F. P. Dorchak

Speculative Fiction (New Weird) Author

Comedy

Hangers…From HELL!

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We love em, don’t we?

They arrange and display our wardrobe. Keep things orderly.

But they harbor…a dark side.

Hangers…are actually here to kill us.

Oh, I know, it’s hard to believe, but, yes, hangers—no one wants to admit it, no one wants to talk about it—but, secretly, privately, when we’re lying alone in bed at night…a hollow, gale wind blowing outside, and there’s that scratching just outside your window?

It’s a hanger.

Yes, hangers truly scare us.

They start out as one, oh, but they’re worse than any pair of rabbits, and in no time they’ve multiplied. Then, they hang around all neat and pretty as-you-please, staring back at you like “What? Who?” when you eye them in your closet, and, oh, just let one of the little buggers’ hooks to tangle with another, and all hell’s broken loose.

Hangers.

Are the Devil’s playthings.

It’s never just one hanger another gets all caught up in.  No, one sees it, and they all jump in (“monkey see monkey do”?…how about “hanger see hanger do!”). You think you have it figured out, and lo and behold, they’re 14 more who suddenly join the fray, and you’re crying “What the fu—?”

They do it deliberately. It’s calculated. You think once you’ve hung your clothes, closed the closet door, that that’s that. Far from the bitter truth. Behind those doors, they have all the time in the world. Where are they going? What else are they going to do? They have all the time in the world, my friends. To plot. Scheme.

Play with us.

It’s their way.

Hangers.

Armageddon’s bell ringers.

Reach in for one—your hand comes out with 52 1/2 (the half being one of those stupidly annoying mini-bastards that have no reason for being, except to piss you off—and who really uses these goddamned things anyway?).

Hangers.

What’s not right with America.  The world, for that matter.

And why do there have to be so many frigging designs? What’s wrong with the one tried-and-true architect? The wire hanger.

But, no, they have to get all “creative” and all, orchestrate mutant variations:

Mini-hangers.

Felt hangers.

Weird-assed thick plastic hangers whose fricking hooks barely (and many times don’t) fit any standard-sized closet bar.

Padded hangers.

Paper hangers.

Caped hangers.

Plastic hangers.

Wooden hangers.

Clamp hangers.

Belt hangers.

Foldable hangers.

Multi-line hangers.

Hangers with cardboard tubes.

Networked frigging clothes hangers?!

Ahhh–I go mad with the seemingly endless varieties!

Hangers…with a license to kill.

And don’t even get me started about clipping clothespins to them.

The history of the hanger might sound all benign and cozy, but it’s all part of the conspiracy.

It’s all part of their evil plan.

They’re insidious, they’re everywhere, and mark my words, people of Earth, they are taking over the world.

One closet at a time.

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Run For Your Lives – A Zombie-Infested 5K Obstacle Course Race!

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This is so damned COOL! Check this out. Though I’ve heard of the concept, I had no idea this was going on (well, had gone on) yesterday, in Lakewood, Colorado.

Here are the rules, but essentially, you run a 5K obstacle course with “flags” attached to a belt, like in flag football. It’s your job to get to the end of the race, and it’s the zombies job to get all your flags and, well, eat your brains.

I’d heard of this starting up, but hadn’t been following it’s incredible take off across the country. Denver’s run yesterday was fourth among 12 in what’s called the 2012 Takeover Tour. In Denver’s run, there were 750 “zombies,” people who [really] play the part of different kinds of zombies (“stumblers” and “chasers”), and there are definite rules to their “brain-eating antics.”

And lots of “blood.”

But also mud, hills, water, and any of a number of HUMAN-made obstacles. Watch the video if you haven’t already–looks like a blast!

And if running from zombies–nor being a brain-eater–ain’t your pound of flesh, then grab an Apocalypse Pass as an spectator (man, they’ve thought of everything)!

Anyway, check out their site, it’s quite expansive and has lots of cool stuff, info, pictures, et cet. Even a FAQs page.

The next apocalypse is set for August 4, in Washington State. Better hurry.

Last one there’s a brain-eater.

The Grievers – Buy This Book!

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The Grievers launches today.

Read my review—BUY THIS BOOK!

Look at its cover. Pull up a chair and pour yourself a tall, cool one. Soak it in. Frame it up on a wall. Make it your skin, your desktop, the background on all your electronics. Your tramp stamp.

