I Could Get Arrested For This

My intentions for this website when I first started was to shamelessly self promote my dirty little writings. However, something has come to my attention that has so enraged me, I have to make a comment, and this is the best, in fact the only forum I feel is appropriate for my statements.

Recently, Representative Linda Sanchez, D-CA, and five other bipartisan conspirators have introduced HR 6123, the so called Megan Meier Cyberbullying Prevention Act. Here’s the essence of what the bill is about taken from OpenCongress.com:

Amends the federal criminal code to impose criminal penalties on anyone who transmits in interstate or foreign commerce a communication intended to coerce, intimidate, harass, or cause substantial emotional distress to another person, using electronic means to support severe, repeated, and hostile behavior.

To clear the bullshit up for you, a ‘communication’ is anything on the Internet, anything at all, including this blog. In fact the genesis of this came from an unfortunate incident where a thirteen year old from Missouri committed suicide supposedly because she as being bullied on Myspace. I want to get the obligatory human feelings out of the way and say I think it’s terrible anytime a teenager commits suicide, we all do, so can we put that aside and look at what’s really going on here?

According to a blog posted by Rep. Sanchez yesterday on the Huffington Post, she justifies this bill by saying, “If you were walking down the street and saw someone harassing a child, would you just walk by and look the other way? If that person was telling the child the world would be better off if they just killed themselves, would you ignore it?” One more extended quote before I move onto my views. She further said, “The Supreme Court recognizes that in some instances words can be harmful. For example, you cannot falsely yell “FIRE” in a crowded theater.”

Any reasonable human being can recognize the frailty of her arguments immediately. First of all, a child standing on the street being harassed by someone can’t walk away. Also, if I’m in a crowded movie theater, and someone yells out “Fire” (come on, how many times has that really happened), I can’t get away from it. It happens in front of me. I’m a victim, I didn’t choose to be there.

Everything on the Internet is a choice. You choose to go this blog, you choose to check your email, you choose to logon in the first place. I want to rip my own hair out it’s so obvious. Holy living shit in a basket, can’t this overly-pretentious cliche’ using bitch realize that? Well, someone died because of cyberbullying, so it has to be stopped. Get the fuck out of here, it’s another regulation to restrict our right to Free Speech.

I capitalize Free Speech every time I write it because it is sacred to me. I am an obnoxious ass-hat who has very few checks between my subconscious mind and mouth, so I say some fairly alarming things, but I have a right to. Free Speech is our FIRST Amendment rights, not our fifth, not our twenty-third, not even our second, but our first. You know why our Founding Fathers, who were a lot smarter than Rep. Sanchez, made it our First right? Because it’s the most important.

The words repeated, hostile behavior have me shaking in my boots. How far can the thought police push that little nugget? Will we have to submit out blogs to some government regulatory agency for redaction in the future? You think I’m pushing that argument too far? Look at what our government is doing to our second amendment rights. In Chicago, you can’t own a gun now. Where are their second amendment rights? You don’t think this is just a chip away at our first? Let it pass, and watch it go.

Here’s a thought. As unfortunate as it is, there are a number of teenage suicides a year that just take our breath away. Like I said before, anytime anyone so young ends their life it’s tragic, for whatever reason. However, remember the controversy over Ozzy Ozbourne’s ‘Suicide Solution”, when a nineteen year old shot himself in the head with the headphones still on listening to that song? The fact is, the teenage years are hard ones, and made ever so harder by our society’s constant promotion of mediocrity. (Everyone gets a medal, everyone is a winner, yeah! Everyone’s mediocre.) Teenagers will always find a reason to kill themselves. Ozzy’s song didn’t make that kid kill himself, the kid pulled the trigger.

Megan Meier, I’m sorry for what happened, I really am, but we’ll never know the reason why you killed yourself. I’m sure hurtful words on Myspace didn’t help, but you could have turned the computer off and read a book, or, how about this, talked to your Mom.

I did eight years in Computer Crimes. I know Myspace, and the teenagers who use them very well. I’ve investigated innumerable cases wherein a teenage girl, for some unknown reason, meets a forty-something loser and has sex with him. When I go to the victim’s house to get her computer, I always know where it is; in her bedroom where she had free and unrestricted access to it. The parent’s didn’t know what was on it, and had never had a conversation with their child about what they might find on the Internet. When I did my Internet safety lectures I would tell parents letting your kid loose on the Internet without guidance is like leaving them on a street in the middle of Manhattan alone. There’s a lot of good, and a lot of bad, and it’s up to the parents to help the child navigate through it.

