Saturday, April 2, 2011

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Not Always Inspiring

In the mid-nineties, I wrote a monthly column for America Online's Teen Community. I just wrote about whatever was on my mind, but I remain very proud of this column. Yet, they were lost in an AOL update so none of them exist anymore. If I could find one, I am sure it would be as awful as most of my early writing proves to be. Many of my topics came from lunchroom conversations with my peers. This little column led to much of my initial success. I self-syndicated the columns to a number of regional papers. I don't remember their names, although I did find an old copy of one of them, the Radisson, NY Free Press. This also led to my first freelance article in a California-based magazine Focus: A Magazine for Women, that was an expansion of a piece I wrote about the camaraderie between the boys in my school who became fathers. I used to receive e-mails from readers and enjoyed an inflated sense of grandeur that still persists to this day.

Yet, it wasn't all success. In fact, the success was rather rudimentary and had no real lasting significance. While I would write for the Teen Community section on AOL, I spent most of my time in the section of the service dedicated to writers and writing. I had access in those old forums to many experienced and helpful professionals. There was also a section where writers could find opportunities -- anthologies in need of manuscripts, magazines in need of freelancers, and content for these new-fangled websites. One such advertisement asked for inspirational stories. I don't remember how I did it -- this was on AOL's service, not the web -- but I directed the poster to my articles on AOL and my published clips and waited for a response.

I was in high-school at the time, tenth- or eleventh-grade, and the mid-term exam was legendary for being a real bastard to pass and failure resulted in extra homework for the rest of the year. Also, doing well on the exam meant the possibility of skipping the final. I avoided the internet for a week or ten days, perhaps I was a focused student or barred from using the computer for my sass-mouth or skipping on some chores. When I returned to my e-mail, I was behind on everything. I owed AOL two columns and had a bunch of other writing to do and as I scrolled through my e-mail, I saw that the editors of the anthology had gotten back to me. They liked my work and wanted me to submit something. I had just spoken to a longtime professional in Journalism who had advised me to "never write for free." So, I attempted to negotiate with the editors. I wanted cash I could spend on a CD or a video game or some youthful bullshit. So when they responded by saying they would be willing to negotiate a back-end royalty, I decided that my plate was far too full for such fly-by-night nonsense.

A year later, Chicken Soup for the Soul took over the world.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

A New Home on the Interwebs!

When your name is a website, you tend to feel more legit.

Thus, I have launched a crappy little website at Right now it just has some links and a bio on it. I am HTML-illiterate and it has been a challenge just getting what little there is up and functional.

Please check it out and feel free to leave comments, suggestions, and advice. All of my previously published pieces currently available here will be moved over there and perhaps some of the longer posts, too.

And hopefully, soon, I will have some books to sell on the website, too.

Thank you for your readership.


Monday, October 25, 2010

Gunning Scared

I had never before asked myself, “What Would Jesus Shoot?” I seem to remember from years of Catholic school that he was no big fan of swords, but Jesus is practically an American now and frankly there is nothing more American than exercising the right to bear arms and blow the shit out of targets, clay pigeons, or what-have-you. Hell, I enjoy it. 

When I was 12 or 13, I joined a group called the Explorer Scouts and their membership was comprised of both males and females. There was a weeklong trip into the woods where the group stays in cabins and it seemed like a great potential for rookie nookie.

That, my friends, is another story. It was before this weeklong trip that our extremely elderly group-leader took us down a dark staircase in a brick building, underneath which was a firing range. We didn’t bother with eye or ear protection. Many of the kids in the group were hunters and had fired a rifle countless times before; I barely understood how to hold the fucking thing. As I peered down my lane over the top of the rifle, I lined up the rudimentary sight upon the center of the target and fired.
My shoulder bore most of the kickback, but it was unexpected and immediately my right ear began to ring. 

The smell, the old man had already referred to it as “brimstone,” seemed to not only infiltrate my nostrils, but also into my eyes causing me to well up. The old man was distracted, barely paying attention, and I peered to the paper that seemed miles away from me. While the image was of four concentric black rings, the innermost of course solid, when I focused instead on the three white circles that made up the space in-between, I spied a speck of black in the center left quadrant of the middle white ring. My first shot in life was kind of on-target.

While my aim has gotten worse with time, the thrill of firing a weapon has never dulled and when I can afford it, I enjoy going to the range with friends I want around in case the Zombie Apocalypse ever goes down. During the winter months, we frequent an indoor range where it is the policy of the proprietors that no outside ammunition be used. In recent months, the price of the ammo has risen substantially. When I asked the man behind the counter about it he informed me of a startling fact.

“It’s the Ammo shortage since Obama took over,” he said shaking his head, and then with empathy,

“It drives the prices right up, especially for recreational shooting.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked, ignorant to the gun community-at-large.

“Well, Obama doesn’t like guns and God knows what he’ll ban, but no one is taking chances. The military, the police, guys like you and me, have all been buying up the bullets faster than the companies can make them.” He placed another box of Winchester .380 rounds in front of me and rang them up. I handed him a twenty dollar bill, he returned a five to me.

I placed a call to the Remington ammunition and components plant in Arkansas to get to the bottom of the shortage posing as the spokesperson for a group looking to open a gun club and range. A kind woman named Patty told me that I could order as much as I wanted. She informed me that the company was doing well, despite the poor economic times they had their “best year ever.” I was informed that while it was once a three-shift operation, they were now working “around the clock,” and that by the first of the year everyone would be able to earn double-time overtime.

