As the car hurtled toward me, my life did not flash before my eyes
East Bay Bicycle Path, Rhode Island. Photo by Ken Zirkel by way of a Creative Commons search. https://www.flickr.com/photos/kzirkel/
As the car hurtled toward me, I did not see my life flash before my eyes.
Instead, I saw myself diving off the sidewalk and into the adjoining swamp, where among the sticker vines, sucking mud and empty bottles I would save myself from being stuck like a bug in a grille.
Tires scraped and screeched against the curb and the dithering driver, who wasn’t paying one bit of attention, finally jerked his car back onto the road as my heart threatened to jump out of my chest.
On another day a woman turning into a hair salon nearly flattened me as I jogged along the sidewalk, the dragon’s breath of her SUV blowing hotly across my body as she bolted for the parking lot, completely oblivious to my existence.
And now I read about five bicyclists struck last Saturday on Martin Luther King Boulevard by what appears to be a drunken driver.
How sad … but no sadder than the multitude of other local bicyclists, joggers and pedestrians run down because (a) drivers here seem unable to grasp the concept of sharing the road, and (b) municipal leaders seem unable to grasp the concept of a bicycle path.
Oh, they’ve got a nice path along 30A and in Gulf Breeze you can ride a good ways along U.S. Highway 98. But most everywhere else it’s a crapshoot because bike paths don’t exist, and that’s worse than a shame. It’s a tragedy.
When I visited Germany I was impressed by the number of bicycle paths that paralleled all the major surface roads. In larger cities and parks in this country, bicycle paths are a given.
But here in Northwest Florida it’s every bicyclist, jogger and pedestrian for himself.
Why?
I can’t answer that. But I do know a “bicycle path” is not a white line painted along the shoulder of the road. I’ve seen bicyclists pedaling along those perilous thoroughfares and I’ve cut them a wide berth. But at the same time I’ve seen drivers wander into those “paths” and I wonder what they would do if a bicyclist or jogger happened to occupy that spot during their lapse of attention?
Speaking of attention, when studies suggest a person who operates a motor vehicle while talking on a cell phone has the same driving abilities as a person who’s knocked back a six-pack, why are there no laws forbidding the use of cell phones by drivers? And why are TELEVISIONS allowed in cars?
With gasoline approaching $3 per gallon it would seem logical that some people might turn to walking or bicycling to relieve the pressure on their wallets. But that’s not an option in Northwest Florida. And God forbid a parent allow his or her child to ride a bicycle in the street. On the dragways around town, like Hollywood Boulevard and Hughes Street, a bicycle is a moving target.
Tragedies like what happened last Saturday night might be prevented by a network of decent bicycle paths. That would be the intelligent solution, anyway.
Are we smart enough to do that here?
This column was originally published in the Saturday, April 16, 2005 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Had I known my 12th-grade Algebra 2 teacher, Mr. Earl, was carrying a gun, I would have been a lot nicer to him.
That’s not to say he was carrying a gun. But if he had been, I would never have played that trick of whispering into his hearing aid until he turned up the volume, then shouting at him.
Wasn’t I a little brat? I probably deserved to be shot.
I bring this up because the incoming president of the National Rifle Association told The Associated Press recently she believes teachers should be allowed to carry guns into the classroom.
The plan is to give teachers the drop on teenage nutcases who march into school and cap 10 of their classmates for making fun of their hair.
It’s sad the world has come to this. In my day we kids were much more civilized. We settled our differences by beating the hell out of each other – until an adult intervened and beat the hell out of both of us. And teachers didn’t need guns – they could just beat the hell out of us. Then they’d call our parents, and when we got home, our parents would beat the hell out of us, too.
I’m not sure it’s a good idea to let the person who’s being driven insane by 30 delinquents have access to firearms.
For starters, I question the gun-handling abilities of some of my teachers. For instance, I could never, ever see my 12th-grade composition teacher, Mrs. Davis, a wisp of a woman who was Hobbit tiny and supermodel thin, whipping out a .44-Magnum and growling, “Go ahead, punk. Make my day!”
