire space program to begin with. But these rockets…the rockets they had spent years building…they just weren’t ready.”

As Jeph watched Sean talk so energetically, he pounded the table in front of him with his fist a few times. Jeph couldn’t help but imagine the pasta fork flying up and going right through his eye. That would be a funny scene to watch, Sean trying to pull it out. Maybe Missy would run around the table and start helping too. Blood squirting all over the place. So much blood, Brian slipped on it as he tried to come to the rescue. Maybe they all ended up on the floor somehow, squirming around in the pool of blood coming out of Sean’s eye.

Jeph heard himself laugh and stifled that before anyone noticed. It didn’t matter because that was the very moment Shane came busting through the back door. He was another delivery driver there to help Jeph for the evening. They would tackle the deliveries together because it was hitting that time of evening when business would start to pick up.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Shane announced as he walked through with his fashionably messy hair and thick cologne that could choke a smoker.

“Hey, player,” Brian yelled from the grill, another batch of steam climbing to the ceiling around him.

“What it be like, Bray Bray,” Shane yelled back.

“Sup, Shane,” Sean greeted.

“My boy. How’s it hanging?” Shane kept going with his daily ritual of hellos.

Missy waved as if she didn’t care. So, Shawn grabbed her and gave her a big hug. That made her giggle like a little schoolgirl.

Jeph rolled his eyes. This was every day. How long could he keep it up, coming in every day like he owns the place, the most popular kid on the block, a completely insecure mess because if he doesn’t get attention, he cries about it? Jeph grabbed one of the knives on the table and pulled Shane back by his messy hair before running the blade across his neck. The blood poured out of the beautiful slice as Shane’s eyes darted around in confusion.

“One meatball with tuna,” Brian yelled out as he placed the wrapped sandwich on the counter.

“The what?” Shane laughed as his question slipped from his lips.

“Yeah, someone ordered a meatball with tuna on it,” Missy filled him in on what was going on.

“What psycho does that?” Shane joked.

Jeph smiled, his imagination running wild again. But he was too busy grabbing the sandwich and putting it in his delivery bag. He walked to a computer in the prep area and claimed the delivery. Then, slung the bag around his shoulder as he walked by everyone and out the back door.

When he got to his car, he put the delivery bag in the passenger seat and fired up the engine. Then, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He took a look on Wink, but there was nothing. Julie hadn’t even seen his message yet. This was going to be one long night.

Warning: Part III of Joker Joker Deuce Halloween Series is coming soon!

This series is inspired by Joker Joker Deuce, a psychological thriller set in a college town where students are being targeted by a serial killer. Available now on Amazon!

The post Joker Joker Deuce Halloween Series Part II – Obsession appeared first on Michael Allen.

A gray sky for a shiny black 1971 Dodge Polara spells disaster, especially when it had just been washed earlier that day. The clouds weren’t quite dark yet, but they were getting there, and Jeph just knew the day was going to piss on his parade. But he had orders to fill, and there was no way he was going to beat the rain to get his monster in the garage before his wax job got ruined.

That was life. There was something new every day to annoy him. Like finding a house on a street he had been down a million times. He had probably even been to the house a million times. Why weren’t these things stuck in his head like all the other useless knowledge he seemed to find there? He knew that wombat poop was cube-shaped. Why did he know that, but he couldn’t find a simple house in the middle of a small town?

As his Polara crept down the street, he finally came to a stop. He looked at the number on the porch and verified the number on the ticket. Then, he grabbed the delivery bag from the passenger seat and studied the house for a moment. First of all, how does a wombat poop cubes? That’s mental. It just doesn’t fit with the scheme of things, but the world has so much weird in it, he tried to stop asking those kinds of questions a long time ago.

After knocking on the door a few times and looking to the sky for a hint of rain, Jeph was greeted by a lady who slowly opened the door. She wasn’t the age of a typical Bridgeport student, or at least she didn’t look like it anyway. Plus, she answered the door alone. Five other giggling, energetic schoolgirls didn’t join her to help with the nearly impossible task of grabbing lunch. So, she must have actually been a resident of Bridgeport.

He shook his head when he thought of how he couldn’t remember ever meeting her before. She was a nice-looking lady with a pleasant smile. He would definitely have remembered her. But all that was shattered when she took a look at her order and started going off about how wrong it was. She hadn’t ordered a cheesesteak sub, and she wanted onion rings. Why did it come with fries and not the onion rings she had ordered?

Jeph took a deep breath as he listened to her go on about it. He had been in this situation before. It wasn’t his first rodeo. Sometimes, orders get mixed up. They put the wrong name on the ticket, and the wrong food shows up at the house. It happens. Of course, Jeph could have picked the wrong order. It wasn’t completely unheard of that he could have been the culprit. But he confirmed it wasn’t his fault when he simply looked at the ticket and saw the house number with the list of items. He had done his part the right way.

That aside, there was another issue Jeph had seen many times before. This once sweet, smiling lady could be one of those hustlers always looking for some way to get free stuff. That was the most common reason when things like this happened. So, Jeph followed protocol and called it in, to which he was told that the shop would fix it and that would be that. Taking the loss was no big problem for the shop.

When he hung up the phone and explained the situation, that’s when he heard the words he just knew were going to come next. There wouldn’t be any tip for him. What a totally useless lady and an absolute waste of time. Not only was this real piece of work going to get free food out of it, but she couldn’t even bring herself to tip him for his troubles, especially when she knew what she was doing. Just add that frustration to the growing list of frustrations for the day.

“Well, you got a free lunch out of it, too,” he said as he drove super slow down the street, turned the corner, and imagined shaving her head while she slept. Driving slowly was a coping mechanism he had developed for those times when he found himself frustrated. Needless to say, he drove that way a good bit of the time.

“Yeah, I guess a cheesesteak will work,” he consoled himself as he came to a stop sign, looked down at the order that wouldn’t make it back to the shop, and imagined gluing her butt cheeks together.

“Remember to check on her when we get back to the shop. See how many times she’s sent an order back,” he reminded himself as he took a look at the dashboard and noticed the fuel gauge.

“That’s a good idea. You need gas, by the way,” he told himself as he looked around for a gas station, shook his head when he saw the gas prices, and imagined pulling out her teeth one by one with pliers. A smile crept across his face as he pulled into the parking lot.

When he saw her kick open her car door, his heart leapt in his chest. All he knew was that she had a good-looking leg, but that was all any guy needed. It was that good-looking of a leg. Then, her body followed, and everything fit together perfectly. She was wearing tan shorts and white tennis shoes that made her tan glisten in the sun.

That’s when Jeph realized that the weather had gone the other way, and his Polara was safe for now. Then, his mind went right back to this beautiful lady getting out of her car at the gas pump in front of his. She was a welcome distraction to an otherwise brain-numbingly awful day.

She had a V-neck T-shirt that highlighted her cleavage, and she walked around like she knew it. She looked at the pump and read the instructions because obviously, this was her first time ever getting gas. She pulled her card out of her back pocket because that’s the best place for a credit card when you’re sitting in a car, driving around all day. Every move she made was perfectly orchestrated, and the longer Jeph stared, the more he started to think that it was all a show for him.

