The Challenge

Times were hard and some blow hard at the local tavern put up a case of twenty five year old Glendronach Scotch Whiskey that nobody would ever catch the elusive loch ness Monster this season. Well, since Tonto is one of the world’s foremost Bigfoot hunters, the challenge was clearly directed at him. Surely it wasn’t the Hatfield twins at the end of the bar. The challenge is on, as they say. I plan to prepare by learning the time honored Arkansas art of catfish noodling. Reports to follow!

Didn't Expect To See Me, Did You?

My new hobby brings such joy. Lately I have been driven by a compulsion to bust through closed doors, announcing, “AH HA!!!” I don’t know why it is so much fun, but it is definitely worth the whispering and pointed fingers.

Observation Post

I’ve noticed so many goatees and berets lately that I’m starting to suspect that THIS is the alternate universe.

Hey--Look Up. What's That in the Sky?

Tonto’s lunar eclipse parties are famous. Not to be outdone, here is a sneak peek at who you will find at this year’s gala: Androids, Bitches, Boys that look like girls, Drag Queens, Geeks, Girls that punch harder than boys, Glam Rockers, Goths, Gypsies, Industrial Heads, Punk Rockers, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches, Whores, and Zombies. And most important of all—Trekkies.

001

Researchers believe that they have found lost files of the first case of early onset Alzheimer disease. Test subject #001 was only known as “W” and for some reason the files mysteriously disappeared at end of the last century. Several members of the research team died in an air crash shortly afterwards, and another is believed to have volunteered to conduct Aids research at an outpost in the Congo Republic (whereabouts presently unknown).

Nirvana in Your HEAD!!!

Tonto hopes to hit it big this holiday shopping season with the new game he has invented—Eightfold. “End of cyclic existence!”—Gamer Magazine says. Images of extinguishing a flame abound, that you work your way through at different levels; by blowing it out, by smothering it, by starving it of fuel, or at the harder levels (censored). Added bonus: the absence of undesirable things. Gamers rejoice—it is so SICK, it is UNBORN, UNORGINATED, and UNCREATED.

The True Test of Character

Tonto had to disqualify himself from the snowball fight that took place during our recent snow squall. Some called me chicken. I had to endure these taunts and insults, because they were not aware of the danger that stood before them. I had been trained long ago in the ancient Chinese martial art of Feilong, which some of you more experienced snowball enthusiasts may know as the Winged Dragon that rides on clouds of snow with palms of a tiger. Because dragons are the rulers of moving bodies of water, my opponents could have become seriously hurt. So I just watched from a safe distance with a smile on my face.

Hózhó

Tonto was asked to bring a salad to a Christmas party this year. After having my fill of Mennonite Summer Salad, while recently working on an investigative piece, I decided to try my luck at a seven layer salad. Not to be outdone by any of those Betty Crocker types, I called on my good friend, Harrison Lapahie Jr., who is one of the Navajo tribes most esteemed sand artists. He instructed me to draw a simple picture of the salad I envisioned on a piece of paper with a pencil. Then he said to be sure not to overcomplicate the design because it can be difficult to control vegetables with over intricate details. I was then to spread the ingredients evenly throughout the glass bowl with a Popsicle stick, and repeat the process until all areas of the bowl had been covered with their corresponding colored veggie. It was imparted to me that if I followed these instructions, this layered salad would not only taste scrumptious, but would also restore harmony to the diners, or as the Navajos say, "hózhó."

