Once My Looks Go, I've Got Nothing

This story follows the events of my debut novel, Henry Garrison, St. Dante's Savior . You don't need to have read the novel for this to make sense (at least, I don't think so), but it certainly doesn't hurt. Hope you enjoy my first short fiction in quite a while! The heavenly aromas of Thanksgiving wafted into Henry Garrison's nostrils, enrapturing him with their particular blend of herbaceous seasonal delights. The savory fragrance of the freshly-brined turkey, the comforting perfume of warm sage in the stuffing, the buttery bouquet of mashed potatoes. And to top it all off, the uniquely tantalizing scent of the big bowl of- Henry's mind snapped back to reality as Ms. Tegg's monotonous recitation of the day's economics lesson hit an unexpected peak as she reached the topic of incentives. Something approaching joy filled her voice as she discussed remuneration, and it was very distracting. The wall clock read 2:47 PM. Each whispered tick represented

This image I snagged off of Google has only a tangential relation to this article, but I liked it, so here it is. From time to time, certain events occur that are worthy of note but aren't exactly the intricate, complex sagas that people base great works of literature around. However, just because they are brief and relatively inconsequential does not mean that they are not worthy of record. Now, my memory isn't exactly the world's greatest , so I'm fairly certain that incidents fitting this description have occurred roughly 17,000 times in my life, and I have forgotten 16,997 of them. As such, before the last few melt away into a Memento -esque haze, I figured I would share them with you in blog form. Hopefully they entertain you as much as they have entertained the homeless drunks that hang out behind my local 7-11. 1. My friend, collaborator and secret lover Garrett Steel and I went to Jack in the Box on one of our typically unhealthy escapades, this time to s

     I recently posted the following on Facebook. Don't worry, it's not family photos:      During war time, bombs get dropped; such is the nature of war. Tragically often, said bombs cause damage far beyond their intended targets. Such was the case one time, with a certain McDonald's, a bastion of unhealthy comfort food in a volatile area. Errant ordnance reduced this greasy palace to smoldering ruins, and it was small comfort that the debris-laden air smelled like french fries for hours afterwards. They say if you visit this site in the middle of the night, you will find a lone man there. He is a chubby fellow clad in black and white, an outfit that recalls old-timey prison garb. He sifts, heartbroken, through the charred remains. "Rubble, rubble," he sobs mournfully. "Rubble, rubble."      On the surface, this seems to be merely a strange joke, perhaps a bit long-winded considering how slight the punchline is. Yet it is also indicative o

     Once upon a time, there was a website called "Myspace.com." A precursor to Facebook, it allowed people, particularly young people and older perverts, to share thoughts and images from their lives via a worldwide public forum and communicate with one another, often via sexually suggestive messages and photos. Though the site eventually fell out of favor and is now populated entirely by ghosts and Justin Timberlake, there are certain Myspace features I do miss, especially the built-in blog. Back when I was starting out joeymarsilio.blogspot.com , I wanted to leech off some of that sweet, sweet Myspace traffic, so I planned a crossover between the two blogs. The end result was "The Return of Friendly Tony," an ambitious opus in 12 parts, published weekly and alternating between the Myspace blog and this one. Alas, once Myspace was taken behind the barn and shot, half the story was effectively buried, much to my chagrin. The time has come to finally do justice to t