When she looked back at him, that’s what sealed the deal. Her gaze lingered a moment before she unscrewed her gas cap and gently slid the pump into the pipe. The way she bent her leg and curved her spine, she was posing as if she were doing a photoshoot for her social media. She didn’t have a blemish, so what was her deal?

Forget the fact that she was obviously a college student at B.U. His imagination running wild, she was the daughter of a rich businessman who took the helicopter into the city too often and left her home alone with the staff. She had a very pampered life, which pushed her to seek out relationships with what the elite call “undesirables.” That’s where he came into the picture, right at the part where she’s trying to do something awful to get her daddy’s attention.

The click on his pump brought him back to real life, where he got to enjoy watching her put the nozzle back and bend over to pull the car door open. She slid down in the seat with as much elegance as she could muster. Then, she drove off slowly, making sure to look back a beat to see if he was still watching.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since he first saw her leg kick open the door. He sure wasn’t going to miss a glimpse of her now as she was leaving. And long after she was gone from his view, the thoughts of her kept playing themselves over and over in his mind. Not just the beauty that he beheld with his eyes, but what he imagined while she was patiently waiting for her tank to fill at the pump. Those were some beautiful thoughts of entanglement that followed his imaginary courtship.

“Yes, nice to meet you too, Mr. Rich…That’s right, your daughter and I have been on a few dates, which means that we’ll be having coitus the next time I pick her up…No, I’m sorry you really can’t do anything about it. It’s happening. It’s what she wants, sir. You know all too well, when she wants something, that’s what she’s going to get. And of course, I want her. I mean, look at her. She’s one hot little number. Kudos to you, sir. You did a great job with that!”

It was right about the time when his hand slid up her soft thigh that an obnoxious car behind him with a loud horn had to ruin the moment. He looked up to see that the light was green and there were no cars in front of him. So, he did what any normal person would do and waited until the light turned yellow to hit the gas. He saw the middle finger as he drove away, and that was good for a laugh. It was the little things that kept him entertained throughout the day.

But his thoughts kept returning to the girl at the pump. When he was driving to a delivery, he thought about her. When he was driving back from a delivery, he thought about her. Forget the thousands of other girls he saw walking across the street or driving in the car beside him, Jeph’s mind was lost on that beautiful, rich girl at the pump. It wasn’t his first time seeing a beautiful girl, but you’d think it was.

When his shift was finally over, he retreated to his basement, where he liked to unwind. That was his special place where he had two computer systems set up on the desk against the back wall. One was for browsing the internet, and the other was for diving deep into the dark areas of it.

The room was like a dark dungeon, but it was his escape. He was full of contradictions like that. It’s like escaping to a prison, only this was a safe space that brought him some comfort despite the battles that raged in his mind. As his fingers danced across the keyboard, websites flashed on the monitor. He had no friends on Lookbook, but that didn’t stop him from browsing through the profiles and seeing what everyone else was doing. Wink was a new dating site he had just discovered, where there were plenty of beautiful ladies in his area just dying to meet him. The only problem was that they weren’t as excited to meet him as the advertisements made it sound.

Profile after profile, beautiful girl after beautiful girl, he must have been surfing for about an hour when he heard the most delicious ding in his life. It was from the phone in his pocket. He knew what that sound was, even though he hadn’t heard it that often. Most of the time, it was about a new profile in the area that Wink thought would make a good fit. But this time, it was something different.

When he pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a look, it was that girl at the gas pump. That was too strange, too coincidental. Could it be that she was actually flirting with him, and then she looked him up on Wink?

That’s crazy! The beautiful girl at the gas pump had sent him a message. It took him a moment to wrap his brain around that, and then he read the message…

“The site says we are compatible. Write me back if you’d like to find out.”

Warning: Part II of the Joker Joker Deuce Halloween Series will be coming soon!

In the meantime, dive into Jeph’s world, Joker Joker Deuce, the psychological thriller that inspired it all. Available on Amazon now!

The post Joker Joker Deuce Halloween Series Part I – A Monster Awakens appeared first on Michael Allen.

Morning sunlight spilled through the curtains of her apartment in Salt Lake City. The city was just waking up, soft and quiet, the kind of calm that always comes before the noise of the day. Mackenzie Lueck moved through her morning the same way she always did, coffee in hand, scrolling through her phone, planning her classes and her next trip. She was twenty-three, full of plans and ideas that reached far beyond Utah.

Her friends described her as confident and caring, a young woman who never hesitated to help someone or chase what she wanted. Mackenzie Lueck loved her family, her dog, and the thrill of trying new things. To anyone who knew her, Mackenzie’s life looked ordinary and good. The kind of life that was still being built, still stretching forward with promise.

She never guessed that the phone in her hand, the same one that connected her to friends, would also connect her to a man she should have never met. A message. A plan. A late-night meeting that seemed harmless at first.

What Mackenzie did not know was that her fate had already been sealed. It had been written in the eyes of a boy who once watched a brutal murder many years ago.

Ayoola Ajayi was fifteen when the shouting started. The noise pulled him to the window, where smoke rose like a living thing over the rooftops. Outside, the crowd had gathered in a circle. Men with torches. Women with covered mouths. The heat from the fire made the night shimmer.

At the center of it all, a man begged for mercy. His clothes were soaked, his face slick with fear, his arms tied to a post that stood like a warning. No one listened. The boy stood still, his hands pressed to the glass as the mob threw the first flame. The light caught fast. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

People shouted things that sounded like words but meant nothing. Some laughed. Some turned away. The boy did neither. He watched until the man stopped moving and the flames died down to embers. He remembered the silence that followed more than the noise.

Later that year, it happened again. Different town. Different man. This time it was someone the boy knew. A friend of his father. The mob burned him, too. The boy did not cry. He only stared, memorizing the way the fire licked the skin and the way it left nothing behind.

When the smoke cleared, something inside him stayed warm. It was not comfort. It was something else. Something that whispered, remember this.

Years passed, but the fire never left him. It followed quietly, tucked behind his thoughts like a shadow that never stopped watching. He learned to smile in photographs and speak softly when people asked about his childhood. No one ever asked what he had seen.

He grew into a man who understood how to look ordinary. He went to school, worked quiet jobs, and kept his apartment clean. He held doors for strangers and waved to neighbors. To anyone passing by, he was polite, kind, and harmless. The kind of man who could fade into a crowd.

When the memories grew heavy, he wrote. At first, it was only notebooks filled with fragments of dreams and violent shapes. Over time, the pages turned into something more. He gave his words a title and called it Forge Identity. The story told of a boy who had watched a man burn and learned to live with the fire inside him.

Mackenzie Lueck had always trusted her instincts. She was cautious, but she also believed in people. Online, she kept her distance, never sharing more than she had to, but loneliness has a way of bending rules. The night she met him, she had just come home from her grandmother’s funeral. Her flight had landed late. Her messages were brief. One last text. One last meeting before she tried to sleep.