Besides, Mrs. Davis didn’t need a gun. She was a nice lady, but if you made her mad she’d skewer you with this python stare and as you sat squirming in your desk like a hamster appetizer she’d just stare at you. Silently. Her eyes burrowing through your flesh. Until you died.
I also question the, er, “emotional stability” of some of my teachers. I remember one rattled instructor simply getting up and walking out of the classroom. Had this teacher returned with an AR-15 I’m reasonably confident I wouldn’t be typing these words.
I can see how an exchange with such a teacher might go:
“Excuse me, Mrs. Murgatroid, but can I have a pass to the bathroom?”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve been driving me crazy all day. You can wait until the bell rings!”
“But I have to go now!”
“Well … let’s ask Mr. Nine Millimeter.”
(She fishes out her Browning 9mm semi-auto.)
“Hello, Mr. Nine Millimeter. Del’s been a very BAD boy and now he wants to go to the bathroom. Should we let him?”
“Hello, Mrs. Murgatroid. I think Del can wait until the bell rings. And if he has a problem with that, he can talk to the hand … holding the gun!”
No, arming teachers isn’t the solution. Besides, the kids would likely have better guns.
Give ’em a good beating.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
I have thrown away my Miami Dolphins watch cap, my Miami Dolphins keychain, my Miami Dolphins Viagra prescription and my Miami Dolphins helmeted killer dolphin action figure.
I have committed these unthinkable acts because this year, the Miami Dolphins smell like three-day-old chum. If Ruckel Middle School belonged to the NFL, the JV team would have a better win-loss record than the Miami Dolphins.
The Fish are losers.
Why is this? My theory is the Miami Dolphins have “drafted” poorly. For those of you who do not study the Miami Dolphins the way some people study the Dead Sea Scrolls, the term “draft” refers to a process whereby teams choose players, similar to the way the United States chose players for the “Vietnam Bowl” except in the NFL players like former Miami Dolphin running back Ricky Williams wait until thy are two years into their contracts before running away to a foreign country.
But don’t let me dwell on Ricky Williams, who is studying holistic medicine but may I gently suggest he change his major to abnormal psychology because he appears to be, if I may borrow a medical term, “crazy.”
I am all about “solutions.” And my solution to the belly-up Dolphins is: Draft non-football players.
“But that’s what they’ve been doing the past four years!” you gasp, choking on your Mrs. Paul’s fried dolphin fingers. Tut tut, I am talking about looking outside the NFL player pool for new talent, such as:
At defensive line: that ninja guy from “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.” Have seen the way that guy flew through the air? He’d jump off a roof and land in Cleveland where somebody from the Browns would attempt to draft him.
At quarterback the Greek mythical figure Medusa. You know who I’m talking about – the chick with snakes for hair. If you look at her you turn to stone, jut like Joan Rivers! The NFL would have to invent a new penalty – illegal contact with a python.
At wide receiver: a fully grown Bengal tiger with rabies. Forget about it, Cincinnati; we thought of it first.
Offensive coach: Martha Stewart. The Miami Dolphins need an infusion of creativity in their play-0calling, and who better to accomplish this task than a person who can take a box that once contained a Black & Decker weed whacker and transform it into a Swiss chalet, complete with yodeling mountain men wearing funny hats.
Safety: the viewpoint character from “Halo 2,” but with a bigger gun.
Recruiting: Lara Croft of “Tomb Raider” fame. May she unearth some of the wizened, desiccated old guys who at least can punt, pass and kick without demanding $40 million per game and put themselves on the injured reserve list every time they experience a bunion.
Front office: Bill Gates. Money can’t buy love, but it CAN buy a decent quarterback.
This column was originally published in the Saturday, Jan. 8, 2005 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
This was our non-commercialized Christmas haul in 1960, just before we left Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Miss., for Torrejon Air Base outside Madrid, Spain. Image by Del Stone Sr.