Investigative Journalism 101

Tonto has just returned from an undercover operation. This was a real tricky assignment, because I had to infiltrate a closed society that was suspicious of all outsiders. The magazine, Bon Appetite, hired me to find the secret behind the ubiquitous Mennonite Summer Salad that shows up at almost every picnic pot-luck. They all seem the same in appearance, but taste is another matter all together. The disguise was easy; grow a beard. But getting the recipe took some serious flirting and seduction that almost got me killed. Not only did I discover that you should chop the spinach before adding the cucumber, onions and radishes, but you also toss ingredients lightly. Too heavy with the tossing and you could blow the whole operation. My conclusion at this point was that it was all about technique, until my undercover work discovered that the true secret of this salad was in the presentation. You should arrange in a wooden salad bowl and place a mound of cottage cheese in the middle, before putting the dressing on. Sprinkle paprika in the middle and place parsley all around. You toss again, only when ready to serve. In the end, I couldn’t wait to shave that damn beard off. Oh, and Bon Appetite ended up ghost writing my piece (something about adjectives) ---bastards! Next time my fee will be much higher.

Eureka!!!

Tonto had an inspiration in the middle of the night. I came up with a new sandwich, which I am sure is going to be a great hit and make me rich. It consists of a ground beef patty inside a bun. You can put any kind of cheese that you prefer on it, along with an assortment of condiments. I am now on the way to the patent office. Wish me luck! What do you think I should call it?

Time To Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

Here is my champion, Archimedes, in training. Are you looking Santa Claus? This is the stud that’s going to kick your best reindeer’s butt. Yes, Tonto challenges any of your crew to a race. Winner takes all—that means toy factory, elves, Mrs. Claus, you name it. So, what do you say?

The Idle Rich are Hard to Entertain

Tonto has been doing some undercover investigative journalistic work recently, which has uncovered the new favorite past time of the worlds elite Billionaire’s Club. Bored with purchasing English football clubs, they now prefer to buy islands and blow them up with nuclear weapons procured from financially strapped scientists in the former Soviet Republic. Here we have St. Bartholomew as it is lit up. The members of this club watch from a safe distance, in their mega-yachts, and hold up signs with scores after the explosion. St. Bartholomew garnered a rating of 8.5.

All The World is a Stage

Tonto Fielding’s first play, “Oy Vay, My Son Moved to Athens,” showed great promise, but closed on the first night anyway. I thought that my premise was sound. A young man from Cleveland goes to Ohio University, and remains after graduation, because he makes a wager between God and Satan about the material world's false promises. The allegory that I meant to portray showed that you need to beware when money sounds sweeter than music. In the play I caution that those who win lotteries stand to lose all, including their spiritual treasures, families, communities and religion. My student, Hershel Dubrovner, was living a good life until he meets a young white man with dread locks who shares a mutual affinity for the band Phish, and turns Hershel into a greedy, dishonest taco vender whose success desecrates both his religion and his community. Betrayal and abandonment replace serenity and familiarity; the instruments of good fortune become instruments of death. Not even the band Phish, previously Hershel’s joy, can heal these rifts.

Heads Up!

As the KGB could tell you, when Tonto was in high school he stole a kiss from one of the cheerleaders, just before her father came at him with a machete, an M-16, two grenades, and a laser-sighted blow dart (Czech made). My escape was narrow but later received an anonymous letter, stamped from Moscow, saying “Nice escape kid. Хорошо выглядящий птенец тоже.”

Flying Hamster Experiments: Journal Entry #60525

Spunky III was returned to the pet store when his test flight turned into a battle of the wits. Fortunately Tonto had the foresight to remove all ammunition from the machine gun mounts on the vintage bi-plane I had borrowed from the WWI Historical Flight Society. Spunky thought it would be fun to dive bomb his patron and scare the bejebus out of him. Sidebar: I told the store manager that Spunky hated Ecotrition Essential Blend Hamster & Gerbil Food, and preferred just plain old lettuce leafs. The last laugh was obviously mine.

We're Simply "MAD" About Tonto's New Beverage

If Tonto learned one thing in college, it was that all my professors were only good for infusing skepticism into the blood of the civilized world. They made it disreputable to believe in the actual existence of anything that could not be tested in crucibles or demonstrated by critical reasoning. I, on the other hand, contended that through creative chemistry, and by transmutation of the elements of the baser metals; I could create an elixir that would render me immortal. It didn’t quite work out as I had planned, but with a little marketing, I am now promoting it as caffeine enhanced malt liquor on college campuses.