He told her he understood loss. He said he had been through it too. His voice in their messages was calm and comforting, the kind that seems to know when to pause. She agreed to meet him at Hatch Park, a quiet place in the early hours where no one would notice two cars parked close together.

Her friends would later say she looked tired that day but in good spirits. She had plans for the week ahead. There was nothing unusual. Her phone’s last location pinged at 3 a.m. Then the signal went dark.

It’s hard to imagine what happened…

via Salt Lake City Police Department

It was late when Mackenzie’s plane landed. After a long flight home from California, she was tired and numb from the weight of her grandmother’s funeral. The airport felt empty at that hour, just a handful of travelers moving through the fluorescent light. She texted her parents that she had landed safely, then sent another message to someone else.

She picked up her luggage and drove through quiet streets toward Hatch Park. The clock on her dashboard crept past two in the morning. The park sat still in the darkness, trees barely moving, only a few lights flickering near the entrance. She parked and waited.

His car pulled up beside hers. A simple hello. The kind of small talk that fills empty space when two people are still strangers. He smiled, and for a moment, she relaxed. The night air was cool and heavy with the smell of wet grass.

Then something gave her pause. A question that sounded rehearsed. A tone that did not match the words. Her pulse quickened. The conversation slowed to awkward pauses, the kind that make the world feel smaller.

He asked her to come with him, just for a while, to talk somewhere private. Every instinct in her body told her no. She hesitated, her hand on the car door, trying to decide whether to leave. But she did not want to seem rude. She had met him voluntarily. People were not supposed to turn that dangerous that quickly.

The park was quiet. No traffic. No footsteps. Only her own reflection in the car window and the faint hum of crickets in the dark.

What happened next would never be fully known. The phone that had guided her there would go silent minutes later. The park would stand empty by sunrise, the grass flattened in two places where cars had once been.

Mackenzie Lueck was gone.

By morning, Ayoola Ajayi had returned to his house in Salt Lake City. Neighbors saw him dragging something heavy across the yard. The smell of smoke drifted over fences and through open windows. Some thought he was burning trash. Others thought it was wood. No one imagined what the fire really was.

When police searched his backyard days later, they found the remains. Charred bone. Blackened soil. Fragments of the girl who had trusted too easily.

He told them nothing. He didn’t cry. The same quiet he had carried since he was fifteen filled the room again. The boy who once watched the fire burn had learned how to build one of his own.

When detectives entered his house, they found order. Everything in its place. Dishes washed, counters clean, lights dim. It looked like a home belonging to someone who valued calm. But calm can hide rot.

In a back room, they found notebooks stacked neatly beside his computer. The same name appeared over and over. Forge Identity. The manuscript described fire, secrecy, and a man who could erase himself. The story’s hero watched people burn to death and believed the flames could cleanse the world.

The detectives kept reading. The words blurred with the details surrounding the death of Mackenzie Lueck. Fire pits. Late-night arrivals. The quiet satisfaction of control. It was not fiction anymore. It was confession in disguise.

When they searched online, they discovered he had published the book through Amazon months before the murder. The description told of a boy who had witnessed a burning and grown into a man haunted by it. The investigators compared the book to what they had found in his yard. The fire had returned, stronger than before, guided by the same hand that had once trembled against the window.

He had written his story before he lived it.

News of the arrest spread fast. His face was everywhere. The quiet man from Salt Lake City was suddenly a headline, a villain, a name tied forever to the woman he killed. Reporters crowded outside his home, filming the place where the fire had burned. Neighbors stared through their blinds, whispering about how normal he had always seemed.

In court, he said little. He looked down, blinked slowly, and listened as the charges were read. Murder. Kidnapping. Desecration of a body. There was no emotion in his voice when he spoke to the judge. He had already retreated somewhere deeper, the same place he had gone as a boy when the mob’s flames painted the sky.

Mackenzie’s parents sat in the courtroom, holding hands. They wanted answers that would never come. There is no explanation for that kind of cruelty, only silence where humanity should be.

After his plea, Amazon removed Forge Identity. The book that mirrored his violence disappeared from the internet. But the story he had written lived on in the evidence. It became proof that evil can rehearse itself long before it acts.

He was sentenced to life in prison without the chance of freedom. The smile that once looked polite now felt like a mask stretched too tight. Somewhere behind it, the boy who watched the fire still waited for the next spark.

What Mackenzie Lueck was looking for through a sugar dating site is anyone’s imagination. Maybe she wanted someone who would take care of her. Maybe she thought Ayoola was the man for the job. It’s hard to tell. What’s clear is that she walked into the life of someone who already had darkness waiting for her.

This story strikes a similar chord with Joker Joker Deuce, a psychological thriller that is a must-read this Halloween. Jeph is on a dating site, scrolling through profiles, looking for something that feels real. Every time he reaches out, he gets ignored or rejected, and in his mind, that rejection turns cruel. He convinces himself the women are teasing him, laughing at him, playing games. That belief is what puts him in motion.

Ayoola had different motives for what he did, but Jeph snapped just the same. And now he has his eyes on Tracy. Like Mackenzie Lueck, she has no idea what’s coming or what she’s about to go through.

For this Halloween, you deserve a good thrill – Joker Joker Deuce.

The post The Fire He Carried: The Murder of Mackenzie Lueck appeared first on Michael Allen.

Taylor Swift has released her latest album The Life of a Showgirl, and with it, she continues to redefine what it means to be an artist in the modern world. She is not just a performer or a celebrity. She is a phenomenon. Few ever reach the level of fame she has built, and even fewer manage to stay there with the kind of balance and grace that she shows every day. Taylor is operating in a space that most people cannot even imagine. It’s not just about talent anymore. It’s about endurance, strength, creativity, and an unshakable sense of who she is.

Her success has become something more than commercial. It is cultural, emotional, and personal for millions of people around the world. Every song she releases becomes part of a larger story that her fans feel deeply connected to. She carries herself with a mix of vulnerability and control that makes her both relatable and untouchable at the same time. She has built an empire around music, love, and storytelling, and she wears the weight of it all like it belongs to her.

The Elizabeth Taylor Parallel

One of the most striking things about Taylor’s new album is her comparison to Elizabeth Taylor, which also happens to be the title of one of her tracks. It is not a random reference. Elizabeth Taylor was the kind of Hollywood legend who lived her life on display. She was adored, criticized, and analyzed at every turn, and she still managed to remain an icon of grace and power. Taylor Swift sees herself reflected in that.

Like Elizabeth Taylor, she understands what it means to live in front of the world. Every decision she makes is dissected. Every outfit becomes a headline. Every lyric sparks debate. Yet she keeps showing up, smiling, and performing with authenticity. The connection between the two women runs deeper than fame. Both have a timeless quality that makes them seem like they belong to a different era altogether. Both have turned their personal stories into art that resonates across generations.