Federal Ammuntion told me the same thing, and a little more. A spokesperson for Federal told me that they only sell through distributors and these distributors may or may not be restricting or rationing purchase. There was no shortage of ammunition and, if anything, there are more bullets out there than ever before. I called an ammunition distributor, that will get no mention from me, that told me a different story. The man identified himself to me as Jim and exhaled with what sounded like despair when I asked about the shortage of Ammunition. “You follow politics much, son?”

“No,” I lied.

“Well, you see since Obama got elected, it is only a matter of time before he bans assault weapons again or starts banning handguns. A lot of our customers are buying as much ammo as they can and, I don’t know why, but the price is going up. We still have great deals, you want to reserve some with a credit card just in case?” The man waited in silence, a master pitchman, letting the silence build with the fear and tension that might build if I actually believed this swine. 

As any Gun enthusiast knows, what happens in the sporting goods stores and gun clubs across the country bears little effect on the Hajj like pilgrimage to the anything-goes gun show, a whirlwind of arms dealing. I walked into a sea of denim and camouflage clad people milling about tables with all sorts of weapons, ammo, and accessories. Yet it seems the shortage has stuck here as well, the boxes were not piled as high and the selection of weapons and rounds, and the amount of deals offered, were not as varied as they once had been. As I browsed the tables examining the other wares offered, I was stunned to see an SS-style knife, complete with swastika, for sale at a table. As I traced the outline of the swastika with my finger, the very fat man behind the table began telling me about the knife and his other “World War II” collectibles, mostly from the losing side though.

“But did this knife ever slay a Jew, I wonder?” I mumbled. The fat man looked at me uneasily, a question he had apparently never considered. I walked off shaking my head. The was not the last piece of Nazi paraphernalia that I would see for sale that day, nor was it the most disturbing item being sold.

I couldn’t stop shaking it because I then found a table scatted with pins, bumper stickers, and T-shirts bearing “funny” statements. The bumper stickers were ignorant, ideology and a basic grasp of the English language: “I HAD RATHER BE RIGHT, THEN POLITICALLY CORRECT [sic],” “OBAMA-OSAMA, SAME!” and a button that read, “A VILLAGE IN KENYA IS MISSING ITS IDIOT” (Although this is a bastardization of a dig on Hillary Clinton as fallout from her “it takes a village” comment). 

It was there that I laid eyes on the T-Shirt that asked the question that started this column, “What would Jesus Shoot?” The answer, on the back, is “An AR-15.” I spoke to the man selling the shirt and was amazed to discover that this shirt was designed WITHOUT irony in mind.

My friend was also wearing a t-shirt that read, “Marriage is SO gay.” For the most part of the day, most of the folks that read the shirt either didn’t get it or completely misinterpreted the meaning of the shirt. Said one mulleted man (or woman?) “Ha Marriage sure is gay. Single is where it’s at!” As I haggled with the man selling the shirt, I saw him notice her shirt and I could tell he GOT the joke: that she was wearing a pro-gay marriage t-shirt to their tea party. He chased after us to give her a free t-shirt, implying she should put it on immediately. We left the gun show with a heavy heart and no guns or ammo. Our beloved firearm pilgrimage had been taken over by extremists.

As always this troubling development in American society has roots in the conservative media web. Rush, Hannity, and all the usual suspects have hounded the President since the days of the Pennsylvania primary that he was an enemy to the 2nd Amendment and gun owners across the nation. Of course, no one does this better than the current Prima Ballerina of the movement, Glenn Beck.
In February he interviewed the President of the company that owns his favorite shooting range. So while giving the place free publicity and the promise that you might spy Beck himself there, their conversation served to scare the shit out of anyone listening. There was a brief moment when I thought Beck was going to be journalistically responsible saying that Obama was not going to “take away our guns,” but then added, “but he will make it impossible to own one.” 

The huge moustache on the other side of Glenn Beck spouts off both that “Police can’t protect you,” and that the President was going to impose a 500% excise tax on guns and ammunition, a complete lie.

There is no legislation in Congress or plans by the Obama Administration to increase the current 11% excise tax. In fact, the only moves the Administration has made was to expand the rights of gun owners. With the proper permits, it is now legal to carry a loaded weapon into a National Park. This was the results of Amendments 1067 and 1058 in HR 627, The Credit Card Holders Bill of Rights, signed into law by the very “Kenyan village idiot” that they fear so greatly. In my opinion, this is sensible. In a National Park there are no beat cops or 911, and there are many animals, human or otherwise, that could lurk in those parks.

However, the words of fear that are spewed forth by these conservatives can have a harmful effect, that only serve to fuel the arguments of those who wish to restrict responsible gun ownership. Richard Poplawski killed three Pittsburgh police officers responding to a domestic disturbance call after he violently argued with his mother about a pissing dog. He shot two officers and then shot another officer, who was off-duty, who was just trying to retrieve his comrades for treatment. 

When it was over, it was discovered that Poplawski feared that Obama was going to take his guns. He shared videos of Beck’s program talking about FEMA concentration camps, where the normally reasonable Ron Paul validated his nonsense for what is surely a political move. You can practically see him compromising his integrity by saying the concern is justified.

The segment I profiled earlier about guns and that the police weren’t protectors aired only 5 weeks before the shootings occurred.