So let’s get back to Rep. Sanchez’s initial argument. If you were walking the street, and you saw a child being harassed by someone, wouldn’t you help? You’re fucking right I would help. And what’s the first thing you would ask?

Where’s her mom?

That’s my opinion. For now I’m allowed to say it.

The Writing Process, For the First Time

I’m taking a quick break from working on my first novel attempt in more a decade to just jot down a couple of thoughts, none of which are particularly interesting. I’m penning them more for posterity than for entertainment, though, hopefully, my diseased style of story telling will entertain a serial rapist or someone with an adult baby fetish out there somewhere.

Like I stated not a few seconds ago but, for some inane reason, I feel I need to repeat, I’m working on my first full length novel in a long time. The writing process is an interesting one, to use a completely non-committal term to describe it. I go with something neutral because it’s tough to completely describe what’s happening.

First of all, it’s a shit-hard grind to get through this thing. I’m 42,000 words into this thing, and I’ve just passed the halfway point. Fucking ponderous. I have to quill out at least 1,800 words a day to stay on schedule, and, sometimes life gets in the way and I’m able to write not a God damn thing. That means the next day I have to pick up the slack. I’m not capable of cranking out 3,600 on most days, so that means that the word count for each day just goes up, and up, and up.

There are days I fire up the laptop, pop on the word processor, and stare at the fucking thing like it’s one those visual puzzles that has the Eiffel Tower hidden in it and you can only see it if you glare at it like you’re possessed.

Then there are days like those I had the other day. I was standing at a precipice, between my Act I and Act III. Yes, for those of you who are capable of doing first grade math, that’s Act II, the dreaded middle of the story. I knew how the story started, I have a really good idea how I want it to end, but my mind is a void when it comes to how we get there. Since this is a story about three very strong, or at least I hope their strong, characters, I just kept writing and I hoped my imaginary friends would tell me how we get to the end.

They did, last weekend. It was amazing. In a flash, I saw the whole story unfold like a rose in spring time. I sprang out of my chair, charged with the energy of finding my story, and rushed into my bedroom where I found my beautiful wife in her robe putting on her make up.

“I found the middle of my story,” I blurted out like a five year old who just found the biggest bug he’d ever seen. I fixed her with an expectant, and probably completely idiotic looking, grin.

“That’s great, honey,” my wife said while she continued to apply rouge to her cheeks. “I’m happy for you.”

As usual, the enthusiasm emanating from my wife had the power of a broken three watt light bulb. I wouldn’t let her ruin my mood, even if she didn’t lavish me with the attention I so richly desired. I returned to the scene of the crime and shared my happiness with the only people who would understand.

The characters in my story.

Because, while we’re writing the story, aren’t they the only ones who really care? Aren’t they the only ones we really talk to while we’re writing?

In the end, we’re all just playing make-believe in our minds with imaginary friends, and I enjoy the hell out of it.

Well, that’s my take on it, I’m probably wrong.

Paranormal Pleasures

My second short story, AYDEN’S SONG, will be released by Midnight Showcase in their anthology, PARANORMAL PLEASURES, in the next couple of weeks. Check back for an excerpt.

Progress on the First Novel

Just to let everyone know, I’ve hit the 35,000 word mark on my first novel today, putting me at the halfway point, approximately, for the first draft. I know I’ve solicited a bunch of folks to help give me criticism on the book, and I wanted to give you an update.

An Excerpt From FILL YOUR PRESCRIPTION

As you may or may not know, I decided to try my hand at writing gain this past January as part of a stupid New Years resolution. Unlike most of my other resolutions that are broken almost the moment I makes them: eat better, exercise more, let my wife speak in full sentences, stop molesting the dog, I actually tried to stick to this one.

I’ve written a number of short stories, two of which I’ve submitted for publication, two of which were picked up by Midnight Showcase. I”m happy to be a part of Midnight Showcase, a small e publisher that’s trying their best to put out good stuff.

My first short story – FILL YOUR PRESCRIPTION: AN ADVENTURE OF BILLY BONER – is featured as part of their JUMPING THE FUNNY BONES anthology of humorous erotica. I’m putting up an excerpt of my story, I hope you like it.

***

By the third Tuesday I knew something was going on. Tuesday nights weren’t particularly busy so we had some down time. I tried my best to do the right thing. When there weren’t any customers around I found stuff to keep me busy. I stocked shelves, dusted, straightened shelves, anything I could think of to keep from having to endure that stare of Mrs. Chambers. The more she looked at me, the more I realized it wasn’t my waist she stared at, but my zipper. The more she looked, the harder it was for me to ignore her, and I mean that in a completely literal sense. Mrs. Chambers gave me an instant and completely apparent hard-on with just a stare.