When Taylor Swift sings about Elizabeth Taylor, she isn’t just referencing another celebrity. She’s acknowledging a shared burden and a shared resilience. She sees herself as part of a lineage of women who have learned to survive under the brightest and harshest lights.

The Music that Defines Her

Taylor’s music has evolved over time, but the one thing that has never changed is her authenticity. Whether it’s heartbreak, revenge, hope, or pure joy, she writes it all in a way that makes her audience feel seen. She can take a private moment and turn it into a universal feeling. That is what separates her from everyone else.

Her sound has shifted from country to pop to indie and beyond, but it has always felt like her. Every new project she releases shows another side of her story. With The Life of a Showgirl, it feels like she has reached a point of reflection. She knows the kind of world she lives in now. She knows what it takes to keep it all going. She knows the price of fame and the strength it demands. Her songs are both celebration and confession, and that’s what makes them powerful.

I’ve always loved her music. There is a rare honesty in it. Even when she is being playful or sarcastic, there is truth underneath. Every line has intention. Every melody carries weight. She understands that art is not just about perfection. It’s about connection.

Her Humor and Humanity

One of the most underrated parts of Taylor Swift’s personality is her sense of humor. She doesn’t take herself too seriously, which is remarkable for someone living under a microscope. She jokes about her mistakes, laughs at the chaos that follows her, and finds joy in the absurdity of fame.

Her humor makes her human. It reminds people that she’s not a machine built for stardom. She is a person who still gets embarrassed, still feels awkward, still gets caught off guard by life. That self-awareness makes her even more magnetic. When she smiles, you can feel it. When she pokes fun at herself, you sense that she has learned how to survive by staying lighthearted in a heavy world.

Humor is a form of strength. It takes resilience to laugh in the face of scrutiny. Taylor Swift has mastered that art. Her jokes, interviews, and onstage banter show that she understands how to disarm the pressure with wit. That’s part of why people love her. She doesn’t try to be perfect. She just tries to be real.

via Instagram/Taylor Swift

The Mystery of the Haters

I will never understand her haters. Every time she rises, someone tries to tear her down. It’s almost as if people are more comfortable watching someone fall than watching them succeed. But Taylor Swift doesn’t give them that satisfaction. She keeps thriving.

The criticism she faces says more about the culture than it does about her. People project jealousy, frustration, and insecurity onto those who shine too brightly. Taylor’s success challenges people to confront their own limits. That is why some react with negativity. But she does not respond in anger. She responds with art.

Each time she is criticized, she turns it into fuel for her next project. That is power. Her songs like Shake It Off, Look What You Made Me Do, and even the deeper cuts from her latest albums all show that she understands how to take pain and transform it into creativity. She turns every insult into another verse and every doubt into another reason to stand taller.

Strength Built Under Pressure

Taylor’s strength is what truly sets her apart. No one else could carry the weight that she does. Fame at her level is not something you can train for. It tests your mental health, your relationships, your boundaries, and your sense of self. Yet she keeps going.

It’s like working out in a gym. The more you lift, the stronger you get. Over the years, the weight of her stardom has grown heavier. Every album release, every tour, every public relationship adds more to that load. But she has grown stronger right alongside it. She has learned how to manage it, how to balance it, and how to rise above it.

If anyone else were put in her position, they would crumble in half a heartbeat. The constant attention, the pressure to perform, the judgment from millions of strangers, it’s too much for most people. But Taylor was built for it. She did not just inherit fame. She earned it, learned from it, and adapted to it. That is what makes her unstoppable.

The Grace Behind the Glamour

People talk about her relationship with Travis Kelce, and it’s sweet to see her happy. But none of that changes who she is at her core. She could surround herself with the best support system in the world. She could have bodyguards, friends, and assistants managing every part of her life. Yet at the end of the day, she still feels the pressure.

Fame is isolating, even when you’re loved by millions. But Taylor carries it with grace. She keeps her composure when others would break. She smiles when the spotlight burns. She continues to show gratitude and humility despite having every reason to grow jaded. That’s the mark of true strength.

What makes her extraordinary isn’t that she has it all. It’s that she handles it all. The grace she shows under that kind of pressure is what makes her such an inspiration. The Life of a Showgirl is not just a title. It’s her life. It’s her story. And she’s still standing tall in the center of it.

via Instagram/Taylor Swiftvia Instagram/Taylor Swiftvia Instagram/Taylor Swiftvia Instagram/Taylor Swiftvia Instagram/Taylor Swiftvia Instagram/Taylor Swiftvia Instagram/Taylor Swift

That Moment Lisa Kudrow Taught Taylor Swift ‘Smelly Cat’

A Taylor Swift and Haliey Welch Study: The Hate Phenomenon

The post Taylor Swift Gracefully Holds The Spotlight Together Despite Trolls appeared first on Michael Allen.

Move over Kibbles ‘n Bits, here comes Cricket Crunch. Insect dog food is taking off, packed with protein from crickets, mealworms, and black fly larvae. That means Fido’s dinner might start looking suspiciously like the bottom of your bug zapper, and this is considered some bougie high-quality dog food.

You know you’re dog will eat just about anything. Food that falls off the table becomes a free-for-all, and if you’re not fast enough, you just lost your dinner. Outside, your dog is eating everything from snails to caterpillars, and even bees.

The pitch is sustainability. Insects take a fraction of the resources to farm compared to beef or lamb. A kilo of insect protein makes way less CO2 than beef, lamb, or soy. Owners get to feel good about saving the planet while their dog wonders why they’re pouring them a bowl of “Mealworm Medley” or “Black Fly Down.” He’s scratching his head, thinking, “Cool story, bro. But where’s the steak?”

Pet food startups are cashing in fast. One UK company tripled its revenue last year, proving that people will do anything for their dogs, even if it means buying a bag of crickets that costs more than their own groceries.

Imagine the cost of inventory. All a company has to do is set up traps around the property and give the insects reasons to come. Oddly enough, crickets are already drawn to high-quality dog food. So, win-win. All mealworms need is a dark and damp place to hide, and the dog food company has just cut production costs considerably. Package it and ship it off. If you build it, they will come.

If you are not bougie like that, you can skip the fancy packaging and set up a food supply farm on your own. Just turn your backyard into an insect playground and watch dinner crawl right to you. Your neighbors might not come around anymore, and you might creep out any friends you thought you had. But imagine how happy your wallet will be when you stop buying pet food at the grocery store.

By 2030, demand for insect protein is expected to hit half a million tons, with 30 percent of that going into high-quality dog food. That’s a lot of bugs. Honestly, the real winners here might be the flies who are finally getting the attention they’ve been buzzing about for years.

So what’s next? Organic Grasshoppers, now in Sweet Potato Glaze. And don’t be surprised if Rover suddenly develops a habit of attacking the porch light, not just for fun but for snacks.

Before you start the insect farm, check out this high-quality pet food your animals will love!

The post High Quality Dog Food Made of Insects appeared first on Michael Allen.