Some cynics believe that in these crassly commercialized times, it is impossible to remain faithful to the real meaning of Christmas.
Phooey! Have these Negative Nellies never seen an episode of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Part IV: Rudolph Takes Fallujah,” which I believe is traditionally sponsored by Smith & Wesson?
At Christmas, that joyous time of year stretching from mid-January to 12:01 Christmas morning when the stores begin stocking their shelves with Easter Peeps, our hearts are filled with hope and our driveways are filled with new Mustang GTs.
Crass commercialization? If you say so. But don’t ask me for a ride to Walmart to buy candy bunnies, you slackers.
Look, it’s simple: At Christmas:
A bright light in the sky signals the beginning of the season. No, it is not the light of a Verizon “Can you hear me now” tower. It is Rudolph, of course, and he is reconnoitering the world for his Christmas Eve mission (and doing a little job on the side for the Department of Homeland Security).
As the story goes, Rudolph spots a lonely green man with strange hair whose name is not Don King. It is the Grinch, with his dog, Snoopy. They are riding a giant Norelco electric shaver down the mountain where Busch beer is brewed – and the Grinch is NOT bringing a keg to the Whoville town square sing-along.
No, the spirit of Christmas has not taken possession of the Grinch’s heart in the sweet angina of the season. It has been replaced by the spirit of junk bonds and wardrobe malfunctions and getting fired by Donald Trump.
The Grinch’s heart has been tainted, like the heart of the one-armed zombie in “Dawn of the Dead.”
And he’s carrying a Red Ranger BB gun.
Anyway, Rudolph alerts Frosty the Snowman, who bears a suspicious resemblance to a scrubbed-down Michael Moore although much more angry and confrontational, and the hot-tempered snowman assembles a fire team of ninja elves and sleigh drivers from “Grand Theft Auto: NASCAR vs. Desperate Housewives,” and they move to take out the Grinch and win themselves fat action-figure contracts from Mattel.
But it is here we learn an important holiday lesson: In the spirit of the season, violence is not the solution.
Lawsuits are the solution.
So the fire team defers to Charlie Brown, who warms the Grinch’s heart, like a Thermoskin Arthritic Knew Wrap, with his scraggly, pathetic tree, which just happens to be decorated with a Faberge egg. Whoville is saved and the inhabitants gather for the annual Running of the Visa Cards, while Donder gets Blitzened on a keg of Busch Ice.
So this business of Christmas getting swallowed up by commercialization is all a matter of your perspective, which can be dramatically improved by the sight of a brand new GT parked in the driveway.
This column was originally published in the Saturday, Dec. 18, 2004 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Christmas means soon you will be feeling lower than dirt after reading the holiday newsletters of relatives and friends, the creeps.
These newsletters are filled with glowing accomplishments that exceed anything you can conceive, much less actually do.
But that doesn’t mean you are doomed to second-class newsletter citizenhood. You too can circulate a stunning holiday missive that will have your friends sucking for oxygen like a carp thrown ashore by a passing bass boat. How?
You lie.
For instance, check the following newsletter I will distribute in my Christmas cards this Yule season.
The year 2004 held glad tidings and large possibilities for the Stone family, and it is likely 2005 will only build on our ego-shattering accomplishments.
Let us begin with news of Muffy Squab Abercrombie, our youngest daughter, who won five gold medals at the Athens Olympics despite entering only four events. She took first-place victories in the categories of speed-crocheting, women’s synchronized shrieking, shopping and marksmanship with a potato gun. And that mysterious fifth gold medal? Well, the scamp used her potato gun to subdue a querulous South Korean weightlifter who felt he’d been robbed of the gold in the men’s snatch-and-hernia competition and grateful Olympic officials awarded her the medal in his stead.
Our other daughter, Roe-Versus-Wade, recently obtained simultaneous doctorates in anthropology, nuclear medicine, cosmology and semiotics from Harvard, Yale, Cambridge and the University of Phoenix Online. She plans to pursue a career translating IRS tax codes into a dead Teutonic tongue.
