Shocking Home Office Party!

Home For The Holidays

From All of Us To All of You

My Favorite Scrooge

We Finally Arrived!

The latest paperback edition of "The Four Blogger of the Apocalypse" has finally arrived at Amazon.com. This new 2012 version has 98 more pages for a total of 276 pages. Enjoy the text posts of bloggers Fred Fortune, Jonco Bugos, Little Green Man and Baby Boomer Boy as they comment, criticize, lampoon and tell it their way in the four blogs this book is all about: Fred Fortune, Jonco Bugos, Little Green Man from Mars and Random Retro Reviews of the 20th Century. This new edition is also available in Amazon's Kindle Store for only $2.99, the same low price as the previous edition. Who says you can't teach an old "indie" dawg new tricks?

Bob Moon's Happy News: Happy Thanksgiving!

Today The Big Apple is "The Big Happy"!

Hi. My name is Michael Casher and I'm a blog-a-holic.

Hi. My name is Michael Casher and I'm a blog-a-holic. I'm not sure if admitting that is the first step toward a recovery of some kind or just a proud proclamation of some sort. It doesn't matter. I don't blog (now it's a verb) because everybody's doing it. In fact, I'm the kind of person who avoids fads on principle so it's not that. And I don't blog to make money because I never made a dime blogging and don't expect to. So, it's not that, either.

If I made money blogging it'd just be a matter of time before some hospital or medical group billed me for all of it so I'd rather not tempt that kind of negative karma, thank you. And I don't really blog for fun because writing a blog and adding images and links and maintaining sidebars and footers and keeping them active and current and interesting is more of a pain in the ass than anything else. So it's not that.

OK, get ready for the real reason because if there ever was an admission that I hope is the first step toward recovery this is it. I blog for therapy. There, I said it. But, every now and then, I have some fun and sometimes I even have a ball blogging and, you guessed it, Think-A-Holic Lounge is my favorite blog to write. I just gave it a face lift this week and now it looks all spacey and exotic. My favorite blogs to write used to be Fred Fortune, Little Green Man from Mars and Think-A-Holic Lounge but the other two (along with Jonco Bugos and Random Retro Reviews of the 20th Century) got turned into a book called "The Four Bloggers of the Apocalypse" so I basically retired them but keep them "alive" with occasional new image posts or videos.

And you know what? Blogging for therapy is a lot better than running naked through the back yard and screaming, "Why me? Why me?"

Powerful Men Public Service Announcement

Powerful Men Public Service Announcement

One Of My Favorite Popeye Cartoons

The first time I saw this cartoon was on a cathode-ray-tube, black-and-white TV set when I was only four or five years old. It was probably a Sylvania or a Zenith or maybe a Philco. Come to think of it, the TV was probably an Admiral floor model. That would have been somewhere around 1955 or 1956. Back then, I thought this cartoon was really funny but also a little bit scary. One of my favorite things about Popeye cartoons was the way he muttered to himself all the time and his funny, flip remarks to others in the cartoons. Thanks to YouTube and YouTube users, Popeye can be more than just a pleasant memory for all of us.

Hats Off to YouTube for Patriotic Election Day Home Page

A Message From Ellis Wanderly

My First 11:11 Experience

I'm writing this blog post today to be on record, first and foremost, about something which I have absolutely no interest in whatsoever but, nevertheless, something resembling paranormal activity and the resulting host of social phenomena that have been sweeping a lot of people off their feet for quite some time now. And now it's finally reached me. I don't know all the details about the 11:11 Phenomenon and I'm not researching it beyond a cursory Google Search for some background. Why am I so nonchalant about this? Because I just don't give a damn anymore.

I'm tired of this smoke-and-mirrors world and its fascination with hooded ascetics, robed charlatans and aging baby-boomer relics pretending to be spiritual guides to a higher realm of existence and the corresponding cloak-and-dagger element dedicated to guarding the imprisoned truth so it never gets out. This kind of pseudo-spiritual nonsense with its "cosmic doubletalk" and phony psychobabble is only masking what truly lies beneath, which is the truth about science and mathematics and their whimsical use as tools by invisible beings who violate the natural order of things just to bewitch and beguile hapless Homo sapiens who are always looking for something or someone to take charge of their lives. Instead of taking their own lives in their own hands and making the best of it.

One thing you folks will always get from me is honesty. Pure and simple. Last night I was online, placing an advertisement for the new edition of The Four Bloggers of The Apocalypse on one of the sidebars of one of my ten blogs here at Blogger when the lights in my writing room began to flicker, off and on, on and off. My computer screen dimmed and then brightened again, several times. The three green lights on my modem went out and the red one came on. I'd lost my Internet connection. The lights upstairs kept flickering, almost like Morse Code. Hurricane Sandy was still two days away from us, so it wasn't that. A misty rain fell outside and the air was still.

I rushed downstairs and asked my mother (who was watching TV) if the lights had flickered downstairs as well and she confirmed that they had. The TV set was still on but the picture was just snow (white noise). I walked into the den where I have a digital clock on the bar with no battery backup in it. Whenever there is the slightest power interruption, this clock begins blinking 12:00. But, it wasn't blinking and the lights were still flickering all over the house, but not outside, not anywhere in town that I could see. The clock on the bar said a steady 11:11. The current real time for U.S. Eastern Daylight Saving Time (we set our clocks back in Pennsylvania to Standard Time at midnight on Sunday November 4th this year). That's right, 11:11 was the correct time on all the other clocks in the house and on our wristwatches.

When the lights stopped flickering in our house and the TV came back on, the bar clock said 11:12 and this, folks, is a very disturbing but very true story. And, no, I don't like it. I don't like it one damn bit. But what are you going to do? Just like everyone else, I'll keep living my life like always and continue writing and being the primary, at-home caregiver for my 81-year-old mother. And I'll keep trying to become a better person each and every day. I don't need "spirit guides" to tell me that. Living and evolving is all that's required of any of us. Living our lives as best we can, each and every day, while looking forward to tomorrow.

Post updated 5-25-14: Disturbing "otherworldly" phenomena is so prevalent in my life that I often ignore it and put it "on my back burner for later". The following is no exception, except that I actually forgot to blog about it. Why? I suppose it's because I no longer give a shit. I'm more impressed by a passing sun shower. Anyway, here goes. On Veteran's Day, November 11, 2013, I walked outside to look at the sky. I had a feeling that the dark-souled powers-that-be just might pull another 11:11 stunt with me, knowing I would kill them outright if I got the chance. I'm not kidding, either, and they damn well know it. I wasn't expecting an 11:11 blinking clock stunt again or another staccato light show in the house and it's a good thing they didn't try it because NOTHING they do to me is FREE. There will be a payback and it will be fatal FOR THEM, a "second-death fatality", no less.

So, around 6:00 PM or so I looked up at the twilight sky from the entrance to our patio and saw an orange ball ascending from the treetops northeast of me, from where I figured State Game Lands 101 would be, about three miles East North East of my house. I knew it wasn't a plane or a star or a satellite, based on my own late 1960's and early 1970's UFO sightings. It "rose" straight up and then flew toward me, making an angled, directional change of course that no human aircraft could make, not even a helicopter, because there was no sound whatsoever. It split into "two round orange balls" at the point where I figured it would be about halfway between the "10 Acres" area of State Game Land 101 and my house. Then it slowly flew above me at what might have been a thousand feet altitude and on an "ENE to WSW tack". And it made no sound whatsoever, at least none that I could hear.

There was the hint of a dark body to it but I couldn't make out its true shape. No airplane at that altitude could fly so slowly and I've never seen light patterns like that. The two orange ball lights appeared to be at least a hundred yards apart and were situated at the nose, but beneath what appeared to be a dark circular "saucer". Somewhat below those orange balls and at what appeared to be about three hundred yards behind the dark, semi-amorphous shape were two lights that did not blink. A green "starboard" light and a red "port" light, both of them about a fourth the size of the front orange lights, which only glowed. They did not shine. And, the red port and green starboard lights, which ought to have been blinking, were on all the time. What did I do? I gave them the finger, said "Fuck You" to them, told them I wan't afraid of them and then went inside. I had supper to prepare and THAT was the most important thing that evening. NOT playing hide-and-seek with high-tech slime who deserve to be exterminated. And THIS, people, is a true story. No shit.