When the First Amendment feels like it’s under attack, that’s because it is. But the government knows better, even though it tries and has succeeded in the past on different occasions. The fact that they do it behind our backs means they know it’s not right. They just try to get away with it every once in a while. The thing is that there is a bigger problem here, and it’s less obvious.

It won’t be after I point it out!

Years ago, before Caitlin Clark joined the league, we were talking about the pay gap and why WNBA players don’t get paid as much as NBA players. I commented on a post on Facebook that the league didn’t make as much money. I backed it up with facts, and I hit Enter. That’s when I got a notice that I had violated community standards. What standards could I have violated when I was only presenting the facts?

The WNBA has struggled to turn a profit since its launch, with reports of annual losses ranging from $10 million a year in earlier seasons to as much as $40–50 million in recent years. Those gaps have been covered in large part by the NBA, which still owns a sizable stake in the league and subsidizes operations to the tune of roughly $10–15 million annually. Many WNBA teams are also owned by NBA owners, further tying the leagues together. Even after outside investors bought into the WNBA in 2022, the NBA retained effective control and continues to provide the infrastructure, resources, and marketing muscle needed to keep it running. In short, the WNBA is not yet self-sustaining, and its survival depends heavily on NBA support.

Which brings me back to that Facebook post. I wasn’t slinging insults. I wasn’t making up figures. I was pointing out a reality that plenty of reporters and analysts have already written about. And still, my voice was removed from the conversation.

Coming back to Caitlin Clark, the WNBA is missing a great opportunity. She is bringing the viewers. She’s bringing fans of all ages, including young girls who might aspire to be basketball players themselves. And if they don’t, they still make great fans for the league. If the WNBA wants to eliminate the pay gap, there’s their answer. They have to protect that girl.

I’m an Indiana Fever fan because of her, and I don’t even get to watch her play. She’s out for the season. There goes income the WNBA could appreciate. But it seems to me that there’s an attitude across the league, if you can’t beat her, take her out of the game. That lets me know where their priorities actually are.

But back to the First Amendment, social media monitors themselves aren’t the only ones to blame. If you’re not willing to listen to someone, how do you expect anyone to listen to you? It’s hard at times when you don’t agree with a person. You want to shut them out, and you have the right to do that. But if you cry about freedom of speech afterward, check yourself.

The First Amendment

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

That’s a directive written strictly to forbid Congress from prohibiting free speech. It’s interpreted to mean all governments across the land. Your state government, your local government, and everything, including the board of education, which often prohibits free speech and gets away with it because parents let it slide.

The line “you can’t yell fire in a crowded theater” comes from a Supreme Court decision in 1919. The case was Schenck v. United States, where Charles Schenck had been convicted under the Espionage Act for handing out leaflets urging men to resist the military draft during World War I. Schenck argued that his conviction violated his First Amendment rights. Writing for a unanimous Court, Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. upheld the conviction and introduced the idea that speech is not protected if it creates a “clear and present danger” of causing serious harm. To make his point, Holmes said, “The most stringent protection of free speech would not protect a man in falsely shouting fire in a theatre and causing a panic.”

That vivid image stuck, even though the case itself had nothing to do with theaters. For decades, people repeated the phrase as if it marked the outer limit of free speech. But the legal standard has changed. In 1969, the Court ruled in Brandenburg v. Ohio that speech can only be restricted if it’s both intended to incite imminent lawless action and likely to produce such action. This created a much stricter test than Holmes’s “clear and present danger.”

So while the theater example is still one of the most quoted lines about free speech, it’s technically outdated. Today, the First Amendment protects far more speech than Holmes suggested back in 1919. The phrase often gets misused to justify censorship, but in reality, modern law places very few limits on speech unless it’s tied directly to inciting immediate violence or illegal acts.

That’s the technical aspect of the First Amendment and what it means. But it extends to us and what we deal with in our daily lives. Posts sometimes disappear, get delayed, or never load at all. People call it a glitch, but after a while, you start to wonder. Losing a post might not sound like a big deal, but it’s a clever way to discourage certain voices. If you’re forced to rewrite what you said over and over, eventually, frustration wins out. You shut down, and the thought never makes it into the conversation. That’s how control creeps in, not always by outright banning words, but by quietly making it harder for them to stick.

Even Mark Zuckerberg has acknowledged that Facebook used to flag certain kinds of posts while allowing others to spread freely, often because of outside pressure. He has since promised to change that, which is as good as admitting that the practice was happening in the first place. And that’s the heart of the problem. When platforms decide what voices can be heard and which ones vanish in the shuffle, the First Amendment might still exist on paper, but in practice, free speech is being chipped away in ways people barely notice.

Google Admits Censorship Under Biden; Promises to End Bans of YouTube Accounts of Thousands of Americans Censored for Political Speech

What A Jimmy Kimmel Grift And The Songs Of Praise

But it’s not just the platforms. We limit free speech ourselves without realizing it. I call it Going Against the Grain. Think of a piece of wood. If you run your hand down the board, going with the grain, it’s smooth. When you hear someone you agree with or who is in harmony with your understanding, you’ll listen to them all day. But Going Against the Grain is when you run your hand up the board and feel the splinters. That’s like hearing someone say something you don’t like or agree with, you immediately start tuning them out and don’t want to listen anymore.

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How can you expect to grow if you don’t hear the other side? You might hear something you’ve never heard before, and it might open up your eyes. At the very least, you should hear the opposition out to know what they’re actually saying. You shouldn’t rely on your sources telling you what the other side is saying, filtering it and presenting it to you in a way that is comfortable to you. That’s not reliable information. It’s clearly slanted.

Go to the source itself and hear what they have to say. To be clear, I’m not saying you have to listen to someone when they’re spouting hateful things. I’m only urging you to hear someone out when they’re stating facts and offering their opinion based on those facts.

A statement is going viral now, and it’s important to embrace, “He wasn’t saying hateful things. He was saying things they hated.” There’s a difference. Let’s not tie that to any particular person and trigger ourselves away from the point. It’s important to know the difference between what’s hateful and what you simply hate.

The First Amendment isn’t only tested by companies or governments. It’s tested every day in how we choose to treat each other’s voices. Free speech doesn’t fade out because a law disappears. It fades when we stop practicing it ourselves.

So, grab yourself a beer and enjoy the fact that you live in a country where you’re allowed to speak your mind while drinking it!

The post The First Amendment Is Affected In More Ways Than You Can Imagine appeared first on Michael Allen.

The anthems can be heard echoing across the channels because Jimmy Kimmel has returned as if Donald Trump’s attempt to attack the Constitution has been thwarted. The big orange monster has been stopped in its tracks. But the innocent victims should have held their encore because headlines have now broken that Google admitted the Biden administration pressured YouTube into banning conservative voices, and will now begin to reinstate those accounts.

What a wonderful web we weave. Social media feeds are full of celebratory clips of Jimmy Kimmel explaining his intentions in a tearful monologue. It was tear-jerking. To imagine that he was so misunderstood in what he was saying that he was turned into a monster by the opposition. That’s just not right when the mob does that as if they’re being told what to say and what to think about a person they don’t know.

