“X” Marks the Spot

In my book Emotions: Not your Mama’s ABC’s!, I list emotions under every letter of the alphabet.

Check out my preface and the short story illustrating the letter “X”:


Since I live in one of the nation’s driest areas (Phoenix, Arizona), my first instinct under this difficult heading was xeric, or pertaining to dry or drought-like conditions. However, that might have led to a full-length novel which I am entertaining a notion to write titled “The Last Drop of Water on Earth.”

Stay tuned.

Xenophobic is a fear or hatred of others than yourself. I contend there is some self-loathing involved as well. Before one can accept the unknown or unconventional, one must be totally secure in who one is and what the belief structure looks like. Fodder for yet another of my favorite rants denigrating the ethnocentric, the bigoted, and the biased. This condition affects every human being in every corner of the globe.

I like the pink, cherry Sour Tarts the best, so I too am biased. I still swell with pride at the sight of our flag furling in the desert wind, or while the national anthem plays, which are ethnocentric, by now Pavlovian, reactions for which I offer no apologies. I do love our country with all her faults. Ethnocentrism cloaked under the guise of nationalism.

I wish I could say I have never been bigoted or exhibited such behavior in my life. I have been the giver and receiver of such behavior and both memories elicit shame so I prefer not to go there. Ever. I have grown to be a better person than I was which is all any of us can do. Get better. Be better tomorrow than you were today. As I approach my own denouement, time becomes even more valuable, so be better this afternoon than I was this morning.

For too long in my own life I disassociated myself from the rest of humanity, a long period of personal darkness that embarrassingly, included my own family members.

We’ll slip, we’ll fall, but at that juncture what are your options?


Fuck it.

Or, you pick yourself up and keep fighting the good fight. It is a fight we will never complete, but as long as you are fighting, you are winning.



          Tony got out of his ‘68 Corvette and slammed the door as he turned his purple face toward the approaching taxicab driver.

          “You idiot, he bellowed. “What the hell is wrong with you? You saw me pulling in and you cut me off! Asshole! Oh great, a dumbass foreigner. I hope you don’t expect me to apologize you fuckin’ little raghead. Just have your terrorist homeland charge another couple cents at the gas pump! Look what you did to my car.” Tony was waving something overhead wildly.

          “I apologize, Assan began. I meant no harm sir. I will be more vigilant in the future.” The dark brown man extended his skinny arm in a gesture of friendship.

          “Get the fuck out of my way,” Tony said as he slapped away Assan’s hand.

          Tony slung the front-left hubcap off his classic Chevy in Assan’s direction, and it landed at Assan’s feet.

          “Hey! Saheeeb! Are you listening to me fool?” Tony was obviously drunk, high, or both.

          Assan stooped to pick up the hubcap, the edges almost razor-sharp due to the peculiarity of the design, with dangerous silver spokes to boot.

          “Here you are sir,” he said, offering the shiny hubcap as he approached Tony.

          “Oh hell no, sandnigger,” Tony shot back. “You are buying me a brand new one to replace that bent piece of shit.” 

          “But sir, it was YOU who caused the….” Assan recoiled.

          Tony raised his hand to silence the cabbie.

          “Wait. I’ve got something in my trunk just for you.” Tony belched as he returned to his ‘Vette. He pulled out what looked like a rifle and turned towards Assan. Tony’s eyes appeared to be rotating in his big head. He looked like the devil himself and he was chuckling out loud. He leveled the rifle and slowly lowered his eye to the sight.

          “Sir, please,” Assan pleaded as Tony closed his left eye.

          Assan stepped back and without hesitation, flung the hubcap at Tony like a Frisbee. The sharp edge of the cap sliced cleanly through Tony’s neck, severing it.

In a split-second his head fell from his shoulders and hit the greasy pavement with a sickening thud, blood gushing from his neck like a geyser.

          When the head stopped rolling, you should have seen the look on his face.


Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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