Santa Bring My Baby Back (To Me)

As you are well aware, Tonto has had many different jobs in his life. With all of my experience, I still come across situations where I can only scratch my head. I’m starting a new segment, that I want to call; “How in the Hell did this guy ever get hired?” Today—Texting Santa. Scenario: He somehow convinced the fat hillbilly manager of the Mall that he is actually Elvis in disguise and he’ll let him drive one of his Cadillac’s when the shift ends. He’ll even let him buy the drinks at the strip club.

Nintendo Says...

As we all know, tyranny of the mind is a condition where a force from outside overrides the internal voice and undermines trust in one’s own way of knowing. It enslaves people to something outside of themselves and becomes the arbiter of value and meaning in life. This is why Tonto went to the greatest lengths to uncover a plot by Wii to inculcate our children into devolving and accepting Nintendo as an artificial and external moral authority through the game of Simon Says in kindergarten classes across America. Simon Says today--New Super Mario Brothers tomorrow.

Update!!!

Tonto wants his fans to know that he has not given up on the flying hamster idea. In fact Spunky VII will be making his test flight debut soon in a prototype based on the original drawings of Leonardo Da Vinci.

Norwegian Death Folk

BJØRG MYRVOLD, former lead singer for the Norwegian Death Metal band Napalm Pestilence, has decide to try his hand at folk singing since his girlfriend, Dagmar, told him to get his act together or she would kick him out. His song list has been toned down and now includes hits such as, “I Had a Rooster and Bit Its Head Off” and “Mamma Don’t Allow No Necrophilia’s.” Dagmar is quoted as saying, “Old MacDonald Had an Aneurism,” is not exactly what I had in mind, but at least the makeup is gone and those idiot band mates aren’t freeloading from my fridge anymore.”

Whip It Good!

When Tonto met the devil at the crossroad, we made an interesting bargain indeed. In exchange for making me the world’s best pinochle player, I would introduce him to Florence Henderson, whom I knew quite well from my days as a gaffer for Redwood Productions, in association with Paramount Television.

What could have been famous lines, if they hadn’t ended up on the Cutting Room floor.

From The Maltese Falcon: “Okay, I admit it. I got hungry and cooked the damn bird. Want a drumstick?”

Tradition

Tonto would just like to remind folks on this auspicious holiday that the tradition of begging at the table was also started on the first Thanksgiving Feast.

Let me tell you... don't you look at those illustrations too long, because they'll come alive and they'll tell you stories.

When I modeled for the illustration of this book cover, I thought—why not make the best out of an unfortunate mishap. When Tonto had entered the parlor, I specifically stated that I wanted a tattoo of the word “Mom” on my left bicep. I guess you could say that it was partly my fault for falling asleep, but when I awoke, I was covered from head to toe with ink. Apparently Fat Eddie had made the mistake of combining coffee and antihistamines and got slightly carried away. Since tattoos are viewed in our society as a way of uniquely identifying a person’s self-expressions and personal beliefs, I suddenly realized I had somebody else’s story on my body. Slightly ill at ease, I broached the subject to Eddie of what was covering me now, and he said it was a tribute to the film The Breakfast Club. Upon reflection, I realized that if they don't tell a story that grabs you emotionally, then they're just there for decorations. And if there isn’t any emotional appeal, to my way of thinking, they aren’t real tattoos. Now I just say that it is a tribute to the film Fight Club, and put my shirt back on really quickly.

There She Is...

Tonto was pleased to be the judge of the Miss Barrow Competition this year. The winner was Frank Runs with Bears. Eskimo children are named after family members, often ones who have recently died. There are no boy’s names and girls names in Inuit culture, so it is common for a girl to take on the name of her grandfather. I was rather impressed with her caribou coat, trousers, stockings, and boots. The thing that I found “dead sexy,” and what put her over the top, was that she opted for the two garment evening wear. This is when the inner parka has the fur against the skin, and the outer one has the fur on the outside. Congratulations Frank!