Look at the way things played out. The FCC chair fired off a warning about broadcast standards. Almost right after, Disney pulled the plug on Kimmel’s show. A few days later, the suspension was lifted, but not on every station. Nexstar and Sinclair are still keeping him off the air. That “indefinite” break barely lasted a week, yet the signal was obvious. Political pressure and corporate nerves can shut down a voice, even if only for a short while.

Toward the end of his monologue, Jimmy Kimmel talked about speaking out against the president trying to silence freedom of speech. What a hero he has become! What a position he is in to champion freedom of speech and fight to protect our rights, even when we don’t agree with what someone is saying. I’m totally with him. I just hope he keeps that energy when he hears the news.

That same type of political pressure was working behind the scenes with YouTube. This time it came from the Biden White House. Google has admitted it was pushed to cut off conservative voices, silencing opinions that clashed with the administration’s storyline. That’s not late-night humor. It’s not satire. It’s censorship of political speech. That’s the same thing that raised such an uproar when it was done to Jimmy Kimmel.

How could it be any different? And the excuses start flying. But Kimmel returned with higher ratings, and Disney got a burst of attention. The suspension looked more like a corporate maneuver under government pressure than a permanent silencing. YouTube’s ban under Biden directly resulted in many conservative voices losing access to audiences and income during that time. The reinstatements are easily seen as an admission that the bans were politically driven.

That leads us to another story at play here. Kimmel’s ratings were sliding before any of this blew up. By August, he was barely pulling in a little over a million viewers a night. Earlier in the year, the show was over 1.9 million, but even that wasn’t much to brag about. By the end of summer, he looked less like a late-night fixture and more like a show fading into the background.

The suspension changed that. When he came back on September 23, more than 6.2 million people tuned in. That’s the biggest audience for a regular episode in over ten years, even with Nexstar and Sinclair cutting him off in nearly a quarter of U.S. homes. His return speech spread even further online, where clips pulled millions of extra views. And that’s when the dancing started…

via Soul Train

It doesn’t read like punishment. It looks like a promotion. The uproar created buzz, the break made people curious, and the comeback turned into an event. Call it luck or call it strategy, it was a good hustle for the host. Disney knows it, too. And they’ll squeeze every drop of attention they can get.

The real question is whether it lasts. Spikes fade. Viewers drift back to old habits. For now, the show has heat, but suspending it might have been the only thing keeping it relevant. We’ll see how long the love sticks. If anyone were to be inclined to recognize conspiracies, this turn of events can easily be mapped out as if they were planned to get a failing show better ratings.

Just in case you were wondering where I am in all this, I’ll say it clearly so there are no misunderstandings. Political censorship is wrong. Most censorship is wrong for that matter. Freedom of Speech is a precious freedom that we all must fight for and be ready to die for if need be. But the hypocrisy is what I’m pointing out. Only a fool dances when the song hides their own lies. Only a fool celebrates when the cheers hide their own disgrace. Whatever way you want to say it, it’s all hypocrisy.

Always remember, in the word “whatever” is the word “hate.” That means absolutely nothing. Just something I happen to notice.

Nobody comes out clean. If you’re clinging to the hope that one side is so much better than the other and all the wrongs lie with them, you have a rude awakening coming. They both have committed atrocities far worse than these. So believe what you want to believe and back who you want to back, but the time for pointing fingers is over. When you throw dirt, you only lose ground. And sometimes the dirt you throw today might uncover something tomorrow that you wish had stayed buried, the kind of thing that stops all the dancing and singing right in its tracks.

It’s always a good thing to remember, The Future Will Judge Our Permanent Record of History…

The post What A Jimmy Kimmel Grift And The Songs Of Praise appeared first on Michael Allen.

Krista was feeling a little restless on a nice sunny morning. She had a few hours to kill before Maggie would call her in to do her schoolwork. Because of being homeschooled, the farmhouse, the yard, and the Rappahannock River in the Great Beyond, as she liked to call it, were all she knew of the world she roamed on days like this one.

Krista had been eyeing the pile of wood behind the barn all morning. Her imagination running wild, she started thinking of all the things she could build with it. There was a good bit there. She could build a fort or a treehouse. But she had hiding places throughout all the land that were already forts, and Gilmer had made her a treehouse a few years ago. It was still there because anything he made was built to last.

The more she thought about it, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer started invading every thought. When Tom, Huck, and Joe find a raft on the bank, they take it down the river. Krista smiled as she thought of making her own raft and seeing how many journeys she could go on with it.

She jumped up and brushed the dirt off her jeans. If it was going to be a raft, then it needed rope. Lots of it. She started across the yard and went into the barn, where the air was warm and smelled of metal and oil. She walked all around the huge barn, confused that she didn’t find rope by the door. Finally, in the corner, she spotted a bundle that looked like it had been sitting there since before she was born. It was rough and stiff, and the ends had frayed out like horse tails, but it was rope all the same.

Dragging the line behind her, Krista got to work like a shipbuilder who had been doing this for years. She picked up one plank, then another, laying them side by side in the grass. The boards weren’t the same length, and one of them bowed upward in the middle, but she figured a raft didn’t need to be perfect. All it needed to do was float.

She tugged at the rope, trying to unknot it, and soon strands of hay dust clung to her shirt and hair. Finally, it came loose, and she stretched it across the first two boards. Her fingers fumbled a bit, but she managed to lash them together, tying knots the way she had once watched Gilmer secure a load in the back of the truck.

Krista worked hard, sweat pouring from her forehead as the afternoon sun leaned lower in the sky. One by one, she added more boards, her knots tightening into something that actually looked sturdy. She knelt back in the grass and tilted her head, examining her work. The raft was crooked, no doubt about it, but it held together. That was all that mattered.

A smile crept across her face. It wasn’t just a jumble of wood anymore. It was a raft. Her raft. She could already imagine it rocking gently on the Rappahannock River, carrying her further down than she had ever gone before. Krista brushed her hands off on her jeans and stood proudly over her work.

When she tried to lift it, her raft was heavier than she thought. For a moment, she wondered if she had built something she couldn’t move. What good would it be if she couldn’t get it down to the water? She took in a deep breath, planted her boots in the dirt, and lifted one side. She walked it up until it was standing sideways. Then, she started scooting it in a line, picking it up every now and then.

Bit by bit, Krista made her way across the yard. She stopped every few feet to catch her breath, then leaned into it again, the boards creaking together as if they were just as tired as she was. When she reached the far edge of the yard where the grass gave way to the field, she stopped and looked back at the barn. Her progress was a good bit at this point. What started out as a pile of junk had turned into her very own boat, and now she was dragging it to the Great Beyond.

The field stretched wide, as grasshoppers sang and dragonflies buzzed. The sun painted the tall grass in streaks of gold, and Krista felt like an explorer crossing untamed land. Her raft carved a flat path behind her, knocking stalks aside, the wood catching now and then on rocks hidden in the soil. She refused to give up. Sweat dampened her shirt, but her smile came back the closer she got to the river.

