Charlie's Books

Charlie's Books
Buon Giorno, Amici!

Our motto ...

Leave the (political) party. Take the cannoli.

"It always seems impossible until it's done." Nelson Mandela

Right now 6 Stella crime novels are available on Kindle for just $.99 ... Eddie's World has been reprinted and is also available from Stark House Press (Gat Books).

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Grind Joint … We’re in the home stretch for Kyle Carey … The Jersey Sting … Kenos, James and Primo … this week in the NFL …


It's getting close to the release date for Dana King's Grind Joint. Listen to me: It's a great read.


So close … 186 Backers ($14,052) … the goal, $17,500 … Singer and songwriter Kyle Carey is making her second full length studio album, 'North Star'--will you join her?
A gorgeous voice ...

And now for some non-fiction … The Jersey Sting … corrupt pols, dirty rabbis, Ponzi schemes, oh my! I bought The Jersey Sting after my wife watched the CNBC expose on the Solomon Dwek case(s) a few weeks ago. It’s a fascinating story, but all too common an occurrence. I started reading this a few days before watching ESPN’s 30 for 30 film, Big Shot, by Kevin Connelly on the John Spano/New York Islanders debacle. Spano, with a few hundred thousand bucks to his name (at best), bought and owned the New York Islanders back in 1996. He actually “owned” the Islanders for 4 months.

How did/does this stuff happen? Apparently nobody was doing their due diligence (in either the Dwek or the Islanders situations). Nobody checked anything about anybody. Dwek was able to deposit a $25 million dollar check into a closed account with PNC, with which he paid HSBC. He was caught the next day when he went back to the well one too many times. Once he was bagged, a deal was struck (no shit?) and Dwek became an informant for the government (it’s a good country, America). He eventually brought down dirty politicians and rabbis, including those who were dealing in body parts, and some who were involved (as Dwek himself was), in using Yeshivas to launder money. It wound up being a worldwide sting, reaching Israel, Switzerland and South Africa.

Check out the trailer for Dwek’s story on CNBC American Greed.

Then check out Connelly’s piece on Spano and the Islanders on 30 for 30.

The Jersey Sting is an interesting read, but it’ll make your skin crawl when you think about how this stuff continues to go on (somebody say fiscal crisis of 2008?). What pisses me off more than anything else is how these guys don’t come close to doing the time (actual time in actual state or federal prisons) that bookmakers and other so-called “organized criminals” get … nothing quite like equal justice for all, amici.
Truthfully, is there really a more organized criminal organization than the our governments (local, state and federal)? 

Animal lovers of the world unite … and check out James Guiliani and Kenos Animal Rescue Shelter …


Primo resting at Keno …


James and Primo, a love story …

And now what yous have all been waiting for ... oy vey ...
This week in the NFL … oy vey, last week didn’t go so well [5-9], except my beloved New York State Buffalo Bills squished the Fish … but this week I’m feeling it, amici … so gather up those In-Knucks-We-Trust-Bucks and send it in:

The Pantherettes will defeat the Buckless, 24-20

The Bills return to ground Zero against the Aints, losing in a bad way, 35-17

The Cowgirls squeak out another win in another close one over the Lionettes, 24-23

The Choketriots lose again, this time to the Fish, 24-21

The Y-E-T-S, Yets, Yets, Yets upset the Bengalis, 21-20

The Washingtonians give the Broncettes a run for the money, but come up short, 33-30

The Packing company destroys what’s left of the Vikingless, 35-13

The Chefs continue the winning streak, but in a close one over the Brownies, 20-17

The 40-whiners fly to London but lose no sleep against the Jagwires, 30-10

Moonachie Blue makes it a duce with a 24-20 victory over the Dog Killers

The Raiders whack the Steeless, 21-17

And in the battle of the boids, take the Redbirds at home against the Falconless, 24-20

On Monday night, it’s a no brainer AND THE LOCK OF THE WEEK … the Seapigeons over the Ramettes, 30-10


Speaking of deals with the Devil (politicians/the government) … Mr. Stravinsky’s, The Rake’s Progress …

Friday, October 18, 2013

66% ... The Fixer ... An Inconvenient Truth, Part Deux ... James ... We were No. 1? ... A Stella Short Story ... Buffalo Stadium (pic/cousin Jason) … This Week in the NFL …


66% ... We’re all close to getting Kyle Carey’s second album on the road ... yep, the big push is on ... just two weeks left (just another 34%) ... so, from Kyle Carey’s latest Kickstarter message:

Say you were dropped down into the very center of Ireland. What would you do?