Our son, Throckmorton Smythe Uppington, was recently knighted by the Queen of Denmark for thwarting a sinister plot to use Olestra in the making of pommes frittes, disrupting toilet paper commodity prices. He plans to assume ownership of a villa on the palace grounds once he has accepted the Nobel Prize for isolating an anti-carcinogenic agent in a nearly extinct newt he discovered inhabiting the toilet of his dacha in Murmansk.
My wife, Janet Reno, who is secretly a woman, has also been busy in the prize-collecting department, having won the Oscar, the Pulitzer, the Publisher’s Clearinghouse, the CDC’s Friends of the Paramecium Award, and the NRA’s Hit Me With Your Best Shot Award for a pamphlet, video and children’s interactive nasal inhaler that tells the story of Waldo the Lonely Bacteriophage who has developed an immunity to antibiotics and must be put down lest he create a global pandemic.
As for moi, in 2004 I converted a certain notorious terrorist to Christianity, which will be announced on an upcoming reality television series titled “Bora-Borans in the City.”
And there you have it, my lessers. We hope you and yours achieve equally satisfying though less ambitious goals for the new year!
This was originally published in the Dec. 11, 2004 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of FreeRange Stock. CC license.
Maybe it’s old age catching up with me, but certain things don’t smell as good as they used to.
It’s not that the smells have faded. They’ve changed.
For instance, remember the smell of paper money? It was a lush, earthy scent that smelled the way you would expect money to smell.
Once, when I was a boy of about 10, I removed my life’s savings of $8 from my bank that was disguised as a book, held it to my nose, drew deeply of the rich scent and then tossed the money up in the air, letting it fall over me.
But today’s money doesn’t smell so nice. It has an odor of chemicals, and it doesn’t even look like money, what with the weird ribbons, holographs and odd colors threaded throughout the bills. You have to be a little suspicious of money like that, just as you’d be suspicious of month-old bread without a trace of mold on the crust.
Gasoline no longer smells as good as it once did. I used to love filling the tank on the lawnmower because that sharp, stinging scent of gasoline would rise from the opening and set the air to shimmering. You could almost feel the brain cells dying as you took in the powerful odor.
But now gasoline smells … like chemicals. Perhaps it’s because they’ve removed the lead, or added detergents, or otherwise emasculated it, but gasoline just doesn’t have that honest, powerful smell it once did.
Before the days of photocopiers and laser printers, we primitive folk relied on a gadget called a mimeograph machine to make copies. What a pain. You had to type your material on a stencil, then strap the stencil to a machine with a revolving drum filled with a fluid. The fluid transferred the characters on the stencil to blank pieces of paper stacked below the drum, creating copies in a bluish type that students throughout the ’60s and ’70s grew up on.
While mimeographs were a chore for teachers, they were terrific for students, because the smell was heavenly. The teacher would hand us a freshly minted test and we’d run our noses along the length of the paper, sucking up that intoxicating aroma … and I do mean “intoxicating” because the fluid probably gave us a minor buzz.
And then there were the mosquito foggers that wandered through the neighborhoods spouting huge clouds of white smoke laden with DDT.
We kids loved those foggers. The trucks were noisy and could be heard a couple of streets over; that was our cue to get on our bikes and chase down the fogger to ride in the smoke being spewed from its nozzle. Sometimes the driver would oblige and stop to give us an extra shot of smoke.
When you see the mosquito fogger today you duck inside because it smells so horrible, which I think is the county’s secret strategy – if you’re inside the mosquitoes wont’ bother you. Right?
So the good old days of sniffing all those cancer-causing are gone but not forgotten … at least until that brain cell dies from exposure to toxins.
This column was originally published in the Saturday, December 4, 2004 Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of Public Doman Pictures. Creative Commons license.
Ah, Halloween. Time to start Christmas shopping – for 2005.
Did I say “Halloween”? Of course I meant “Harvest Festival,” that time of year when Food World swaps out its summer yellow Ho Hos for the harvest gold Ding Dongs.
