Excerpt from Unpublished First Novel Slow Road to Suckage

The biggest exercise of futility when I was a wee little boy of seven with scabs on my knees and dirt under my finger nails was dealing with the neighborhood bully, Dennis Smith. He was a huge clod of a kid in torn up jeans and stained shirts. Dennis also had sinus problems. The sound of sniffling was the sound of terror for many a seven-year-old. I still get chills during the height of hay fever season.

One of Dennis’s favorite forms of torture was the “yes-no” exercise. You’d be walking merrily along your way down a street lined with towering maples, the theme of The A-Team in your heart. Suddenly, the air fills with the chainsaw sound of a husky psychotic nine-year-old inhaling air through his mucus-clogged nostrils. The next thing you know, you’re lying on your back with Dennis straddling your stomach and his elbow in the air, his fist cocked and aimed square at your nose. “OK runt. Yes means no and no means yes. Do you want me to clock you?” Dennis would say. No matter your answer, rest assured you’d be walking the rest of the way home with your own sinus problems.