Like all national debates where the context is derived mostly from irresponsible coverage, it has gotten into the realm of the absurd. It is impossible to reason with an argument that only speaks fear and paranoia. It poses to ignite fringe elements that instead of arming themselves with weed, bongos, and hugs actually arms themselves. Unlike some of the clashes between the red and blue crowds, this one isn’t funny; it only promises tragedy. Everyone is worried about the President, when we all know the real threat looms on the horizon: Zombie Apocalypse.

(Originally Published on Matt's Naked Word in 2009. Edited for formatting/typos 2016)

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Sitting Down For Equal Rights (Published on Matt's Naked Word, 12/2009

Liberty and Justice For All: The Story of A 10 year-old boy with more courage than most grown men.

By Joshua M. Patton.

It is always inspiring to see an act of patriotism. Yet, who are the patriots? What is it that defines that kind of love for your country? The diplomatic answer is that there are many ways to define patriotism and that there is no such thing as perfect patriotism. However as far back as the 17th century, English-speakers were debating about the meaning of this word. What is consistent is a love of country. Not necessarily a defender of the government and often used to describe a disturber of the government. It has always been my belief is that patriotism is a combined love of country and a willingness to take to task the leaders of the country if they go astray.

When I was in grade school, I remember standing up every morning and reciting our morning prayer, I went to a parochial school, and the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America. I did not think of it as indoctrination nor do I feel that it had any negative effect on me. In fact, it was more of a time to goof around and change up the words to see how foul one could make the pledge – and sometimes the prayer – before the teacher got wise to what we were up to. However some kids listen to the words they have memorized and actually put some real meaning behind them. Will Phillips, a ten year-old boy for Arkansas is one of those kids.

On a Monday morning in early October, Will made the decision that because he didn’t feel that the government was currently providing “liberty and justice for all,” that he was not going to stand and recite the daily pledge. To have been a fly on the wall to see the face of his substitute teacher when Will gave her what was surely a very reasoned argument for his civil disobedience.

In the small amount of media that has covered this story, the child handles himself better than most interview subjects that have not yet hit puberty. In the Arkansas Times he is quotes as saying that as his teacher grew more angry he was “fuming,” and I understand that. Smart kids are often condescended to in the classroom, especially if they make a reasoned judgment that goes against the mainstream. I recall innocently correcting a mistake a teacher made in a junior high classroom and was invited to “come up and teach the class.” The irony was lost on me. I assumed that this was some Robin Williams Dead Poets Society teaching technique, although it would have been creepy to call this particular teacher, “My Captain.” When I stood, he lost his shit and in a spittle-laden fury I was sent to the Principal’s office.

My mother was of the mind that children have no rights, thus for my 18th birthday she only had to get me a copy of the Bill of Rights and perhaps an ice-cream cake. Luckily for Will, the seeds of his dissent were planted by his parents and they continue to nurture what they have cultivated. Laura and Jay Phillips have been straight supporters of many gay rights causes. Little Will has apparently grown up absent of the stigma that most children of religious households have towards homosexuals. He did not see sinners, perverts, or any sort of abominations to the Lord, but people who were just like him. And because this young man is already a measured and contemplative individual, he decided to take a stand, weak pun intended.

During the only television interview of this kid that I have seen, he sat next to his father Jay. During an answer to the Muppet-like John Roberts, he explained that he told his teacher to jump off of a bridge “solemnly and with a little malice in his voice.” His father buries his face in mock exasperation, but before that I noticed an expression I was very familiar with because I wear it often. It is the expression that comes over a parent’s face when he or she realizes that one day their child is going to be far more intelligent than they ever were.

When I first heard of this story, I was watching the John Roberts segment. When I listened to the careful and articulate answers of this 10 year-old patriot, I practically welled up. We are a nation that is hungry for leaders. Once the progressive leaders in this country started getting killed off and publicly disgraced, we have had a hard time finding a person to rally around. We stand around waiting for the next Dr. King or RFK. It is how President Obama won the White House, by sounding like someone who could lead us like progressive, efficient sheep.

Will Phillips is no sheep. This young man believes so much in his rights as an American that he dared exercise them. He believes that the daily pledges of children to the Flag, to the country, matter and come at a price. He was as aghast as I was when John Roberts asked him what a “gaywad” was. His answer was perfect. I wonder if he only told them he was called that because he felt it would be inappropriate to say “fag” on the cable news channel. Gaywad can’t be the go-to insult for kids today, can it?

When I was in parochial school, we would get in trouble for calling someone what in Britain would get you a cigarette. Yet, the admonishments from the teachers were not because we were using derogatory language, but instead we warned not to call someone such a “terrible thing.” The implication being that it was an appropriate word in certain places the way that “bitch” is appropriate at a dog show.

In the words of wrestler Mick Foley, when on Comedy Central, “Will Phillips is a great American.” And it’s true. He is a young man that briefly captured the attention span of the media and got “exclusive”-ed out of the news cycle. His story stays alive on the internet, but I wonder how he is doing today? While I respect his courage, I hope he can lay low and get through school, becoming a lawyer and fighting the good fight. I hope he stays off the radar for awhile and gets to be a kid for a bit longer, but not too much longer. America sometimes likes to eat its young.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Farce News - Published at 11/2009

When does news become comedy or vice versa? The way I have watched the news in recent years is to watch all three of the big cable networks, take it to the Internet, and try to determine what part of the various reports are news and what parts of it are bullshit. The three cable news networks suit this manner of watching the news perfectly. CNN is always a good place to start, because they try to fit as many stories into one block of programming as possible. However, this leaves their discussions – specifically between the anchors and the pundits – to only scratch the surface of any significant story. MSNBC is clearly in the blue corner as most of their coverage is mostly favorable to the mainstream democratic agenda, Pat Buchannan notwithstanding. They do not really hide their bias, but I feel they are rather responsible in presenting the issue before they start pontificating. Their snide remarks can be rather witty and perhaps after a few years, it will become more of a serious outlet. And that leaves us with Fox News.

