Freakshow Magazine Online!

    It’s 2:30 in the morning. It’s quiet here in God’s Country. Too quiet. Suddenly, the sounds of the late, great Jimi Hendrix’ “Purple Haze” blares from my night stand. It’s my ringtone because…why not? It was either that or a recording of me screaming: “THE PHONE IS RINGING! THE PHONE IS RINGING! ANSWER THE FECKING PHONE, YOU IDIOT!” I move to answer my phone, only because I have left strict instructions to everyone on my address list NOT to call me after 9:00 at night unless they are on fire. With that in mind, now I am interested. Is one of my family or friends ACTUALLY on fire? “Hello” “HEY MAN! WHAT’S GOIN’ ON?” I knew that voice. My mind reeled through my past, images playing in my head: horrible weirdness, substance fueled, degenerate behavior, mind-numbing madness. This phone call was going to cost me… The voice on the other end of the line was Air Wreck Martin. He was born Eric Martin, but became Air Wreck after he spent one night in the 1980’s tripping b

  Did your grandma ever call you a Snicklefritz when you were a little kid? Mine did. (And Whippersnapper, Dingleberry, and a few others.)  Did your grandpa warn you not to whistle in his barn?  Mine did.   I thought my old people were cool but a little strange and superstitious.  Here’s why.  I grew up in an era when special names and superstitions were common.  Bombs were falling over Europe, Hitler was on the march, men and women were contributing to the cause of freedom by enlisting in WW2, and I was a squirmy, mischievous little kid singing “Don’t sit under the Apple Tree” while sitting under the apple tree.  (I sat under there and practiced my whistling!) Mom often used special names like Snicklefritz to call me out from under that tree so I could wash up for supper.  Snicklefritz….I think it’s Pennsylvania Dutch and means “a mischievous child.”  Our family wasn’t Pennsylvania Dutch but the name fit the kids in our family.  We’d never been to Pennsylvania but I was told I tal

(Editors Note: This story first appeared in the WTF? blog in 2018.)  The Plaza Resort Club, Reno, Nevada   The tension in the packed elevator was as thick as shag carpet soup. One false move and there would be shrieking chaos: desperate and violent, people trying to rip up the floorboards, dogs and cats living together. Darkly bizarre. Is THIS what we have come to as a species? Are we THIS close to torches and pitchforks? How did we even GET HERE? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Aug. 4th, 2018, Tom McCall Park, Portland, Oregon. Antifa vs. The Proud Boys and Patriot Prayer. “We must be that front line. We may not be muscle bound gym rats, we certainly aren't the sort of sadistic bullies we are facing, but never the less we have to go out there and be the ones willing to physically protect people already under attack in our communities. We are regular people called to do