Dave's Fiction Warehouse

  T he “bucket list” is yet another dubious gift from baby boomers to younger generations. It’s this idea that one is finally old enough to consider the possibility of death, and thus had better experience (like, pronto) all those destinations that web sites and periodicals and influencers say must be experienced as proof of a full and vibrant life. The phrase entered the lexicon via a dumb movie of the same name in 2007 – significantly, the same year the iPhone came on the scene.   Now we all have our bucket lists. It’s why so many dopes still try to run with the bulls at Pamplona. It’s why the locals in Venice and Barcelona and Machu Picchu have come to despise tourists. I too hate the phrase and the concept, but I’m as prone to its pull as any other old bastard.  Thus, our recent trip to Alaska. See, I’ve occasionally told people that I’ve been to every state in the Union except Alaska and Maine. Now I’ve crossed another one off the list. Was that the sole reason for t...

L ook: There are no undecided voters. Not this time. Let’s just be done with that nonsense right now. Those who claim indecision at this late date are disingenuous at best and self-serving liars at worst. They imagine that seeming to waver on the starkest political choice in American history makes them appear somehow thoughtful, somehow relevant.  It’s the Lady or the Tiger. You know that story, right? Except that there are no doors. You can see both right there in front of you. The tiger will eat you. The lady will not. Choices, choices. The MAGA crowd is full of rubes and opportunists who think they can ride that tiger. They imagine that they can enjoy and even guide its depredations from a safe perch above its claws and behind its jaws. Let’s go eat some immigrants! Let’s burn some books! Let’s teach those bitches who’s their daddy!  The tiger metaphor only goes so far. Trump’s only real strengths are complete self interest, total amorality and a certain measure of animal ...