So when does comedy become news? The answer I would offer is when comedians have more integrity than the newscasters when it comes to truth-telling. To be fair, the truth is the basis for all great comedy or satire and unfortunately the same cannot be said about journalism. Two of the most renowned names in journalism, Pulitzer and Hearst, sensationalized stories and sometimes wrote outright lies to boost their circulation. This practice in journalism is largely credited for drawing the United States into the Spanish-American War, to liberate the Spanish colonies from Spain. It seems as if this is the business model of Fox News and it is working so effectively that Hearst and Pulitzer are either rolling in their graves or sporting huge boners.

For over 10 years, Comedy Central has made a late-night daily news satire the foundation of their entire primetime line-up. Since Jon Stewart and his staff have taken the helm of the show, the show became a mockery of all that is terrible about the news and the newsmakers. It was on the night of November 10, 2009 that The Daily Show may have ascended to the level of shows that it often satirizes. A clip from the Sean Hannity program was played where he and Congressional moron Michelle Bachmann discussed a rally that she held last week against healthcare. Footage played over their conversation and the first piece showed a few groups of people trickling towards the rally site on a clear fall day. Then with only the word, “Earlier” in the upper-left of the screen, a multitude of people were shown, however the trees and the sky were different from the first clip. At one point, Hannity comments about the respectable size of the crowd “for a Thursday.”

It didn’t stop there. The eagle-eyed staff at The Daily Show was able to discover when the exact same clip of video was shown: during a segment on the Glenn Beck program. The exact same shots of the crowd were shown at what was actually a tea-bagger rally. Hannity claimed it was an accident, taking only a few seconds at the end of his program to address the issue. Typically the problem many have with Fox News is that it skews events so that it best fits in with the particular narrative they are trying to deliver rather than analysis of the events of the day. However to deliberately mislead the viewing audience is perhaps the worst kind of Yellow Journalism.

While it makes me feel a little dirty to view it, I don’t actually mind the insertion of opinion into any news story, even on Fox News. Journalism is the watchdog of democracy and it requires two distinct elements to fulfill its responsibility to the average American. The first is that there be clear and factual coverage of the events of the day, regardless of the subject matter. As such, the perfect combination would be a mixture of facts, eyewitness reports, and/or interviews with the newsmakers themselves. The second leg of journalism is the pundits. Their opinions and analysis serve to explain the news that was just delivered so that the average American could understand them. A successful version of this would be a discussion between two reasonable people on either side of an issue moderated by an anchor with only the agenda of equal exposure in mind.

Sadly, that formula does not translate into huge ratings and advertising dollars. Thus the sensationalism and the general overtones of fear that seems to permeate throughout all of Fox News. Glenn Beck may be almost certifiably insane, but he knows how to work this formula. From his Strangelovian segment called “The War Room,” to his chalkboard talking points that often spell a word that explains what exactly is so terrifying. For example, in one of these sessions he had written a number of things on the board and began to circle the first letters of each word. Soon at the top of the board were the letters, O-L-I-G-A-R-H. He then said that there was one letter missing, so I thought the absence of the letter “C” was, inexplicably, on purpose. He then writes a letter “Y” on the board, presumably for “Oligarchy.” Later, when trying to explain this particular error, rather than laughing it off as a goof, he explains that he also intentionally left off the C because of all of President Obama’s “czars.” A “czar” is in charge of a particular government initiative, a position in the administration pioneered in a white cowboy hat by none other than the Gipper himself.

While the original meaning of “the fourth estate,” referred to the press against the other three estates of clergy, nobles, and commoners, an effective press is essentially a third branch of the government. Sadly, it seems that the fourth estate has become nothing other than a sorority reality show. How soon until he have the first season of “Who Wants to Be A Legislator?” where contestants go through challenges to earn a place on the ticket. No one votes in primary elections anyways; why not make it easier by dialing in your vote each week? Joke though this may be, we would at least get to see the core of these slick bastards that have the highest political ambitions. Who breaks what alliances? Which one drinks too much? And imagine the hook-ups! Instead we have journalists that repeat talking points given by political handlers and freely admit that what they are reporting is “spin.”

So it is up to comedians like Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, and Bill Maher to ask the important questions that are not being asked by the mainstream media. However for those that aren’t fans of this type of comedy, are missing a significant part of the story outside of the pre-determined narrative that the producers of these news organizations are paid the big money to dream up or at least transcribe what is given to them in a hand-delivered parchment signed in the blood of the poor or the wealthy. Thus a parasitic vine of influence has wound itself deep within the Legislative, Executive, and even Judicial branches of government, it has also found its way into the media.

Religion and simple lust for power are all contributors to this problem, but without money the other two are powerless. Using a scheme that depends on lobbyists in Washington and the might of lucrative advertisers, it is becoming increasingly easier to buy a network. Network News in fact, the hulking giant of news that is increasingly becoming irrelevant, is struggling to remain relevant and that translates into trouble turning a profit. Of course profit is the business of business and it isn’t as if publicly financed media would make much sense. No the actual people to blame are everyday average Americans. The disinterest in political and current events, media laziness if you will, created a hole in the market that can only be filled by a large, snarling beast with blood on its teeth and coupons in its hands. We asked for this by skipping civics in high school, if you’re high school even offered the course. We asked for this because rather than take time to watch what is happening in reality, we escape to the reality of others in programming that rarely, if ever, looks is comparable to our reality.

I believe in freedom of the press very deeply, that includes the freedom of certain media outlets to consist of only the opinions of bastards and assholes. Still there is a responsibility to the profession of journalism that seems to have been shoved into the corner, perhaps because of the influx of non-journalists getting the microphone for hours a day. The press has a duty to inform the people about what is happening and we the people have a responsibility to stay informed. That dirty, God-hating, Communist Franklin D. Roosevelt once said, “Rules are not sacred, principles are.” It is okay to break the rules in journalism and honestly the best journalism usually comes from breaking the rules. Yet it is not okay to deviate from the basic principles inherent in responsible journalism: to educate, to inform, and to explain.

The goal of this column, this site, this entire movement of which Naked World Post is but a small part, is for the people of this country to be fairly represented in the halls of Congress and in print and on the airwaves. We don’t have time for bullshit or the pageantry of the whole relationship between politics and the media. A site like this is the best place for that. After this article there is a comment section where after you read this, you can add to the discussion. It’s democratic media. Join me each week to either examine what stories have been either gotten wrong in the media or not told at all. It is not all gloom and doom, my friends. I believe in this country and its people, one of the reasons I served in the military. To criticize one’s country and its officials is the exact opposite of un-American; it is practically patriotic as long as it is based on reason and solid moral or ethical ground.

Friday, September 24, 2010

A Stab At Fiction: Hurricane Jillica

Thanks to the GI Bill, I am back to school working to finish my undergraduate degree. After many different majors, I have finally decided to be broke, but happy, with my English degree. Thus, I am awarded the opportunity to take a fiction class. I have always thought of fiction as a flight of fancy - from a writer's perspective - and have only indulged in it a handful of times.

At Pitt, however, they make you pigeon-hole yourself into one area of English: fiction/non-fiction writing, Literature, or writing for business. I am trying out both fiction and non-fiction, and while non-fiction seems to be a better fit, I thought it might be fun to share my fiction as I work through the assigned exercises. I would welcome your feedback as my specific goal with this story is to write an authentic female main character. The majority of folks in the class seem to give a shit less about the writing process and more about resenting the early hour of the class or sounding like a writer in front of the professor (myself included).

This is the third exercise we did for this class. The instructions were to write the same scene from three different narrative points-of-view. Enjoy.

Joshua M. Patton

Introduction to Writing Fiction

Writing Exercise #3

Hurricane Jillica


I glanced down at my watch and I had 20 minutes until the meeting and, after last night, I needed some coffee. As I took the empty elevator down to Dominican Dave’s, the newsstand and barista in the lobby of our building. The elevator doors whisked open breaking the simple silence and I think for a moment that I wouldn’t have minded being stuck in the elevator for the afternoon. Once I passed the elevator bank, I stopped as I watched the new security guard try to flirt with Jillica.

“JILL-ica?” The security guard said with a flirty tone as he held her ID card up to the light.

“It’s pronounced YILL-ica, asshole.” He looked startled, she continued, “Don’t be shocked, some of us actually have jobs that extend beyond a particle-board podium so if you are done staring at my tits, can I go? I see my colleague.” She gestured toward me and I tried to appear sympathetic to the poor guard when looked over at me. Jillica is gorgeous. Smooth skin, nice figure, meticulously-styled hair (not better than mine, but that is why we can be friends). She worked very hard to appear effortlessly beautiful and she often succeeded much to my ire when I have a fat day. “Hey bitch,” Jillica greeted me with her face planted in her multi-colored rhinestone-studded smartphone, “buy you a coffee?”

I shrugged and walked into the store and immediately into the line. It was small and cramped, stuffed with books and magazines in the aisles, but the counter was packed with pastries and coffee accessories. I watched Dave move quickly to take the order, fill it, and ring up the customers to shrink the line with a fervor I never saw when I worked retail.

“Tell me you have something good for today’s meeting,” Jillica implored, “I have nothing to present. All of the dependable designers are churning out crap this year. It’s like I’m starting from scratch. But I did find some really slutty Halloween costumes for next quarter.”

“I’ve got some things, our department will be fine.” I actually had a big presentation planned, but I didn’t want to tip my hand. Elaine Torgoff, the vice-president tapped to replace the head of the purchasing department would be there and I wanted her to notice me.

“Thank God,” Jillica said, trying to discreetly break off a piece of a giant oatmeal cookie cooling on a tray. Dave, even though working on the customer directly in front of them, noticed.

“Hey Miss!” he yelled in his lightly accented voice, “How many times I gotta tell you? No sampling!”

Jillica slowly turned her head to face him, the old man looking at her at first with a look of disdain, quickly replaced by a look of fear. Her blazing blue eyes bored directly into the center of Dave’s forehead, his stern expression fell. “Do they have ‘the customer is ALWAYS right’ in your country? How much money do I spend in here? You cheap. Raghead. FUCK.

Jillica panted dramatically, her ample cleavage heaving. Dave’s eyes were transfixed, the insult disregarded, if even heard at all.

“Dave. Dave!” I snapped my fingers, he snapped to meet my gaze, “Two cookies and two lattés.” Then to Jillica, “This one’s on me. Why not wait outside?”

Jillica glared at Dave again and walked off cursing him in Spanish. Dave looked back at me, these insults he heard. “Doesn’t she know I speak espanol?

Second Person

You glance down at your watch and see that you have 20 minutes until the meeting. You decide to get some coffee. The elevator is empty on the way down to the lobby and you are thankful for the moment of solitude. Especially after being up so late arguing with Conrad. You feel a twinge of disappointment that he didn’t even care how important this meeting was for your career. The elevator’s doors slide open, pulling you out of your thoughts and you round the corner to Dominican Dave’s, the newsstand and barista in the lobby of the building.

Before you can walk into the store, you see your associate Jillica stopped at the security desk by what looks like a new guy. You hope that he isn’t trying to flirt with her.

“JILL-ica?” He say to her. You chuckle quietly to yourself when you hear his flirty tone of voice.

Your friend is beautiful. On good days you appreciate how much work she does to make her beauty appear effortless. On bad days, you try to find one flaw to pick on all day, passive-agressively of course, usually your hair. “It’s pronounced YILL-ica, asshole. Some of us have jobs that extend beyond a particleboard podium, so if you are done staring at my tits, can I go? I see my colleague.” The guard turns a disappointed face to your direction and you try to wear a sympathetic look, even though once he turns back your expression turns into a bemused grin.

“Hey bitch, buy you a coffee?” Jillica asks you when she joins you, looking not at you but engrossed in whatever she was doing on her glitzy, rhinestone-bedazzled smartphone.

You agree and walk into the small, cramped store. There are only two people in front of you, but the small space is so crammed with books, newspapers, and magazines kept things tight. A tray of oatmeal cookies lay cooling on the pastry case on the counter, the rest of which was covered with coffee supplies and accessories. Dave works intensely and you respect how quickly he is working.

“Tell me you have something good for today’s meeting,” Jillica says to you, ““I have nothing to present. All of the dependable designers are churning out crap this year. It’s like I’m starting from scratch. But I did find some really slutty Halloween costumes for next quarter.”

“I’ve got some things, our department will be fine.” You didn’t want to tip my hand to Jillica, but you hoped to impress Elaine Torgoff, the vice-president tapped to replace the head of the purchasing department.

“Thank God,” Jillica says, discreetly breaking off a piece of a cookie..

“Hey Miss!” Dave yells in his lightly accented voice, “How many times I gotta tell you? No sampling!”

You watch Jillica’s blue eyes blaze and her expression makes both Dave and the lawyerly customer in front of you look fearful. “Do they have ‘the customer is ALWAYS right’ in your country? How much money do I spend in here? You cheap. Raghead. FUCK.

You close your eyes, slightly embarrassed at her outburst. When you open them, you see that Dave’s gaze is firmly entrenched in Jillica’s ample cleavage, heaving dramatically after her tirade.

“Dave.” You say. He doesn’t respond. You snap your fingers and again call his name. He snaps his head to face you, and you tell him, “Two cookies and two lattes, please.” Then to Jillica, “Wait outside, this one is on me.”

Jillica mumbles insults in Spanish under her breath as she walks away. Ironically, Dave notices this one. He looks at you helplessly and asks, “Doesn’t she know I speak espanol?” You feel the smile again pulling at the corners of your lips.

If you compliment Dave on his work ethic, Turn to Page 64.

If you tell him to mess up Jillica’s drink, Turn to Page 112.

Third Person

Susan glanced down at her watch and saw that she had 20 minutes until the meeting. The argument with Conrad last night had drained her more than she would ever admit to him. With the presentation she had planned for today, she decided to get a coffee with her time. The elevator arrived on her floor almost immediately and it was blissfully empty. Susan reflected on the presentation, pushing aside all thoughts of Conrad and their problems. The elevator doors whisked open too soon. With a deep breath, Susan exited the lift and walked past the elevator bank toward Dominican Dave’s the newsstand and barista in the lobby of her building.

Before Susan could go into the tiny store, she spotted Jillica, another purchaser for the company, being delayed by a new security guard. Jillica was gorgeous: dark, smooth skin; a beautiful figure; original, flattering clothes; and crisp, blazing blue eyes. On good days, Susan could appreciate how much work she did to appear so effortlessly beautiful. On bad days, Susan would often find a flaw in her armor, usually her hair, and throw underhanded jibes her way all day. Today, however, the security guard was going to get a taste of what Susan liked to call “Hurricane Jillica.”

“JILL-ica?” The security guard said with a flirty tone as he held her ID card up to the light.

“It’s pronounced YILL-ica, asshole.” He looked startled, she continued, “Don’t be shocked, some of us actually have jobs that extend beyond a particle-board podium so if you are done staring at my tits, can I go? I see my colleague.” She gestured toward Susan and she tried to appear sympathetic to the poor guard when their eyes met. When he turned back, Susan smiled and her friend approached her. “Hey bitch,” Jillica said, her face planted in her multi-colored rhinestone-studded smartphone, “buy you a coffee?”

Susan shrugged and they walked into the store and immediately into the line. It was small and cramped, stuffed with books and magazines in the aisles, but the counter was packed with pastries and coffee accessories. A tray of freshly-baked giant oatmeal cookies lay cooling on top of the pastry case. Susan watched Dave move quickly to take the orders, fill them, and ring up the customers to shrink the line with a fervor she never saw when she worked in retail.

“Tell me you have something good for today’s meeting,” Jillica implored, “I have nothing to present. All of the dependable designers are churning out crap this year. It’s like I’m starting from scratch. But I did find some really slutty Halloween costumes for next quarter.”

“I’ve got some things, our department will be fine.” Susan didn’t want to tip her hand. Elaine Torgoff, the vice-president tapped to replace the head of the purchasing department would be there. Susan wanted to be noticed.

“Thank God,” Jillica said, trying to discreetly break off a piece of cookie. Dave, even though working on the customer directly in front of them, noticed.

“Hey Miss!” he yelled in his lightly accented voice, “How many times I gotta tell you? No sampling!”

Jillica slowly turned her head to face him, the old man looking at her at first with a look of disdain, quickly replaced by a look of fear. Her blazing blue eyes bored directly into the center of Dave’s forehead, his stern expression fell. “Do they have ‘the customer is ALWAYS right’ in your country? How much money do I spend in here? You cheap. Raghead. FUCK.

Jillica panted dramatically, her ample cleavage heaving. Dave’s eyes were transfixed, the insult disregarded, if even heard at all.

“Dave. Dave!” Susan snapped her fingers, he snapped his head towards her, “Two cookies and two lattés.” Then to Jillica, “This one’s on me. Why not wait outside?”

Jillica glared at Dave again and walked off cursing him in Spanish. Dave looked crestfallen, these insults he heard. “Doesn’t she know I speak espanol?

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Letter to the Editor

So in a whiskey-induced rage, I rang off a letter to the editor of the student newspaper at Pitt because there was an editorial about why the Park51 Islamic Center should be moved. It was originally longer.

Below you shall find my full-length text.


Dear Editors of Pitt News, Steve K, et. al.

I am greatly disappointed to see this column as both a new student to the Pitt campus and, as such, a first-time regular reader of the Pitt News. I am an Iraq war veteran and, while I knew no one personally that perished on 9/11/2001, I do know far too many friends and colleagues who have died on their behalf. To the families of the victims of those attacks this is an emotional subject, because to them those attacks were not levied against this nation, but against their very families. Because of such a close emotional connection, their input into this debate should be tactfully and respectfully disregarded. This is not Ground Zero, the former site of the World Trade Center, but in fact a run-down Burlington Coat Factory in a neighborhood that has practically been abandoned for a decade.

To correlate what I mean about disregarding the opinions of the victims’ families in what has become the type of issue the First Amendment was designed for, I would compare it to my feelings for the Westboro Baptist Church and the families of the funerals they protest. I value the protection of the First Amendment and still proudly defend it. Yet I would deny it to those sign-carrying swine who would protest a veteran’s funeral, probably while also violating the rights preventing against “cruel and unusual punishment. I am far too emotional about this issue to think rationally.

Whether or not you think we are at war against Islam, the “hearts and minds” we are so desperately trying to win are Islamic hearts and Muslim minds. The tragic irony is that Imam Feisel Abdul Rauf and his followers are Sufi, the exact sort of liberal-minded Muslim we should be courting in order to win the greatest battle in any war against terror, a battle that will not be fought with soldiers or guns or bombs. Even the Bush Administration got that part right. Terry Jones threatened to burn the Quran and thousands of miles away in Afghanistan, two people he would have never met anyway died in protests against the mere threat. This sort of thinking proves the philosophy of the extremists correct: that Americans equate “enemy” with “Islam.” But it isn’t just Islam, either. There is a Catholic Church, St. Nicholas, that sat directly across the street from Ground Zero and was annihilated when the towers fell. This debate has caused that project to stall as well, because if Park51 is ultimately moved, it could mean doom for not just this church but for some essential American principles.


Joshua M. Patton

Friday, August 20, 2010

Everyone loves a little side-boob....

Hey all,

The latest issue of Sex Appeal Magazine has hit the digital stands. This is a great urban magazine that spends its time examining issues that are taboo in the culture. There are also great pictures of really sexy gotta love that right?

Anyway, check it out. On page 66-67, you can read my take on Goldman Sachs. Res Ipsa Loquitor.


Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Hey all, it has been a long, long time since I composed anything for this sad little weblog of mine, but this is not because I haven't been staying busy.

I have been writing missions for a video game about Atlantis that should soon be flooding and drowning the fake Farms of the internet with shark-riders with spear-guns blazing. More info on that as it becomes available.

I am also really excited to announce that I have joined the staff of and will be contributing about three short articles per week, so please check it soon and often.

Enjoy the rest of the summer!


UPDATE: Here is the link to my first published piece:

Friday, July 9, 2010

Pitt in Ireland - Sports writing sample.

Panthers Invade the Emerald Isle

By Joshua M. Patton

The green shores of Ireland, now part-time home to Noted Yinzer Ambassador Dan Rooney, will welcome the University of Pittsburgh men’s basketball team for a whirlwind tour of games and goodwill that will take them to Cork, Dublin, and Belfast. Dan Rooney might be the only one anticipating the arrival of the Panthers with any significant excitement. Basketball is an emerging sport in Ireland with only a few nationally televised games per year. Still, Pitt will be taking on an international consortium of assess to kick on the court.

The nature and tenor of the visit is touted as an exercise in goodwill and international athletic brotherhood, which in part it is. However one only has to read between the lines when head coach Jamie Dixon says that “from a basketball perspective, this is an outstanding opportunity for our team to get an early start on the season.” The Panthers will maintain a normal practice schedule in-between games, sightseeing, and events. However, they will face four Irish teams and should win handily. There greatest challenge follows, the dreaded Melbourne Tigers, a professional Australian team that has won championships in their home country. The six-game tour is then closed out in Dublin as they face the English National Team, formidable I’m sure, but not as cohesive a unit as Dixon hopes his Panthers will be.

The good news is that even if the locals, the Brits, and the Tigers mop up the gym floor with the Panthers – perhaps too tired from sightseeing, normal practice, and “shagging,” to really put forth the effort – it is a great way to break up the monotony of a normal NCAA season. The Panthers are typically in and out of a town faster than a late-night visit to a reverend’s daughter, no matter what the outcome of the games, they will have an uplifting experience on the other end of the tour.

They will be visiting UPMC facilities in Ireland, to include the Children’s Hospital Dublin Branch. They will also be doing some work of worth with Peace Players International, an organization that tries to keep Protestant and Catholic children from attempting to kill each other and settle their squabbles through triple-doubles and athletic competition. And the Panthers need the fun, Utah is their first opponent and it is undoubtedly the toughest opening bout in the Big East. Erin Go Big or Go Bragh.

Friday, June 11, 2010

THIS JUST IN: Second Coming of Christ Interrupted by Border WatchDogs

This idea came to me and struck me as funny. I thought this might be something I could use to perhaps start working with the brilliant writers at The Onion. Alas, they do not consider freelance submissions. Thus, their loss is your gain, my dozens of readers....

TEMPE, AZ – Citizens were startled earlier today when trumpets heralded the second-coming of the Messiah, Jesus Christ. Immediately after descending into town, apparently from Heaven, the Son of Man began to assist some poor migrant workers attempting to repair their ramshackle hut with a paltry supply of materials. By the time Jesus was through, they had built a ten-room, 9000 square foot mansion in a 1500 square foot lot.

Said George Washington Smith, one of the carpenters on the scene, “Thees man, he take our boards, make more boards. Very nice. I citizen though, I vote Tea Party, yes?”

Edna Whipplesnatch, a local border-watch volunteer and registered Libertarian, called the police when she heard the angelic trumpets, thinking they were a novelty car horn. “It wasn’t that dreadful ‘cook-a-roochya’ that they usually have, but I figured anyone with a horn like that on their car is worth a second look.”

Officer Jimmy “Spoony” Davis was the arresting officer and first on the scene. “When I arrived on the scene a group of illegals…I mean residents, were finishing a structure that obviously violated building code, so I started asking for I.D.” The majority of the group immediately fled, but He Is the He Is stayed to speak with the officer. “He just kept rambling on and on about how we were all brothers, so I knew he was obviously on marijuana.”

The Christ was tasered for assaulting an officer when after Jesus said he could “sense his affliction,” touched the hip of the officer, healing his chronic life-long arthritis. However Officer Davis assumed he was going for his gun or nightstick. “I feel great, so I am thankful for that. But you just don’t TOUCH the police. I’d taser him again, if I had to. Shit, if I woulda shot him, he'd been resurrected by the weekend, you know?”

Jesus has been deported to Mexico. His whereabouts are unknown, however the drug war has ceased and lands that once bore no vegetation are teeming with trees where the birds of the air come to make nests in its branches. Says Edna, “I am a little embarrassed to have had the King of Kings deported, but I will be more than willing to accept Jesus Christ’s salvation, AFTER he goes through the proper immigration process.”

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Primarily Broken - 400 words on Proposition 14 in California

Proposition 14: The End of Democracy or the Beginning of a New Politics?
by Joshua M. Patton

California is often said to be where new ideas are field-tested in America and an initiative to reform elections will be the next idea put to the test in the statewide election on June 8, 2010. Dubbed “Proposition 14,” the measure seeks to reform the way primary elections are decided in that state. By taking the power to elect away from political party nominating committees and placing it directly in the hands of the voters, the system mimics those used to elect officials in Los Angeles and bears striking similarities to the non-partisan blanket primary system currently used in Louisiana. This ballot-initiative is not without controversy.

That the controversy and hyperbole comes from the political party establishments that would no longer nominate a candidate is not surprising. What is unexpected however is that it seems the only thing that can unite Republicans, Democrats, and even the Green parties is the threat of a reduction in their power. According to the Los Angeles Times, this coalition referred to Proposition 14 as “the end of Democracy in California.”

One of the problems with primary elections is that typically only the fringes and more extreme supporters of the parties even participate in the vote. This formula can possibly result in the unfortunate circumstance of a candidate winning the primary that would most likely lose a general election match-up. Under the current laws, the party bosses could disregard the will of the voters and nominate whomever they think has the best chance of winning the general election.

Proposition 14 would give the power of nomination directly to the voters. The two candidates that receive the highest number of votes would go on to the general election regardless of their political parties. Similarly, the voters themselves could vote for any candidate regardless of their stated party or lack thereof. There are of course measures in place for runoff elections in the event of a tie. Still the debate rages on as to whether or not this will diminish the effectiveness of third parties or if it will allow one party to gain a stranglehold on the state. By June 8, the voters will vote to maintain the status quo or they will seize control of their primary and general elections from the hands of dealmakers in smoke-free backrooms.
The Last Rube The Last Rube The Last Rube The Last Roob The Last Rub The Last Rube Web Statistics