At Harvest Festival time we Americans kick back with a warm mug of soy cider, plug in the electric Person-O-Lantern and turn on the computer to surf some scarecrow porn!
What I meant to say was “we Americans of American descent.”
In America, we turn on the television to watch some politically sanitized, gender-neutral trendy scary movies! Those old Halloween fright films simply won’t do anymore. Can’t have little Caleb and Madison getting any big ideas from “Friday the 13th Part XXII: Jason Gets a Job at the State Department.” One of the kiddies might grow up to invade Iraq!
Next Halloween, remember this story: ‘Trick-or-Treat’
So tonight, be sure to catch some of the new Harvest Festival classics that are sure to air:
“Soccer Mom Massacre” – Desperate Belinda is mad as hell about driving the van with only one electric sliding side door and she’s not going to take it anymore. When husband Squamous, the dermatologist, bingos home the guys from the Botox Poker Mixer he’d better be careful – Belinda has used REAL milk in the latte!
“Night of the Living Telemarketer” – The telephone is chirping and caller ID doesn’t have a clue who it is. Could it be Aunt Skeezy wanting the bagel warmer to heat up her bunion packs? Or somebody else … peddling ski vacations to Aspen for a time-share tour?
“The Day the Earth Took Vioxx” – Scientists discover the Earth’s spirit, otherwise known as Princess Gaia, is suffering from a malodorous infusion of negative aromatherapy from hog farms and NFL locker rooms, not to mention a bad case of Tectonic Itch. To remedy the problem they inject a healing solution of WD-40 and Vioxx directly into the mantle with catastrophic results, ending in a world class action lawsuit!
“Don’t Answer the Cell Phone” – It began with a wrong number and continued with a series of mysterious text messages. The next thing Abercrombie, Valley High’s cheerleading captain knows, her IM emoticon is spinning out of control and her e-mail queue is overflowing with attached ringtones that promise to foretell the day of death for everyone who calls her.
“Attack of the Killer Arugula Salad” – Janet Hyde-Squab Gorgo is regretting the day she agreed to brunch at Dante’s with her Quilters Against Drivers with Cell Phones group. They swapped out the Spinach with Soy and Faux Gorgonzola salad with the Arugula with Captain Crunch Berries and Strawberry Yoo Hoo kids menu salad and since then she’s been having strange drams about equipping the family Voyager with pneumatic shocks and bouncing through the ’hood, Tupac blasting from the CD player.
This column was originally published in the Saturday, Oct. 28, 2004 (estimated) edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
“Casshern” Directed by Kazuaki Kiriya. Starring Yusuke Iseya, Akira Terao, Kanako Higuchi. 142 minutes. Unrated.
Mladen’s take
A confession.
Without Del explaining between sets of kicking my butt in tennis what “Casshern” was about, I’d still be scratching my head.
The plot, as it turns out, is semi-unoriginal.
Corrupt politicians of a militaristic superstate collude with malignant corporation bosses to create a dystopian wonderland of carnage where healthy humans are involuntarily used as tissue donors.
Meanwhile, the leader of a small cell of mutants created by a bolt from the Universe that pierced the occluded sky of Earth and hit a vat of artificially growing human limbs promises to avenge the mistreatment he suffered at the hands of government security forces.
Then, from same vat that birthed the mutants, arises a hero.
And, he shall be called Casshern.
Casshern, with his body armor-integrated George Jetson-like rocket pack and morphing helmet tries his dangedest to keep the superstate and mutants from destroying everything, but fails.
Or something like that.
The convoluted plot of “Casshern” is tough to follow but the Japanese movie held me captive for no other reason than background details. They were gloriously presented with cinematography resembling a blend of “Brazil,” “Sin City,” and the “Kill Bills.”
In the movie, the society spoke Japanese but wrote in Russian, I think.
Tanks and flying machines are clunky, mechanical beasts as pragmatic and ugly as the imploded society that created them.
The army of robots organized by the mutant leader from leftovers of an earlier conflict march lockstep, their heads adorned with helmets that look like Kraut head gear of World War I.