At last, she reached the dirt road. Krista looked both ways, as if expecting a parade of cars to pass, though it was empty and quiet like always. She tugged her raft across, leaving a faint trail of dust in her wake. On the other side, the ground dipped gently toward the trees, and she felt a burst of energy knowing the river was near.

When she broke through the last line of trees, the Rappahannock spread out in front of her. The late afternoon light shimmered on the surface. Rocks jutted up from the water, each one capped with moss that looked like tiny green islands. The current moved steady and smooth, inviting her to get in and go somewhere.

Krista pulled the raft down the bank until the boards slid into the shallows. She climbed on carefully, crouching low to keep her balance. For a moment, it rocked under her weight, the rope groaning. She held her breath. Then it steadied. She sat cross-legged and gave a little push with her boot, sending herself into the flow.

The river welcomed her. Trees lined the banks, their branches dipping low as if to greet her on her voyage. A squirrel scrambled up one of the trunks, its claws scratching the bark before it leapt to another branch. A snake slithered from the water onto the bank, its scales glistening in the sunlight before disappearing into the grass. Farther along, a deer lifted its head and watched her drift by, ears twitching, eyes wide with curiosity.

The raft drifted lazily, carried by the flow of the river until Krista noticed something unusual on the far bank. A group of men lounged in the grass beneath a tall oak tree. They had old clothes, but they were stylish in an interesting way. One was wearing a bandana, while another had a huge hat sitting like a triangle on his head. The third wore a headband over his long brown hair as he looked back and studied Krista, who was slowly making her way toward him.

“What do we have here?” he called out, lifting his hand in a subtle salute. “A fine day indeed for a nice sail.”

Krista looked around. “Do you have a boat?”

The pirates chuckled and looked around at each other, “That we do, but our vessel is in the shop. It needs a tune-up, you see. Can’t chase the horizon with a squeaky mast or sails that tear in the wind.”

Krista laughed, “Ships don’t go to shops.”

“Oh, they do, when you’ve been as many places as we have,” said the one with the black hat and skull on it. His voice was soft and whimsical, as if every word belonged in a poem. “We have seen mountains taller than the clouds and deserts that sing when the wind passes through. We have hidden our treasure beneath sands so white they blinded our eyes and in caves where the stars shone through holes in the stone.”

Krista leaned closer, her raft rocking beneath her, “Why do you hide your treasure in so many places?”

The one with the headband spread his hands, “Because, young one, the world is wide, and secrets are safest where only the clever dare to look.”

They beckoned her to come nearer, so she pulled up and dragged the raft to dry land. She immediately felt herself drawn into their circle when one announced, “I’m Captain Teye Ba, and these are my mates, First Mate Johnson and Bruce.”

“Bruce?” Krista questioned, an odd name in the company of Captain Teye Ba and First Mate Johnson.

“Ma’am,” Bruce replied as he adjusted his bandana and eyed the little girl, expecting to hear a question.

“Your name. It’s interesting, is all,” Krista replied.

“Thank you,” he responded.

“Captain Teye Ba?” Krista muttered. “It seems I’ve heard that name before. I think I read about you once.”

“That’s a possibility,” he answered. “I have been the subject of a few stories. I might have been part of the crew that captured a British ship many moons ago. They say it sank up north, but we were full of our little tricks.”

“Wait a minute,” Krista recalled, “I watched a show about the Whydah Gally.”

“That’s the one,” Teye answered.

“So, you’re saying they didn’t find it?” Krista smiled.

Teye looked at her with a smirk and a side eye, “I’m not not saying that.”

“Mm hmm,” Krista muttered to herself.

Bruce offered, “Now, when you find for yourself some treasure, you’ll need a spot to put it so that you can find it again when you go back that way.”

“Where do I find treasure?” Krista asked.

“Oh, you’ll build it up over the years,” Johnson chimed in.

“Anything you find valuable, that’s your treasure,” Bruce added.

“Right,” Teye took over. “And when you have treasure that you want to hide, the best place to put it is far away from your normal places. Look over all the land and find a place only you know about. Then, make a map and draw the landmarks around it. Put an X on the spot and hide your map in your safe map place, the place where all your maps will go.”

“My safe map place?” Krista asked.

“Well, yeah,” Bruce answered. “You’ll find more treasure, and you’ll need to bury it too. We have treasures all around the world.”

Krista listened, enchanted. She wanted to ask a hundred questions, but just then a voice drifted from across the field. It was Maggie, calling her name. The sound carried on the breeze, warm and familiar, reminding her that it was time for school.

The pirates rose to their feet, brushing the grass from their clothes. “It has been a fine meeting,” said Teye. “May the river carry you far to the greatest treasures you’ll ever know.”

“And perhaps, one day,” added Johnson, “Our paths just might cross again.”

Krista gave them a little wave, “I hope so.”

With her stick, Krista guided the raft to the bank. She pulled it out of the river and found a place to stash it for her next journey. When she looked back at the oak tree, her new friends were gone.

Krista rushed through her lessons and scarfed down dinner, her thoughts still swirling about pirates and their talk of treasure. She had listened so closely to every word and couldn’t wait to bury her first one. She thought about what it might be. She didn’t have gold coins or jewels, but she had things that mattered to her.

For years, she had picked up coins wherever she found them. Some were shiny and new, others were discolored and worn. It was her collection, and it would make a fine treasure. She fetched the cigar box Gilmer had given her, the one he had said was for keeping special things. She dumped out the crayons and glue, then poured in the coins, listening to them clink together, more than she remembered.

But the coins weren’t enough. Treasure had to hold stories. Krista thought of the drawings she had sketched of animals she had watched and scenes that came alive with just a few lines. She was quite the artist, and she had no idea where she got it. But deep down, she believed those pictures would be worth something someday, and even if they weren’t, they were priceless to her. She added them right on top and closed the lid.

She held the box to her chest, but now came the important part. The pirates had told her that a treasure was only safe if hidden where no one else would ever think to look. Krista slipped out the back door and into her yard, carrying the box under one arm. The evening sun lit the grass in those few moments just before sundown.

Her yard stretched wide, but Krista was looking for a place beyond her usual hideouts and far from her treehouse. She wandered deeper, weaving between tall weeds and brush, until she came to a tree she had never paid much attention to before. It leaned just slightly to the side, its bark rough and knotted, with roots that curled into the earth like it was holding on firmly. It was perfect.

She dropped to her knees and dug into the soil with her hands. The dirt was cool and soft, giving way as she worked. When the hole was deep enough, she lowered the cigar box inside and covered it, patting the earth flat until no trace of it remained. The tree seemed to watch her, standing proud as if it had been sworn to secrecy.

Krista brushed the dirt from her palms and pulled out a notebook she had tucked into her back pocket. On the first blank page, she drew the landmarks. Just off the barn, there was a huge rock stuck in the dirt. From there, walk thirty-four steps to where there is a slight opening in the jungle. Walk the path until there is a tree with a knot in it that looks like Peppa Pig. At the bottom, she marked a giant X where her treasure now rested.

Across town, Chris stood at the easel he had built into his front porch. The railing served as the perfect place for brushes, rags, and the cup of coffee that was never far from his hand. The smell of paint mingled with the rich, earthy roast rising from the cup. Every now and then, he leaned back, took a slow sip, and let the vision run wild in his imagination.

It had come without warning, as if it had been waiting for him all along. He saw the Rappahannock River running calm, its surface glowing in the late afternoon light. A raft floated down the river, a rough patchwork made of boards held by rope. On it was a young girl who appeared determined, her boots planted steady, standing strong against the breeze. She faced the riverbank where three pirates rested beneath the shade of a sprawling oak.

Chris dipped his brush into the color and drew them completely out of his mind. The pirates had old clothes that carried the romance of another age. One wore a red bandana that framed a sly grin. Another balanced a triangular hat with a skull stitched in white. The third had a headband pressed against his long brown hair, his eyes fixed on the girl with curiosity and warmth. None of them were menacing. They seemed instead like storytellers caught in the middle of their tales, sharing them with anyone willing to listen.

The girl leaned forward, her body drawn into their world. The raft beneath her looked ready to drift away, yet she seemed unafraid, steady in their presence. Chris gave the water a soft shimmer, making the water a bit more welcoming.

Now and then, he stopped, rested his brush, and reached for his coffee. He gazed at the canvas, wondering why this painting had settled on him. The girl, the pirates, the river, all of it felt both imagined and inevitable, like a memory he hadn’t lived but somehow remembered.

With each stroke, the picture came alive. The porch around him faded. The field, the woods, even his coffee was forgotten. There was only the raft, the river, and a moment in time he knew nothing about but seemed so real to him.

Krista Ferlin’s adventures are part of the same imaginative spirit that inspired A River in the Ocean, the story about a single father who is separated from his daughter by a near-fatal accident. He didn’t know he was looking. She didn’t know she needed found.

The post Krista Ferlin And The Call Of The Rappahannock River appeared first on Michael Allen.

The debate over who’s right and who’s wrong has always been part of America’s identity. From the founding fathers arguing in candlelit halls, to neighbors clashing over dinner tables, to today’s endless shouting matches online, disagreement is baked into the culture. But something feels different now. There is a shift underway, one that is reshaping the ground beneath our feet, and it’s storing a permanent record.

America was moving in one direction, driven by forces of certainty, tribalism, and echo chambers. Then, recent events, political upheavals, technological revolutions, and global crises jolted the nation onto another path. Suddenly, the ground rules are unclear. The “facts” seem negotiable. And in this haze, everything you say matters more than ever.

We live in an age where there is a permanent record. Words do not just vanish into the air anymore. They are tweeted, screen-captured, archived, and clipped into thirty-second soundbites. Politicians, pundits, and ordinary citizens all leave digital footprints that can’t be erased. One day, those footprints will be used as evidence. They will show who stood where and why they stood there.

This should be sobering, because the temptation to rewrite history is powerful. Already, we see leaders denying their past statements or claiming they were taken out of context. But the receipts exist. The videos are there. The microphones were hot. In the future, no amount of revision will wash away what was said. The truth will sit on servers and in archives, waiting for playback.

That is why figuring things out now and getting them right matters. Nobody is immune to making mistakes, but there is a difference between being cautious and being reckless. There is a difference between speaking with humility and speaking with arrogance. History will judge not only whether people were correct, but also whether they showed integrity when uncertainty clouded the moment.

We have seen this pattern before. History has been captured not only in words but in images. Think of the photos that made history. The Dust Bowl farmers staring out over ruined fields, the young girl running from a napalm strike in Vietnam, the faces of marchers beaten on the Edmund Pettus Bridge. These were not the powerful or the famous. They were ordinary people caught in extraordinary moments, and those moments live forever in the public memory. This photo has stood as a permanent record of that moment, a piece of evidence that can’t be erased.

via U.S. Department of State, GPA Photo Archive

Today, the internet has multiplied that effect a thousand times over. Every post, every video, every smartphone photo becomes a piece of the larger mosaic. Each perspective tells part of the story of this era. Some voices are lying. Some are misinformed. Some are uninformed. And some are deeply informed and thoughtful. Yet together, all of these perspectives will form the archive of today. The future will sift through it and piece together the truth.

That means it’s not just leaders or influencers who are on permanent record. It’s everyone who joins the conversation. Your comment, your podcast, your tweet, your live video, your group chat screenshot, even your most insignificant moment could one day serve as a document of how this period felt to those living it. You may not think of yourself as part of history, but history has already included you.

Consider how swiftly narratives shift. One year, a policy is celebrated as progress, the next it’s condemned as failure. One leader is praised as a visionary, only to be revealed later as a fraud. One cultural movement is mocked, then a decade later seen as prophetic. This churn creates opportunities to rethink, but it also creates dangers. If you tether yourself to falsehoods, conspiracies, or cruelty, those choices will not age well.

The phrase “wrong side of history” is often thrown around casually, but it cuts deep. It means aligning yourself with ideas that will one day be remembered as shameful. It means putting your name, your voice, and your convictions behind something that future generations will struggle to understand. Nobody wants to be the official in grainy black-and-white footage defending segregation. Nobody wants to be the skeptic ridiculing early warnings about the financial crisis right before it collapsed the economy in 2008. Nobody wants to be remembered as the one who sneered at suffering while millions endured it.

via Lucas Jackson/REUTERS

And yet, people keep doing it. Why? Because in the moment, it feels safe. It feels comfortable to follow the crowd, to chase applause, to repeat what your side wants to hear. But safety is an illusion. The crowd moves forward. The applause fades. The internet never forgets.

The challenge is clear. Figure things out now. Don’t wait until history renders its verdict. Don’t assume you’ll be able to wriggle free of past statements. Don’t gamble on collective amnesia. Instead, ground yourself in honesty, in curiosity, in empathy. Admit what you do not know. Learn. Revise with humility. But never deceive, because that deception will one day be replayed for all to hear.

The shift happening in America is not just about politics or economics. It’s about truth, accountability, and the permanence of record. We may not know where this direction leads, but we do know one thing. History is listening. And when the playback comes, you will want to be on the right side of it.

How to know whether or not you’re on the right side of history:

– If you have to lie to make your point, you don’t have a point.
– If you’re ignoring the facts, you’re not trying to hear the truth.
– If you’re following the crowd, not because they’re right but because you feel safe, the future will judge you.
– If you have chosen a side but you don’t know what it stands for, it’s time for you to take a closer look at who you are.
– If you’ve sold your soul for a little comfort in this world, take a long look at all the people you hurt.

For lighter reading: Doja Cat Strange Treat on Red Carpet at VMAs
Or Hilarious Film Tropes That Make Fans Scratch Their Heads

The post The Future Will Judge Our Permanent Record of History appeared first on Michael Allen.