And the Murderer Is...

In a scene from the movie Charlie Chan in the Mystery of the Transgendered Forest Fire Lookout, the famous detective says, "I will reveal the murderer in the morning, but first this is Christmas Eve and I need to assemble this Home Gym for number four son, which will certainly take all night since it includes an adjustable bench with leg entensions and curls and preacher curl, a serious durable squat cage, pull-down/pull-up and fly pulleys, and olympic bar and weight set. The worst part is that the instructions were stained with the victim’s blood."

Kraven Once Again Underestimates a Superhero's Resourcefulness

So, who do you think I run into, out in the middle of Wayne National Forrest, during the middle of my Bigfoot expedition? The once famous Kraven (otherwise known as Sergei), half-brother of Dmitri Smerdyakov, who most of you may recognize as the super villain, Chameleon. This has-been wants to prove once again that he is the greatest hunter in the world. I mean, this guy really likes to show off, so he typically disdains the use of guns or bow and arrows, preferring to take down large dangerous animals with his bare hands. So, I say, “What brings you to these parts Sergei?” And he goes all, “That’s Kraven the Hunter to you, Chief.” And then I’m like, “No you didn’t just Chief me, Gei. By the way, is that vodka, I smell on your breath? I thought you were in AA now, Gei.” And he goes all, “Ga, ga, ga…” And I say, “Got something in your throat, Bawana?”

Sabbatical

Tonto will be on a Bigfoot hunt this weekend. The Wayne National Forrest had the last sighting. I plan to lure him out with copies of By Night In Chile and Distant Star as bait.

Did Shakespeare Cave In to Editor, Or was He Hiding Something?

Othello—before the rewrite:

Oh tale so dark,
that creatures such as this should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their blood! that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!

Savage Detective

In a recent interview with Sam Barlow, who had a Bigfoot encounter in the Wayne National Forrest, I learned that I had in fact come across the very first instance where the creature had made a literary reference himself. Sam claims (and I believe him) that when he accidentally crossed paths with Bigfoot, he was reclined against a tree stump, looked despondent and reportedly sighed, “"This is my last communiqué from the planet of the monsters. Never again will I immerse myself in literature's bottomless cesspools. I will go back to writing my poems, such as they are, find a job to keep body and soul together, and make no attempt to be published." Not only was I amazed that he could talk, but was also incredulous that he would be quoting Roberto Bolaño.

You Can Have My Shinka, but Please Bring Back My Kishka

Sometimes Tonto finds himself contemplating some of life’s stickier questions. Not happy to leave things alone, I usually end up following them to their inevitable conclusions. This happened recently, when I solved the question of: Who stole the Kishka? Because I am known as a famous literary detective, I used these same skills which led to a culinary search in New York, where the illusive Kishka was found being served at Cafeteria in Chelsea.

America's Sweetheart

A special “shout out” to Officer Baron of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP). This is the anniversary of when this noble breed alerted the patrol of my buried cabin after the famous blizzard of ‘98. I have to admit that I was starting to suffer form a tinge of cabin fever, because when they dug me out I was convinced that my sleeping bag had been transformed into Ann Sothern.

ebook Trailer for The Hillbilly Vampire Chronicles

Ring Cycle Remix

Varg Folkestad, former lead singer for the Norwegian death metal band, Dark Throne of Gorgoroth, who had become one of Tonto’s new acquaintances, approached me not too long ago about a project he was working on. He wanted to compose the definitive Death Metal Opera about the Völsunga and Nibelungenlied Sagas, which might include a futuristic Thidrekssaga. Varg wondered if I might be interested in doing the libretto. Always up for a challenge, I said yes. I filled it with red-blooded, rip-roaring, gung-ho Gods beloved by the Vikings, as well as a copious amount of beautiful blonde VALKYRIES. What can I say—Tonto loves his Valyries. Anyway—I would like to share the lines I wrote from my favorite Aria in the drinking scene: “'Bjorn, when you whacked my head off with that double-headed axe – that was brilliant. I didn't see it coming at all. My blood hit the ceiling! Just wait till tomorrow though. I’m going to get you dude.' 'I'll drink to that! Here, barmaid, five hundred drinking horns of Kvas please. And a packet of pork cracklins.'"

No Life, No Future, Get It?

When I stepped on the stage to perform several of my new songs, Tonto’s camp director was not at all amused. Supposedly I was to serenade the little creeps with Kumbaya type music. But Tonto’s artistic ideals would not be compromised and I sang “Die little Bastards Die” and “Tarantulas in the Sleeping Bag Rag,” along with several Stooges covers. Needless to say, my stint as a camp counselor did not last long.

CLEAR!!!

Not one to pass up the fast buck that usually accompanies a new fad, Tonto is working on a new project (riding the coattails of the Flying Pig craze). Without giving too much away, let’s just say the concept involves flying and hamsters.

We Ain't Talking Frog Legs Here

This beautiful little creature became Tonto’s savior when I found myself in quite a dilemma. The circumstances were not bright, when my party started disappearing one by one, deep in the Peruvian Amazon. All alone, I used the knowledge imparted to me by my good Yagua friend (whose name is so hard to pronounce, I just call him “little Bubba”), to rustle up a batch of poison darts with several of these buggers boiled down to nice reduction. The munuñúmiy (savage enemy) were easy pickings, since Little Bubba and I used to shoot cigarettes out of each others mouths from a distance of a hundred feet or so, as practice, back in the good old days.

The Book

Tonto, for once, finds himself speechless. So take it away Mary—“The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had died away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and as he said this I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within me.” From, Frankenstein.

Suffering Succotash

Tonto’s world record attempt to circumnavigate the globe came to an abrupt halt, over Walla Walla, when I discovered that my wife had filled my food cache with kumquats, garbanzos, guacamole, and succotash. I’m sorry, but there was no way Tonto was going to eat that stuff, when I had clearly indicated on my pre-flight list, to pack plenty of Bacon in a Can and Microwave Sliders, along with several boxes of Oreo Blizzard Crème Oreos, a few jars of Gherkins, and a handful of Zagnut Bars. I had to bail out of the Hot Air Balloon with my trusty parachute after making my horrifying discovery. Eventually I heard that it came down of its own volition, in front of the Ugly Corner Cafe, in Effingham, Illinois.

Eye in the Sky

Tonto doesn’t want to come across as a cheap skate or anything, but rather I would like to recount a story as a way to express my amazement at modern technology. I had dropped a dime on the pavement of the grocery store parking lot. My search was to no avail. But later I went onto Google Satellite Images, put in my coordinates, and sure enough after only a few clicks, I spotted that damn dime. After hitting “Print,” I returned to the store with my treasure map in hand, and wouldn’t you know it—there was that little rascal just where she thought she could hide. And into the change purse she went—scamp!

Look at the Grouse!

Tonto had to step in at the last second to prevent performance artist Philippe Miron from blinding one of his students, during an installation. I had to inform the Frenchman that the Howard brothers actually were actors and that the eye poke was not real. ‘Oui,” he replied. “But I on the other hand was thinking of the Dali film.” “Fake too, you idiot,” I said, and shook my head in amazement.

Alliance of Builders of Islamic Iran, My Ass. More Like Dippers of Coppenhagen and Drinkers of Tall Necks.

You know that phrase, “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter?” Well, Tonto can remember Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, from way back in those mullet days of pickup trucks, keg parties at the lake, and easy women. Where and why he jumped off the crazy train remains a mystery to me and all the boys at the garage, but when I knew him, that dude could party like George Jones.

Ha! He! Hoo! Ha! Che! Wa! Wa!

Tonto learned from his good buddy, Dennis Foo Li Leen, that the secret to walking on hot coals was not found in callused feet or nerves of steel, but rather at the bottom of a fifth of Old Rebel Yell. That was until the time poor Dennis was so drunk, he fell face first in the embers. They now call him Old Yeller.