Buy yourself a pair of clown gloves and a red balloon. In fact, buy yourself an anthropomorphic dollar sign suit and walk your neighborhood.

I don’t care how you do it, but get this book.

That’s all I really have to say.

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So, A Snail Knocks On A Door…

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That’s my brother (one of two; my other brother and my sister were smart enough to stay out of all this…), the previously much ballyhooed “Renaissance Guy.” I’ll let you figger out which character he is. But, this is his latest class project (his “capstone,” quoth he). He did everything including shooting, editing, and animation. And his motivation is simply gripping. In short, this bring tears to my eyes….

So, here you go, Gusto et compagnie (that’s French–get it?)–enjoy!

The Grievers – By Marc Schuster

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He had me at the cover.

I mean, isn’t it cool?

Black background…red balloon…white clown glove. What’s not to love?

And the title. The font of the title….

But, is the cover evocative of all kinds of quirky, impending highjinks…or merely a clever ruse to get one to buy his book?

The Grievers, penned by Marc Schuster (Permanent Press, May 2012) is about the loss of a sometime friend and how it affects one Charley Schwartz (who, despite what everyone seems to think, is not Jewish…), a conflicted, angst-ridden human dollar sign for an unnamed bank of somewhat regional repute, champion of correct-and-proper apostrophe use, who’s (checking…checking…) actually a sarcastically quick-of-wit doctoral student (not) working on his thesis, and who’s (still checking…) married to a wife in a constant state of quiet Freudian interior design demolition. To grow up or not grow up. Quit the job or not quit the job. Move forward…or continue allowing oneself to be inexorably run over by life’s daily and unrelenting–even dark–minutiae.

To be utterly blunt if not politically incorrect, this book had me laughing my ass off. I laughed so hard my eyes watered and several times had to temporarily suspend reading. My wife even pulled out the camera and recorded me in the throes of my literary hysterics.

Suicide–in and of itself–is no laughing matter, but it’s how the world responds to such Human Drama that can be the stuff of comedy–black or otherwise. Charley knew the deceased (Billy–his name’s Billy Chin). Well Kinda. They’d gone to prep school together, shared a dead cat in biology lab, as well as some twisted pop lyrics, as conveyed by another classmate…not to mention some shared looks at the deceased’s (Billy, his name’s–) stitched and razor-tracked forearm later in life. After the fact, Charley felt shame and remorse in not having been a better friend…in identifying nor taking action regarding his friend’s ultimate demise.

The Grievers was like watching a comedic train wreck. A miniature Theater of the Absurd. Mr. Schuster wove together the interestingly obtuse into a coherent and redemptive storyline that was a pure joy to read (and I don’t use the word “joy” much!). I enjoyed his words, their combination, their execution. The Grievers is controlled dysfunction. Keeping life safe and at arm’s length. Everything is a joke to Charley Schwartz until he embarks on his own form of revisionist history with the deceased (Billy Chin, dang it…). Yet, the book is not so much about all the individual events…the coming of age (at 28)…the seemingly utter bottom line of life (money)…friendship (or what friendship should be)…dissecting a cat named Fascia in biology class (and correctly identifying cat parts)…Marx Brothers, taking a flying leap, nor even  anthropomorphic dollar signs. It’s about what it is to be human. It’s about the gestalt effect of the whole…meshugaas…on individuals.

No. He’s not Jewish.

The Grievers is an enjoyable way to spend a Sunday afternoon! And–whether or not Mr. Schuster intended this–there’s also something altogether metaphysical about Charley’s daily entrapment within said anthropomorphic dollar sign, being constantly bowled over by the “traffic of life” onto a soggy and wet lawn (and is it “just” a soggy and wet lawn…or is it a metaphor for his own soggy and waterlogged life…), unable to pick himself up on his own. Always having to use others to get things done (not to mention verbally abusing them along the way…). You’d think he could stand on his own two feet…pull his own weight…somewhere…but that’d be asking too much. He’d rather make life difficult. Crack a joke or three. The whole thing’s rather stunted…passive/aggressive even…but it’s too much to ask Charley to grow a pair, because, well, he obviously has challenges in that department identifying the correct and proper body parts, as evidenced in prep-school biology lab.

Well…at least his heart’s in the right place.