The landscape, baked by industrial waste, is brown-red-gray. Only the rich enjoy green grass and gardens filled with blooming flowers.
Most striking is the intermodal concentration camp.
Spanning several sets of rails, the prison train pulls cars loaded with shipping containers. The containers are placed aboard by multiple rotor helicopters. Inside the containers are healthy humans.
The train set is used by the cabal that runs the superstate to store and process the healthies. They’re used as DNA feedstock for a covert genetic engineering program designed to keep the aging rulers alive.
“Casshern” is no fairy tale. It’s bleak from beginning to end. People are nothing more than a commodity to be exploited. The compelling film brims with treachery. And, maybe someday, after I’ve watched it again and again, I’ll understand the plot and its half-dozen subplots.
Del’s take
I came across “Casshern” in the $3 bin at Big Lots and decided to take a chance. I don’t have a problem with anime-inspired stories and I love Japanese horror movies including Hideo Nakata’s “Ring” and Takashi Shimizu’s “Ju-on.”
I won’t reproduce Mladen’s summary of the plot because I think it’s pretty well spot-on. Like Mladen, I had a tough time following the plot – especially with the rapid-fire pacing that meant subtitles appeared and disappeared so quickly I found myself reading more than wallowing in the lush visuals.
And they are lush. Americans aren’t quite acclimated to the look of anime. I can think of only one American director – Ridley Scott – who imbues at least some of his films with a similar attention to visual detail (“Blade Runner” and “Legend”). The intermixing of high-power CGI with live action to produce a poetic vision is something Japanese directors expect the audience to accept. In America it’s CGI made to resemble live action. In Japan it’s CGI that makes no apologies for itself.
Like many anime-inspired stories “Casshern” is a bit heavy-handed with the subtext. Running throughout is a not-so-subtle criticism of science, the stifling hand of cultural authority, the loss of environmental sanctity, and the violence to which humanity seems perpetually addicted.
But there were surprises. The role of parents as enforcers of cultural authority, the impotence of love vs. that authority – these are strange notions to a Westernized society that has been taught the individual trumps the collective.
More than likely “Casshern” is a standard and perhaps cliched statement movie about the triumph of the will … and the hubris of the willful. But if you can get past the convoluted plot, the sometimes unintentionally humorous dialogue (perhaps resulting from a less-than-perfect translation) and the cultural differences that divide East and West, you might enjoy the movie.
What you will enjoy is the “look” of the movie. Almost every frame produced a sense of awe, masterfully crafted by music video director Kiriya. While some may argue “Casshern” delivers empty calories, think of all the empty calories in your life, from french fries to text messages.
I recently watched “Predators” at the movie theater. I spent $9 on a ticket and $6 on a small bag of popcorn. For the journalists among us that’s $15, or five movies from the $3 bin at Big Lots.
I would much rather have spent that $15 on five movies like “Casshern.”
Mladen Rudman is a former journalist and technical editor. Del Stone Jr. is a former journalist and author.
Video
Today’s topic is so weighty it will tilt the earth on its axis: the evolution of the TV and movie death scene.
In a more innocent time, an actor died with dignity. A gunshot victim, for instance, would clutch his chest as if a microwaved burrito were causing his pacemaker to do the Robot, then fall gracefully to the ground so that the shooter could hover nearby while the shoot-ee revealed the valuable moral lesson imparted to him by the hollow-tipped .38 slug. “You have redeemed me,” the shoot-ee would gasp. “I will never remove the tag from a mattress again – and that’s not just because I’m dying.” Then the shoot-ee would close his eyes as the shooter wiped away a tear and filed a report with the Serta Corporation.
The next step in TV and movie death scene evolution was the open-eye death. The shoot-ee would die and he would stare into infinity, his eyes glazed, the way people look at their telephone bills. The shooter would run his hand over the eyelids to close them, as if he felt watched, and a violin soundtrack would reach a crescendo of screeching as the shooter and the audience simultaneously realized that death can certain put the kibosh on that snorkeling trip to the Caymans.