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Faster-Than-Sound Felix Visits UFO Capital

AussieNaut Felix Baumgartner drops in on Roswell, NM

from 24 miles up. "Watch that first step, Felix. It's a Lulu."

Fairy Tales and Folklore in the Bluegrass State

Pinocchio and The Monster Grendel

prepare to swap stories in Kentucky

Sad News About Ninth Book

Image Updated 1-8-13

Just as Jonco Bugos (Michael Casher's literary pen name) was very optimistic about completing his second literary novella (and Michael Casher's 9th book), a tragic event occurred. Michael writes all his fiction on a Canon StarWrtiter JET 4000 word processor, not on a computer. "The Truth Is a Lone Assassin" is no exception. When  each book is completed, the chapters get "exported" to another floppy disk that is formatted for his PC. Michael "builds" the book on his PC and uploads the paperback files to his printed book publisher (Lulu.com) and the ebook files to Amazon.com for the Amazon Kindle Store.

Well, we're sorry to break this sad, disturbing news to you but earlier this evening Michael (Jonco) discovered that two of the eight chapters that he'd written so far have been permanently deleted from the word processor's floppy disk. No backup disk was made because Michael ran out of floppys years ago and they're almost impossible to find anymore. That's right. Chapters 1 and 6 mysteriously disappeared from the floppy disk files and no other copies exist.

That's 30 pages of writing down the drain. Not 30 regular pages of science fiction but 30 pages of literary fiction that is not easily written. Those two chapters contained fifteen pages each and cannot be rewritten from memory. As this time, Michael Casher is at a loss as to what to do or say. What's worse is that this isn't the first time this has happened. Fifteen pages of Blind Fool Running vanished from the word processor screen one day in 2007 as Michael (Jonco) was just finishing up a very productive writing session. Three years ago he felt good enough, physically, to rewrite those pages from memory. But not anymore. The first chapter of The Truth is a Lone Assassin took Michael six months to write. And now two crucial chapters are lost forever.

Michael's pretty upset and pretty down, right now. That's all we can say for now. Sorry about that. "The Truth Is a Lone Assassin" was slated for publication in December 2012. Now, we're just not sure about that or if and when that novella will be completed.

January 6, 2013 happy Update to this sad story...

The Obamanation in Wisconsin

The Obamanation rallies in Wisconsin, America's new paradise for whiners.

Real McCoy Paperback Page-Turner

Religion: Everybody's Worst Enemy

The Bobby Moon Show

Watch this "Guest Star" Video on Junk TV

Hey Google, Great Doodle

Click on the screenshot to watch the video on YouTube

Or Watch the Video Here

Final Destination

Somewhere out there.

Kindle-ing

Science Fiction for Thinkers Kindle Editions

The Headless Author

All Blogged Out

Watch this video on Michael Casher Tube

A Nightmare Isn't Always Bad News

Allegheny Plateau Blues

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Opening New Windows

Lip Impressionist

"Frankie Fugazi" is not a "lip sinc" impressionist. That's Frankie's real voice. As if we had to tell you that. Frankie says it's more fun than playing checkers.

Hell Cast

The Power of Hate

The best people in the world are people who want to be good and do the right things because they know that this is the way to secure the best things in life for others. After sixty years in this world — and ten of them as a science fiction writer — I am not surprised by the disturbing discovery that the best people are also the ones with the least power to make a positive difference in this world. It appears that this is what planet Earth is really about. It's a playground for the bullies, the rich and the twisted geniuses of this backward, selfish and greedy world.

But, as a seeker of hidden truths, I can almost assure you that this level of iniquity goes much higher than that. Earth, like many other "evolutionary worlds" is a playground for the whimsical delight and amusement of "the gods". And what is a "god"? Nothing more than an ancient, twisted, powerful, psychotic being with virtually unlimited power. But it's a power that will eventually be unseated by the combined power of countless good people who will one day dethrone these tyrants and restore the natural order to the cosmos.

How do I know that this planet is ruled by hate? Here's an example from my own life. The names in the following true story have been withheld for obvious reasons but this is a revelation that needs to surface before me and my 81-year-old widowed mother can begin our next journey in the cosmos. I cannot allow her to leave this Earth without some justice for the cruel acts committed against her. Having one parent leave this wicked world bewildered and betrayed was enough. That will never happen again as long as I live and breathe. I owe them that much.

Back in the 1980s my mother and father wanted to buy a piece of property to develop in their retired years, at their leisure, and they found that the owner of this property was willing to sell it to them. So, my parents — against their better judgment, but trusting this buyer — took out a second mortgage on their treasured Dauphin County home and borrowed the money to buy this envisioned "retirement property".

Then the day came for the buyers and the seller to meet and finalize the transfer of property. My parents drove over two hours, one-way, that day to meet the seller who, without any regard whatsoever for the welfare of my mother and father, changed his mind, backing out the deal, and leaving my parents holding a second mortgage and their horrifying outrage.

I know for a fact that this seller betrayed my parents deliberately because he hated my father. I know this because this man told me many, many times — right to my face — that he hated my father (and this guy knows why he got away with his cruel remarks). So, his mustered power of hatred was enough to destroy the futures of two individuals who never did anything to him in their entire lives. This was a cruel, deliberate, evil act of hatred perpetrated upon my parents by someone we've known all our lives.

When my father died in 1995, leaving my widowed mother with a staggering grief that was inconsolable for the next several years, she was also faced with a staggering "balloon payment" on her house, a monthly mortgage payment that was so large she was forced to put her house on the real estate market. I gave up my Harrisburg apartment and moved in with her because she didn't drive and could not possibly be alone. Then I left my place of employment after seven years (the highest-paying job I've ever had but one that was being phased out anyway and after which I could have successfully interviewed for other ones) and moved her "back home" to Snow Shoe (via Clarence for three years) where we now live in a rented house and where we barely make a go of things as our mutual health steadily declines.

To make things worse, this hateful seller, who betrayed us all (my father, my mother and me), is considered, unimaginably, to be one of the "good guys" in this world by some of those closest to us. How do we know this? Because my mother and I had to eat these words at our own kitchen table from the mouths of people once close to us, who betrayed us as well. That's right, my widowed mother and I ate hateful shit by the bucketful from our own people who couldn't care less that this single, hateful person, in a single, willful act of hate, destroyed the long-awaited future of my mother and father.

There is no forgiveness for such acts of hate. If you people finally realize who you are, it is to your advantage to stay away from my mother, who's been betrayed enough. And, most of all, you will not want to see the formidable side of me who will, without hesitation, defend my mother and myself against your evil, hateful presence in our lives. My own horrified outrage from being betrayed over and over again by those closest to me is enormous but I've put that "on hold" for now because my mother comes first. When good people bearing the truth combine forces and confront evil and hate, face-to-face, the power of hate doesn't stand a chance.

Once Upon a Time in Pennsylvania

Transparency

The View From My Hideout

I haven't had a lot to say lately and that's because I'm still busy being an author. I'm still tinkering with my seventh science fiction thriller, which has a working title, but it's a great big secret. But I'm mostly busy because Jonco Bugos, my literary alter ego, is busy working on his new novella, The Truth is a Lone Assassin.

And then I'm busy because of all the book marketing videos and promotional deals I recently "signed off on" and so on and so forth. But that only takes up part of my days. Most of my time is spent keeping out of sight and out of mind. Whose mind? Yours. Theirs. Everybody's.

Inspector Harry Callahan once told Captain Briggs in the movie Magnum Force that, "A man's got to know his limitations." and that's basically been my motto as I gaze down that long, dark tunnel into my seventh decade on Earth.

But, every now and then, I jab a stick out of my hiding hole and poke around. So, I may know my limitations as an aging indie author, but I can still poke a stick with the best of them. Or, at least I like to think so, and that's good enough for any ol' dawg who'd rather sleep than romp.

My latest L.A. Times comment

And, no, I don't like blogging anymore. In fact, I don't like it at all. I do it to keep from fading away before my time is up, like General MacArthur.

Man on the Lam