An American original. Jerry sat on a busted out chair in front of a stack of milk crates and plywood fashioned into a table. He took long drags off a cigarette that when it got close to his nose, it smelled like dogshit on a hot summer day. Low on rent money, he opted for the el cheapo pack, and now it was haunting him. He’d spilled some ash on the crossword. Jessica Tandy now looked like...
Psyched. Tomorrow we’re seeing the Dalai Llama speak. Once in a lifetime stuff right there kids.
Man: Hello, mother leopard. I have your cub. You must protect her, But that will be expensive… 10,000 kola nuts, Wrapped in brown paper… Midnight, behind the box I’ll be the hyena, you’ll see.
Such is life in the jungle. Let me move you like a distant planet set out far in the rings of the universe. Let me dance in your rays. Be my sun as I’m trapped in this miasma of dirge and dilemma. The slow moving, fast fingered, shadowy world of feebs with power, and geniuses on food stamps, breaks me at every moment like a cheap floozy on a hot Saturday night. Come on baby, don’t make me beg...
Free dog with purchase.
SO, my dog is being a butthole while I’m trying to write. She’s going to get packaged with a hobo pack, and a stick of gum on the side of the street if she doesn’t quit crying. I just finished season one of Hell on Wheels. Damn is that show excellent. I got an email from my agent, publishers are reading. I’m hoping one of said publishers wants to make nice and release...
If you could only hear the things I keep inside. The things I don’t talk about, or write stories, or put out there for the world. There is a lot no one knows or sees, but know what’s swirling around inside is hectic, confused, raw, correct, wrong, simple and complex in one insane fucking tornado. I could see a shrink, but I’d never get anything done then.
From the desk of Robert Dean,
Hi everyone. How’s everyone? How are your parents, kids, pets? Down here in humid city, everything is, well, quiet. I’m waiting on news about We are The End from MDP, and waiting on news from NYCreative on anything concerning my various projects. The show in Chicago went well, you can see a video of it if you scroll down just a bit. I’m gonna try and book some other shows. It...
Motörhead drinking game:
supascooperandmightymansh: Drink an entire bottle of Jack Daniels every single day Somehow never die
Moon Runners is a week away and I’m shitting my pantaloons. Majorly stressed about performing and A. not coming off like a douche B. being entertaining enough that people engage my career. I brought TEN books to sell and some stickers. The thought of all of it makes me dizzy, but I’m the one who wanted this, I gotta make it happen. It’s all for Jack, everything is now for him.
From the desk of Robert Dean:
So, Moonrunners is SOLD OUT. This is nuts. This small festival taking over a rock and roll club is now at capacity. It’s amazing to see how the people got behind this thing. I’m pretty much shitting my pants hoping not to bomb. I’m speaking for fifteen minutes. I hope to see a few of you in the crowd. If you’re reading this, come say hey and I’ll gladly take a shot...
Notes from the underground V3.5632
Hello world. How are all of you? I’m alive. Got a lot going on upstairs these days. Trying to get something moving, something happening. Kind of in this weird vortex or what is it called…..purgatory! I’m in the middle of writing a new book, The Red Seven, I’m about 83 pages deep, and without a doubt, it’s my best work, and the most removed from anything I’ve...
You want nothing, but yet it all. Starving kids line the streets while cars sit on concrete blocks. Old chaps drink out of bottles in brown bags, while whores pull up their skirts so you can see their bulging asses. Somewhere, some white kid wants this. He wants the strife. He wants to shed the life of privilege for credibility only to himself. Out here in the barrens is where dreams die...
This is the face of a leader. He’s got that smile. A common, goodlooking, missionary fucking, Sears brand smile. Those canines are sharp and white, meant for cutting and tearing. His suit is a dark blue, the color of violence. More fierce than a lover’s red, and more sickening than a violet; his soul is hidden somewhere under the necktie. The tighter the tie, the more the idiots cannot see...
So, I FINALLY have an outline to the last chapters of my book. It took a little while, but I’m halfway through, and I officially know how it’s all gonna end & what happens. Lots of nods to spaghetti westerns, and always, it’s super grim. I want it 100% agent ready by July.
Live in or around Chicago? →
So, click the link if you wanna get hip to the radness that is Moonrunners Fest. You’ll get to hear songs by Fifth on The Floor, silently make bubble hearts about Rachael Brooke, and listen to me wax poetic on such topics as: Dinosaurs, writing, wiggers, why 19% of the population reads, and why it’s ok to judge people based on their musical taste.
While I can't sleep, I'm going to ramble.
Dear guy thinking about opening a tattoo shop: So, I was thinking, and could you do me a solid? While we all really dig the whole clean traditional shop look with all the old tattoo posters in frames, barber poles, or nods to hot rods or pinups, and all of the cliche stuff we’ve been seeing lately, could someone please do something…. else? It’s not that I don’t like...
That big Indian of yours was the leader in their games. I hear he’s a Comanche. They wanted the man who took the shot that cut up Cortez’s face.” He paused again on that note. It was ominous for what has was about to tell. He took a breath. “There were about eleven Undertaker boys, and even though they had a bigger group, they didn’t stand a chance. They hacked off fingers and toes. They made...
He’d made it through Louisiana with relative ease save for a bad rainstorm that left him and the Sorrel huddled under a band of live oaks for a few hours. In the meantime, he flipped through a dog-eared copy of Don Quixote he kept in his saddlebag for such a time when he could do nothing but wait. The Ghost enjoyed diving into the ridiculous worlds that the old crackpot had positioned himself. On...
Instagram! Robertdeannola Twitter - Robert_Dean FACEBOOK/robertdeansworld
From the desk of Robert Dean:
Being a writer is a stressful, lonely, chaotic thing. One minute, you’re all FUCK YEA - something really cool happened, and then you’re like, well, I guess I should go get a job with insurance and a dental plan. The thing about being me is, overall I’m a weird, obsessive dude when it comes to happiness. Even when a small victory gets down, I’m the coach planning the next...
From my WIP - The Red Seven
“I’ve got one question, really.” Simon looked at him sharp. “Why do you call yourself The Ghost?” The Ghost looked over at this black clothes, black boots, and steel black gun. The blade of his knife was a dull black color. He owned nothing with a shade, or speck of coloration. “I made a promise. I killed many men in the battle field for a war I hardly understood when it came down to the brass...
Please support the broke writer guy! →
My book is available for purchase. It would great if you bought a copy. Tell yo frans.
If you found one of my stickers somewhere around Austin, thanks for being here! You can be ultra awesome and buy a book off Amazon, or your local bookstore. If you just wanna talk shit - I’m @robert_dean on twitter, robertdeannola on IG, and you can LIKE me on Facebook. Got all those social media avenues covered. Go buy a book, I’m broke!
Clark Griswald: [to the Dodge City bartender] Hey Knucklehead, set us up with four Red eye’s will ya? [the bartender ignors him] Clark Griswald: Hey Yellabelly, I’m talking to you! [the bartender glares at Clark] Clark Griswald: Hey Tender foot, move your chicken wings turkey! [the bartender angrily glares at Clark] Ellen Griswold: Clark, that’s not nice. Clark Griswald:...
The difference between Social Media: Tumblr: Hey, wanna see what was cool in 1993? Or would you like to see a gif of a cat in the bathtub? He’s pissed. Facebook: GIrl - Yet another relationship is over. Another emotionally unavailable man has done me wrong even though I never paid attention to the glaring warning signs. Now, I’ll post some bullshit meme featuring some kind of low...
BE COOL →
Buy a book! It’s like, $13 - that’s a pack of smokes in NYC, or a case of beer in Kansas. I’d do it for you. If you already have a book, leave a review. They really help the author. People like knowing what others think about stuff. Seriously, how many times have you seen the link for that fucking banana slicer on your Facebook wall?
I wish I had news to report. I don’t. Right now, agents have all of my materials, and I’m working on The Red Seven. Hope I can report something soon. Till then, I’ll be drinking Lone Stars in Austin next week at SXSW
So, the main guy in my book is called The Gunslinger. Shooter informed me today that Stephen King has a character named the same? I really hope his isn’t a western. Cause’ I really don’t want to change the name.
The Gunslinger understood the plight. For some, the war never ended, and it was much more than slavery, it was about identity, and millionaires from the upper crust taking their cut of the human existence. He knew the world was a dog faced, unforgiving motherfuck, but he’d found his way. With so many men’s inclination to the easy way out, the world of the western expansion was chaos. He hated The...
The Gunslinger arrived in New Orleans
The most notorious killer of the entire city lay in front of him, the Mississippi river. Many men fell in after an evening with the bottle, or a whore with a blade. When the dense weight of a body splashed into that water, the undertow would always wrap its arms around, and low, low below they’d go. The quiet waters glistened in the sunlight, as the water crashed in miniscule waves at the...
I’m proud as fuck of my man Shooter Jennings on Leno tonight. If nepotism counted for anything on the grand scale in music, he’d be on top of the world, but in today’s world, it’s about the moment, and the marketability. That mumbo jumbo don’t jive ‘round here. Shooter is a fighter. He’s always trying to create something new, something different,...
Some days, like today, I feel like someone has taken a shit in my brain. This story is hard to write.
I have not one, but TWO, fart apps on my phone.