Well--anyone with a bit of sense would walk west, until eventually, you'd stop at the foot of the Atlantic--nothing between you and New York City but a wide expanse of ocean.

I snapped this picture outside the entrance of the Blasket Island Heritage Center nearly six years ago.

It was my first summer in Ireland.

Tomas O' Cròhan, bard of the Blasket, walks dual westward, straight into the 'winds of change'--one hand curled protectively over the spine of his memoir.

I'd met Tòmas and his village a few years earlier, when I plucked his dusty narrative off my father's bookshelf, and fell in love.

I arrived in Dingle not long after, wide-eyed, and with the spine-tingling realization that this peninsula would somehow become important to me. Sure enough, I'd return to it a few years later to record an album.

When I look back on the unfolding of it all, to my father's copy of The Islandman, to my mother's mention of the Isle of Skye being, 'a place I really should see someday', I know that my own desire to write songs, make music, and record albums, is no different from O' Cròhan's impetus to put pen to paper.

We must write our stories down before they are forgotten. They're our own fragile mooring in a wide, indifferent sea.

My songs aren't often about me, but they're the voices of people I'd like to see persevere. They're people I find in poems, and short stories, in legends and rhyme, and sometimes--in the casual aside of a conversation. They bump about and mutter in my imagination, and every so often, one on them tumbles out--fully formed--as if delivered by telegram, or the crest of a wave.

That’s how many of the characters in the songs for 'North Star' came to be. They range from quirky to morose, defeated to victorious, and joyous to lost. They're a little bit like the rest of us, and I hope, almost--just almost--as complexly and wonderfully human.

I can't wait for you to meet them, and thanks to you, all 131 of you--we're 66% of the way towards giving them a home. We have 17 more days to build our sail, so let's head dual westward, into the 'winds of change' and see what the horizon has to offer.

Thank you for being here.

With an ocean of love and gratitude,


Bernard Malamud remains one of my favorite American authors. I’ve read and re-read more than a few of his novels and short stories, but somehow I missed The Fixer until last week. I was looking for something Malamud from my collection when I noticed The Fixer on my shelf ... and it was in pristine condition. WTF, Knucks? All I can surmise is that I’d ordered it while I was in the MFA program, and that I must’ve been side-tracked before I read it. And probably because the boss tortured me to clean some of the mess in my writing room, it was shelved before I opened it up to read.

Not anymore. The Fixer is the gripping tale of one man’s war against anti-Semitism in Russia under the Tsar, Nicholas. Written in 1966, The Fixer won both the National Book Award and the Pulitzer. Not bad for a Brooklyn guy. Aside from challenging the Bible’s Job for the world championship of suffering, the story of Yakov Bok is both tragic and all too real. The ordeal of suffering and humiliation Yakov has to go through after being falsely accused of murdering a Russian boy (and draining his blood for some insane cultish reasons {like using the blood to make matzos} his prosecutors have imagined and believe), is relentless. When we first meet Yakov, he’s already the victim of his existence in a world devoid of compassion and/or dignity. He’s a peasant handyman (fixer), living on his own after his wife took off with another man. His well intentioned and very religious father-in-law tries to convince him to stay where he is (and to let God into his life), but Yakov has had it living day-to-day. He sets off for a more prosperous district in Kiev known to be anti-Semitic, where he hopes to salvage some of his life. He’s an inquisitive reader (Spinoza) who seeks what the world has to offer, but winds up in an abyss of the cruelest intentions. No spoilers here, amici ... and although The Assistant remains my favorite Malamud novel, suffice it to say, The Fixer, is yet another wonderful read by one of the best ever. Get it here:
An Inconvenient Truth, Part Deux ... so a group of ideologues still living in the 18th century threw a hissy fit and disrupted the lives of 800,000 people and however many more were hurt via the collateral damage of missing/delaying a paycheck ... and for what? To prove a point (that they could do it)? To remind America that big money can always hurt us? To score political points to their like-minded 18th century constituents?

The fallback position being repeated over right wing airwaves is: “Well, they courageously brought attention to the debt issue.”

As if it was never about defunding the Affordable Health Care Act, they’re stated message from the get-go.

And now that they have egg on their faces, in three months, just about the time it’ll take them to figure out why they can’t see (for all that yolk clouding their vision), they’ll pull this same shit all over again. Why? Because “real Americans” throw hissy fits when they can’t get their way ... and they always do it while waving Old Glory.


You love animals? You should if you don’t. How about a guy who went from street enforcer for the Gambino family to New York’s premier animal rescuer?


Here’s the man feeding one of 17 cats he saved from a flooded home on Staten Island during Hurricane Sandy. Go visit The Diamond Collar and meet James ... then visit Keno's Animal Rescue (run by James) ... and give a pet a home.



Cousin Jason goes to the promised land ... that’s right, amici ... mio cugino, Jason Pierentoni, visited the promised land and had nothing but GREAT things to say about the fans, the stadium, and the almost upset victory by my beloved New York State Buffalo Bills over the Bengalis of Cincinnati ... that’s his picture of the Stadium. You go Jason!

This Week in the NFL … last week the ugly one went 10-5, but without the spreads … this week, while he continues to be a chicken-shit here and picks without spreads, he’s finally grown a pair and entered his wife’s office pool at work … a big $5.00 entry fee for all the marbles … like he’d ever see the money if he won … oy vey

So, with that in mind … gather up all your extra In-Knucks-We-Trust-Bucks because here’s this week’s picks ... and the Lock Of The Week:

The Sea Pigeons will crap on the Cards, 27-17 (Cha-ching!)

The Dolphinationals will manage to beat my beloved New York State Buffalo Bills (and our 3rd QB of the season), 26-17

Cutler’s Cubbies will keep RGIII grounded in a close one, 22-20

The Cowgirls will slay the Dog Killers (if Vick is the QB) 30-20 … if it’s Foles, it’ll be 30-24

The Cheatriots are hitting stride at exactly the right time again (when it doesn’t count) and will upset the Moonachie Green team—the Y-E-T-S, Yets, Yets, Yets, 30-17

The San Frans over the Tennessee Tuxedos, 24-13

Browns rock the Packers, 20-17

The Colts shock the Broncettes, 33-31

The Ramettes upset the Pantherless, 24-21

The Lionettes over the Bengalis, 24-21

The Jags find a way to win vs. the Riverless Chargerless, 27-24

The Falcons whip on the Bucks, 23-10

The Wes Cravens over the Steelerettes, 20-17

And the Texas Two-Steppers finally catch-up with a ready to lose big, Chefs, 27-20

And on Monday night is our Lock of the Week game … playing for pride, the Moonachie Blue team defeats the Vikingless, 26-23

— Knucks

8 Mile, bitches? … How about 8 Mile, amici … yeah, bitches still makes us a bit uncomfortable ...
Or how about Lose Yourself, MF’ers … now that (MF’ers) we can live with ...

Monday, October 14, 2013

A Charlie Stella short story?

Okay, amici ... a Charlie Stella short story I was gonna submit to some contest until I saw there was a fee. Listen to me: it’s tough enough getting paid to write, I’m gonna pay to write? Not in this life, MF'ers. Well, not anymore.
So, without further ado ...
Ass Sex and Liver
“Look at this shit,” he said. “Now this team sucks. What the fuck?”
“Yeah, what the fuck?” she said.
He’d been watching ESPN for NHL scores when the Rangers game appeared on the ticker at the bottom of the screen. She’d been petting their dog on her lap.
“The Bills, Mets, Knicks, and now the fuckin’ Rangers. I say I like butterflies, they’ll turn to shit, too. Guran-fuckin’-teed.”
“Yeah, butterflies’ll turn to shit. Guran-fuckin’-teed.”
He looked at her. She was smiling. He said, “You’re mocking me. That’s funny.”
“Yeah, it’s funny,” she said.
He shook his head. She laughed.
He turned his attention back to the television, then looked at her and said, “Seriously, what the fuck already? What am I, the kiss of death?”
“You always said you were going to pay for past sins.”
“Yeah? And what about your past sins?”
“I have you.”
He stared at her, his eyes squinting this time.
She laughed. “What?” she said.
“You’re lucky I love you,” he said.
“Yeah, you’re lucky I love you,” she said.
He rolled his eyes, then used the remote to change channels. He watched the Patriots-Saints game.
“Now these cocksuckers’ll win and complete the sweep,” he said.
“Yeah, now these cocksuckers’ll win,” she said.
“At least I like the new band I’m playing with,” he said. “That was something good today. We sounded good, and nobody seemed too crazy.”
“What songs did you play?”
“Some blues, some rock. It was fun.”
“You like the drum kit they had?”
“It sucked, but it was good enough. I brought my snare—Oh, look at this bullshit! Another Brady call. I swear Kraft must pay the refs off with blowjobs and ten thousand dollar bills.”
“Yeah, he must pay them off,” she said.
He glared at her. She laughed again.
He said, “I hit you in the head with a pipe, you won’t laugh.”
She said, “Yeah, I hit you in the head with a pipe, you won’t laugh.”
He waved her off. “What’s for dinner?”
“What are you making?”
“Very funny.”
He watched a few more plays, and then it was fourth down.
“Now,” he said, “stop them one more down and the game is over. Fuck the Patriots.”
“Yeah, fuck the Patriots,” she said.
Brady threw an incomplete pass and the Patriots had to punt.
“No flags?” he said, ripping with sarcasm. “Refs aren’t giving them another first down? It’s a fuckin’ miracle.”
“Yeah, it’s a fuckin’ miracle.”
He turned to her. “Keep it up, you fuckin’ parrot.”
She laughed again.
“Look at this asshole,” he said. “Rob Ryan is celebrating and there’s still two and change left in the game. Jerkoff must’ve never played against Brady before.”
“Yeah, the jerkoff.”
He smiled. “Seriously,” he said, “I didn’t love you, I might kill you.”
“It’s good you love me,” she said. “I might kill you anyway.”
He rolled his eyes again, then watched the game in silence until the Patriots last possession. Brady completed a few passes and put the Patriots in position to win the game.
“Where’s Rob Ryan now?” he said. “The ass hat.”
“Yeah, the ass hat,” she said.
He turned to her. “I’m serious, what’s for dinner?”
“You said you wanted liver, right?”
“Yeah, you make it?”
“Why not?”
“Because I hate the smell. Get it at the diner.”
Brady threw the winning touchdown. “Motherfuck me!” he yelled.
“Yeah, motherfuck you,” she said.
“It’s not funny.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“You should’ve seen your face.”
“I hate that team.”
“Yeah, you hate them.”
“They did it again. He did it again. Brady. Goddamn Brady. Fuckin’ guy is great.”
“Yeah, he’s great.”
He shook his head as he turned to her. “Don’t you have something else to do besides break my balls?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Go get the liver.”
“You go get the liver.”
“Come on, I’m starving.”
“Yeah, you look like you’re starving.”
He laughed, then tried to look hurt. “Stop, I mean it.”
She mocked his pouting. “Oh, poor baby.”
“This bullshit diet blows.”
“And I don’t think it’s working.”
“I lost a few pounds,” he said. “At least a couple.”
“Yeah, you lost a few ounces. At least a couple. Maybe.”*
He bit his lip again.
“What?” she said.
“What about the laundry?” he said.
“What about it?”
“Don’t you have some to do.”
“I was leaving it for you.”
“You can leave it in the garbage.”
“Yeah, I’ll leave it in the garbage.”
“I’m being serious here,” he said. “I need whites for work, and I’d like something to eat tonight. Liver’d be nice.”
“How’s this,” she said, “I’ll do the laundry and you cook the liver.”
“Fuck it, I’ll order pizza.”
“Nice diet.”
“It’s your fault.”
“Because you’re a lazy ass.”
“Because it’s Sunday and I don’t do dick on Sunday. I play drums or read or write or watch Law and Order in the morning, and then I watch football until Boardwalk Empire.”
“It’s good to be you.”
He pleaded. “Come on, please? Make the fuckin’ liver. You can break my balls while I’m eating it, you want.”
“I can break them easier like this.”
He grabbed the remote again, started flipping through channels, then stopped when he could feel her staring at him.
“What?” he said. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“Why are you staring?”
She shrugged.
“Why are you staring and not cooking? Why aren’t you doing the laundry? Why aren’t you doing something besides breaking my balls?”
She smiled.
He switched to ESPN and watched the ticker on the bottom of the screen again. He mumbled the scores to himself until the 49’ers-Cardinals game.
“Motherfuck me,” he said. “Thirty-two to twenty.”
“Yeah, motherfuck you,” she said.
“The Cards, they were getting eleven and a half and lost by twelve.”
“Yeah, motherfuck you.”
“I had them on the ticket.”
“Yeah, you lost again.”
He turned to her. “Honestly, if I had a pipe on me, I’d cave your head in about now.”
“Yeah?” she said. “And I’ll shove a pipe up your ass.”
“Half a fuckin’ point.”
“Yeah, you lost again.”
“Fuck me in the ass.”
“Ass sex and liver.”
He was stunned. “What?” he said.
“Ass sex and liver,” she said.
His stunned look turned to a smile. “I like that,” he said. “It’s a great title. Ass sex and liver. I have to write about that.”


* As turns out, I dropped 8 ounces last week. The poor WW's lady tried to sound so encouraging, bless her heart. "Wow, you're down!" she said. "That's great. And you thought you gained? You're down eight ounces."

8 friggin' ounces ... had to be the 10 slices of pizza last night ... had to be.

It's like I swallowed an anvil ...

Friday, October 11, 2013

Politics Anyone? … Fun Shot of the Week … Movie Review ... The Diamond Collar … Kyle Carey … This week in the NFL …


Politics anyone? Well, no, actually, not anymore … not here … why? Because, well, seriously, what’s the point? I’m tired of playing the two-party game (and I don't even play it!), the yelling back and forth, and ultimately playing into their hands. Our political sideshow has become boring. It’s been obvious enough for long enough: if we want real change, both parties have to go. At the least, a viable third party must emerge, or we’re all just playing with ourselves ... and most of us know that neither party is going anywhere, nor will a viable third party emerge, not so long as loyal democrats and republicans stick to their brand as if it makes a difference. And it doesn’t. Continental shifts occur with more frequency. Right now the gap between the über wealthy (the 1%) and the rest of the country (the most important issue these morons should be focused on) has become an abyss, and both parties are responsible. The gap is what keeps most of us hell bent on survival and too tired to institute real change.

So, half of me is too busy doing what I enjoy to give a crap anymore about what happens in Washington, D.C., and the other half (each half weighing about 170 pounds, by the way) winds up too frustrated to restrain what my wife calls my “sociopathic tendencies.”

Life is too short to get as upset as I often do at the morons running this country (both sides of the aisle should feel free to take a fucking bow). At this point, I’m opting to pay attention to the things I enjoy. Everyone else is welcome to have at it, but not here, not at TK, not anymore. The political bullshit that has constipated a so-called democracy has finally worn us out. We’ll take potshots from time to time (because sometimes those sociopathic tendencies win out), but we’ll do our best to duck the political bullshit whenever we can.


Frankly, we’d rather watch a dog duke on a lawn …

or listen to well-brewed/placed/timed farts (fots, for yous nons) … at least the farts/fots are entertaining …

Come on, yous know yous wanna laugh!

While we’re not exactly sure when the latest round of government roulette is supposed to end, we are sure of this much—it’s all a sideshow while the 1% lines its pockets. So, while 300,000,000+ people wait to see what happens with our so-called democracy (the one that is being held hostage by 30 or so numbnuts), this poor limousine driver continues to wait for ... (compliments of Craig Murray on FB) ...

Oy vey, vey is mir ... (compliments of the latest Malamud novel I'm currently reading, The Fixer) ...

The War of the Buttons ... fun, fun, fun movie ... and apparently a third remake (1962 also set in France, minus the Nazi occupation, and a 1994 Irish adaptation). It’s a fun well done flick with some poignant moments and a few wonderful surprises. It’s Nazi occupied France ... and kids from two towns (one town having more Nazi collaborators than the other) fight it out while a pretty girl and her prettier sponsor move into one of the towns … the girl has a secret … but so do so many others in this beautiful movie ... always in the background is the war and all its ugly accoutrements ... this one is about fear and how it’s conquered. A wonderful movie. Check out another, more in-depth, review right here.

The Diamond Collar … hey, check this joint out … yous can get your dog groomed or just stop in for pet food and/or your pet’s Halloween costume … and get the bonus of being entertained by the number one dog rescuer in town—James Head Guiliani.
Listen to me: when he isn’t downing one of a dozen espressos, this guy will make you smile. That's James above with Primo, the cutest Sicilian Mastiff you'll ever find. We love Primo!

Kyle Carey’s kickstarter campaign … From Kickstarter: My name is Kyle Carey--I'm a songwriter and singer based in New England. My debut album 'Monongah' was recorded in Dingle, Ireland two and a half years ago and produced by Donogh Hennessy--one of the founding members of the renowned Irish group Lúnasa. In the summer of 2011, 'Monongah' rose to #8 on the international Folk DJ Charts, attracting a hefty dose of critical acclaim, and landing on a good few national and international 'Best of' lists by the year's end.

Part of the reason why 'Monongah' was so warmly received, I think, is because the virtue of the album eclipsed its budget. Many involved in the creation and promotion of my debut went above and beyond the call of duty in support of a project they believed in. It was a wonderful gift in which to help me begin!

I began booking tours just as soon as 'Monongah' was released, and since then, I've toured the west and east coasts of the United States, different parts of Canada, Europe and the UK.

I've made lifelong friends through my travels and the sharing of my music, collaborated with different artists I admire, and grown exponentially as a performer and singer. One thing I've learned in each and every place I've played is that music brings joy into people's lives.

It has been an incredibly rewarding two and a half years!

But now ... it's time for a follow up.



This week in the NFL … last week we stayed ahead of the Mendoza line (8-6) … and our lock of the week (Rams vs. Jags) was spot on (with the points!) … so now we begin week six of the NFL season … my beloved New York State Buffalo Bills are officially crapola once again (it’s a broken record, amici), especially since we lost our standout rookie QB, EJ Manuel … so we can start thinking about draft picks and forget this season (and look forward to another stinko one next season, because Manuel’s injury will serve as yet another “excuse” for our latest lame brain coach) ... yep, another bust in Buffalo (sound familiar?). On the other hand, the surprise team this season has been the Y-E-T-S, Yets, Yets, Yets … I have to admit that I agreed with all the so-called “experts” and figured the Yets to be equally as bad as my Bills, but I was wrong (and so were they, duh). Coach Rex Ryan has done an incredible job with his young defense, and the kid, Gino Smith, when he keeps from panicking, looks like a long term winner (and may actually be a better QB than our guy up in Buffalo). We shall see … in the meantime our support has to turn towards the YETS in the AFC this season because a) we hate the Cheatriots and b) because they’re the closest team by proximity to beautiful downtown Fords, New Jersey. Over in the NFC, we’re rooting for the Frisco version of Harbaugh to wind up back at the dance, except this time against Andrew Luck and the Colts. No, amici, we don’t buy the Broncette express doing anything more than the 18-1 Cheatriots, except we doubt they’ll even make it to the dance.

In the meantime, week 6 it is …

Moonachie Blue over Cutler’s Cubbies, 24-19 (Ouch again!) ... WTF Moonachie Blue? Not to mention my NY Rangers have given up 15 goals in 2 games and were shut out last night!

*Bengals blowout my Bills, 30-13* THE LOCK OF THE WEEK

Lionettes over the Brownies, 24-20

Rams keep the Texas two-steppers in the hole, 24-21

Yets crush the Steelerettes, 20-10

Broncettes take advantage of the Jags, 44-13

The Aints bury the Cheatriots, 34-17

The Washingtonians over the Cowgirls, 24-20

The Pack isn’t back, but they’re good enough to beat the Wes Cravens, 24-17

Panthers over the Vikes, 20-17

Chefs over the Raiderettes, 23-20

The Dog Killer Eaglettes over the Buckless, 24-13

The Sea Pigeons over the Titans, 23-16

The 40-whiners in an easy one, 30-13

And Monday night it’ll be my AFC Champion pick, the Colts, over the Chargerless, 28-17


Oy vey, the Bills! The Rangers! Us fans feel like clowns! (Pagliacci)

Us Bills/Rangers fans ... we expect “sweet kisses” and get shot in our big belly! And then we die hopeless?  Oy friggin’ vey ... (Tosca)

Friday, October 4, 2013

Podcast and Interview … Breaking Bad … Some Reviews … Keno's Animal Rescue ... Kyle Carey ... this week in the NFL …


Ah, if only that picture were true! In the meantime, we’re avoiding all things political because frankly, dears, we no longer give a damn unless the entire system is overhauled, and a few (say, 30 tea baggers) currently holding up the works are exiled to Star Island off the New Hampshire coast for a winter wonderland vacation ... drop them off, say, next weekend and pick them up again, say, April 30th ... they might be thawed out by then.
In the meantime we're working ... first to promote Dana King's debut knock-out novel, Grind Joint. It launches next month so grab it now. This one is a winner ...


And now that it’s week 5 in the NFL and week 1 of the NHL, who’s got it better’n us?

Nobody, right. So, what did the ugly one do to celebrate his beloved New York State Buffalo Bills recent victory over the SUPER BOWL CHAMPS? Well, first he drank some Chivas, then he did a podcast with Dana King, Rick Ollerman and Roy Croxton … check it out right here ...  and then he enjoyed re-reading the interview that was posted by Jesse Randall over at Hey, There’s a Dead Guy in the Living Room. Jesse felt she asked some really inappropriate questions … not at all, the ugly one (moi) says …


Okay, Amici, I can’t take it anymore … all the kissing up to the writers of Breaking Bad … the greatest television drama ever, etc. … listen to me: You don’t get to allow a witness to a double DEA murder walk off into the sunset and still get kudos for the writing. And you get shit on big time for letting him walk away with an $11 million dollar gift from the killers of the DEA agents.

Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed Breaking Bad … yes, the characters were wonderful … yes, some of the writing was brilliant … but the writing quit being brilliant when Walter White walked away from witnessing those murders with an $11 million dollars gift from the friggin' killers! From the point on it was a farce and nothing else. Unless, of course, you can believe that transformer ending, when there was no doubt the car would be parked in the exact location that would enable the machine gun to whack almost every single bad guy who happened to be standing in the exact right position to get whacked (what, nobody had to take a bathroom break?).

I had to wonder why didn’t Walter just hack into NORAD and order a drone strike?

Playing to the audience is NEVER a good idea when it involves a leap of faith like, oh, I don’t know, letting the witness to a murder (never mind two murders) walk off into the sunset with $11 million. Everybody wanted Jesse to survive. He did. Everybody wanted to see some more humanity in Walt … and they did. Everybody wanted Jesse to whack Todd … and he did … and everybody wanted to see the bad guys get whacked … and they did.

None of the above happens if the writing didn’t yield to what the audience demanded.

TK says: GROW A PAIR, writers!

We at TK know it was a good series … maybe even a great series … but please, enough with ignoring the bullshit that occurred after Hank bought it.

Unless, of course, it was all a dream sequence and they’ll do one more episode wherein Walt gets plugged two seconds after Hank, and then somebody spots Jesse under the car and he’s plugged too … and the bad guys drive off into the sunset … and Todd marries the Ricin lady and they have a big-ass family that is featured in a new reality show called: Crime Pays.

Mini Reviews ... Blackie Noir, Jed Powers and Jon Basoff ...

Kiss Me, Evil ... Blackie Noir has penned some fast and furious hardboiled novels. Kiss Me, Evil is perhaps his most hardboiled requiem for any fighter. The staccato voice telling the story is laced with sarcasm, self-deprivation and wit. You’ll learn more about motorcycles and street fighting here than if you took a dozen courses on suburban survival and attended the ACME Motorbike school, but you’ll also be intrigued by the treacherous world surrounding an almost champion boxer married to a femme fatale on steroids. Nicky Kid Dimitri is our almost champ. His much more attractive and ruthless half is Trina, the femme fatale with larceny in her heart, and when Nicky turns down a $4 million payday, Trina’s larceny slips into overdrive. Then there’s Roxi, a younger version of Trina, or maybe the real deal? … Sometimes Nicky can’t help himself, but all those around want a chunk of whatever is left in his tank. No spoilers here, amici … so get the book and read it. The faint of heart beware … this one isn’t shy, not at all. Blackie Noir writes his way ... and it’s always hardboiled and bare knuckles exciting. Get it here:

Hampton Beach Homicide … Kelsey Sweeney puts up 4 quarters ($1.00) as payment to find the person who killed his mother. Dan Marlowe (yes, it’s a familiar name, but there’s a reason) is the guy little Kelsey hires … Dan is fighting demons of his own, fear amongst them … there’s a clean staccato voice telling the story and it’s one you’ll appreciate. Author Jed Powers has the Robert Wade touch … and it doesn’t get much better than Mr. Wade. Get it here:

“Corrosion” is a very good novel that takes a look deep into the mind of its protagonist and raises the question of what is crazy and what is normal. It also raises questions as to what love really is and the dangerous line between love and obsession. —


It’s not what yous think ... James “Head” Guiliani runs Keno’s rescue shelter in Brooklyn (77th Street off New Utrecht Avenue) … click on the link for a more in-depth explanation …  this guy is a true to life animal lover/rescuer ... and a helluva good guy ... and he’s got some great stories. Click on that link and see some great pictures of James at Keno ... where no animals are caged and the big dog, Primo, is as loveable as they come.


This week in the NFL …

So last week was our best week (11-5) but it was bested by the Principessa Ann Marie who won her office pool ($125) for going 14-2 (with the point spreads) … as you know, we’re chicken-shits here at TK and we pick games not on the basis of point spreads (gambling is illegal, you know) … so, here we go … put your In-Knucks-We-Trust-Bucks on the following games:

My beloved New York State Buffalo Bills over the Brownies 24-23 … (Oy vey) ... and the Rangers lost their opener last night (Double Oy Vey!) ...

The Wes Cravens revolt and squish the fish, 30-17

The Cheatriots go down swinging to the Bengalis, 24-21

The Colts bop the Sea Pigeons, 27-24

The Chefs roll over the Titans, 27-17

The Pantherless crush the Cards, 34-20

The 49’ers route the Texas two-steppers, 24-10

The Aints over Cutler’s Cubbies, 34-19

Lions upset the Packing Company, 30-24

Rams jolt the Jags, 24-10 * THE LOCK OF THE WEEK

The Moonachie Blue team gets off the schnied and pound the Dog Killers, 37-27

Broncettes crush the Cowgirls, 33-17

The Chargerless over the Raiderettes, 28-14

And the Falcons of Atlanta over the Moonachie Green team, 30-13


Government Mule ... Simple Man ...

Same band ... Bridge of Sighs ...