That night she walked onto the floor and stood behind me as I bent over to straighten out the baby formula. I don’t have any idea how long she waited there.

“So Bill, what’s going on with you this week?” Her voice startled me. When I worked on the floor Mr. Sullivan never left the pharmacy counter to talk; he was always too busy chatting away with Henry. None of the other girls working there paid much attention to me, especially Chelsea, Mrs. Chambers’ daughter and a classmate of mine, who acted like acknowledging my presence would cause her tits to sprout tumors and start singing show tunes.

I looked like something out of a bad television show as I jerked upright and dropped a couple cans of baby formula. This time she didn’t even try to look me in the eye, but stared at the front of my jeans. Her tongue massaged the left side of her upper lip for a second. My chest felt like I stood next to a speaker at a nightclub, my heart smashed against ribs so hard I knew she saw it. I felt my cheeks getting hot and, try as I might, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

I stood there for a second, wordlessly, helplessly, held by the stare of a woman who was few years older than my mother. She kept her short black hair in a bob cut and wore a silky red blouse that she unbuttoned so that her obscenely sexy black lace bra showed. The creamy white skin between her breasts made me swallow hard. The sight of her triggered the usual response and I felt my penis begin to move. Hard as it was, and was getting, I forced myself to look up at her face.

There are a few moments in a young man’s life where he finds out how cool, how suave, how debonair he actually is. Anyone who is confronted by a woman who held such a distinguished place in their masturbation fantasies for the last few weeks, and can manage something memorable, is truly a God among men.

I monosyllabically croaked out, “Huh?”

Ascension to Olympus would have to wait.

She stepped closer to me, which didn’t help a bit. A wry smile played on her bright red lips before she spoke. I smelled her sweet perfume. “Your week, Bill. How did your week go? I haven’t seen you since last Tuesday.”

“Uhhh, fine, thanks.” I was such an idiot. At that point I was happy to get the words out without stuttering and spraying her face with spit like a lawn sprinkler.

“You got a girlfriend?” She crossed her arms and leaned against one of the shelves, letting me know she expected a long conversation.
“No, Mrs. Chambers. I don’t. Girls don’t really like me I guess.”

She gave my arm a light push, which felt like an electric cattle prod at that moment. “Oh, get the Hell out of here. You? You’re such a cute boy.”

“You’re the only one who thinks so, Mrs. Chambers.”

“Ellie. Call me Ellie. I can’t believe you don’t have a girlfriend.”

I shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Bill. It’s just such a waste of… talent.” She said the last word with her eyes glued firmly on my zipper. She stood close to me now, so close I smelled a little bit of sweat mixed in with her perfume, which only turned me on that much more. My breathing shallowed, I couldn’t fill my lungs. I became light headed, probably because most of the blood in my body decided to sprint to my groin.

***

Thanks for reading.

My First Short Story

I just read the first post I’ve ever made for this, my first website, and it couldn’t be a more generic piece of shit if I tried.  How about I start again and try to write something that can generate at lease a modicum of interest.

My name is David Anderson, and I write as KC Foster, an Erotic Romance author, or at least I’m trying to be one.  I’m writing under a pseudonym for a bunch of reasons, the least of which is that I’m a man, and most of the time men are frowned upon as Romance or Erotica writers.  I realize most of my targeted readership is female, and they might not be interested in what a man has to write or say.

That notwithstanding, I ask you to give me a quick read, a quick chance, and see if you like it.  I try very hard to write with quality in an industry not known for high standards.  If you take the time to look over the little dribblings of words I’ve scripted together, I guarantee you that you will find humor, real characters, and maybe even a plot line hidden amongst all those steamy sex scenes.

I’m very excited to have my first short story out an able. Since deciding to try my hand at writing again, I’ve had two short stories accepted by Midnight Showcase, a small but reputable epublisher who picked up THE ADVENTURES OF BILLY BONER, which they’ve already published, and AYDEN’S SONG, which should be coming out in an anthology soon.

If you have a second, and a couple of bucks, you can download the anthology JUMP THE FUNNY BONES at http://www.midnightshowcase.com/FunnyBones.htm.

Hello world!

Hello World!  Or whatever, thanks for stopping by.  As time goes on, my propensity for verbosity should provide a bunch of reading material.

Enjoy.