Then we had the violent death where gunshot victims were knocked backward by the force the bullet’s impact the same way you get knocked backward when you step out of the shower dripping wet and plug in the blow dryer. The problem in the kocking-backward part never seems to synch with the shooting part – the gun fires and a too-late second afterward, the person gets knocked back. It’s like watching a Japanese monster movie dubbed into English.
The next evolution of TV and movie death scenes was epitomized by “Saving Private Ryan,” which I recently watched as a snub to the FCC. That’ll show ’em. In “Saving Private Ryan:” we encounter the gory realistic death scene. Every single way a person can die was used in that movie and they were all very bloody and grotesque, like watching Richard Simmons squeeze himself into a Spandex tutu.
Right now my favorite TV and move death scene occurs in “Dawn of the Dead.” In this scene, the driver of a panel truck is trying to back it up to a loading dock while being attacked by zombies. You gotta figure the driving isn’t going to be by the book (unless it’s New York state’s “Driving Manual for Snowbirds Wintering in Florida book). Indeed, while back up the truck at about 40 mph they run over several zombies who are sprinting toward the truck. I’ve watch that scene many times trying to figure out how they did it. Best I can tell they got several contestants from “Fear Factor” to attempt a truckjacking and we got to watch the losers.
Frankly I don’t want to know how people look or act when they die, unless it’s Sean Hayes’ character on “Will & Grace.” That little creep can even leave his eyes open.
The column was originally published in the December 6, 2003 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of MSGT Tony Lambert, U.S. Air Force
When I think of the current administration and the job those people are doing, I am reminded of Irish setters abusing Quaaludes, or Inspector Clouseau trying to remove the shrink wrap from a CD while driving a stick shift through congested city traffic, or Chevy Case stringing holiday lights and exploding the neighborhood in “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.”
I derive as much pleasure from politics as I would changing Jerry Melvin’s diapers and emptying his drool bucket. But I feel it is both my right and duty as an American citizen to point out that our current leadership seems to possess the performance qualities of a mime with a bad case of the whiskey shakes.
The farce began with the 2000 Presidential White Sale in which our current leadership revealed a churlish and bratty temperament that would even defeat authoritarian parenting columnist John Rosemond’s Victorian ministrations. That unbelievable episode of political comedy has been exceeded only by the Gope-inator’s ascendency to the governorship of California.
Excepting Colin Powell, the president’s choice of lieutenants resembles a casting call for “Legally Blonde” in which the dominant color, pink, served as an expression of femininity and virtue. In this administration, pink – the color the slips many American workers received – served as an expression of the validity of the president and his advisers’ “flush-down” economic theories. The debt has grown to such Pavarottian proportions that we no longer need a space shuttle; simply stack all those red ink chits, one on top of the other, and we can climb our way into orbit.
The administration’s “Oh, let’s be hatin’ ” approach to handling environmental issues invokes neither reason, nor compassion – we will not see the president rushing from his office to apply mouth-to-blowhole resuscitation to a red tide-addled dolphin. Instead, he’ll be looking at recipes for Dolphin Helper.
As for civil liberties, let it be known that: War is peace, freedom is slavery, and ignorance is strength. The administration seems hell-bent on wresting back the crown of Big Brother’s Big Brother from corporate America.
On the foreign policy scene, America has gone from superpower to That Kid Who Always Tripped You, Pulled Your Hair and Spit on Your Shoe. Our men and women are getting killed in Iraq and the administration berates the media to write happy stories about the Baghdad Welcome Wagon and Kabul Brownie Troop 462. Meanwhile, nobody in the White House can get past the 2003 Spelling Bee’s single word: V-I-E-T-N-A-M.
I don’t know. Four more yeas of drawing devil horns on the cartoon characters adorning John Ashcroft’s sippy cup might be fun.
But will those of us not employed by Haliburton be in the mood to laugh?
The column was originally published in the Saturday, Nov. 22, 2003 Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .