I'm back! Well, I truly never went anywhere, just worked like a dog these last weeks - not time to blog. Check out these brilliant messages from the Declare yourself website - get the vote out. Very timely for both Canada and the U.S. I know when I was 18 I didn't really give a shit about voting. If they would have great vids like these I think it would have made a difference.

Declare Yourself

ON deadline these last couple of weeks (and for a couple more).

woofreakinghoo will return when things slow down a little freakin bit.

My apologies for the lack of posts this week - I am keeping all the plates spinning this week. So far, everything remains airborne.

Find yourself something good to read this weekend.

I recommend the Globe and Mail Saturday Books section. And if you read the review of the Kenneth Oppel's new book, StarClimber, you'll note the illustration was done by a certain wooreakinhoo blogger.

(Not the illustration shown to the left, that would be the cover - and a good one at that.)

I belong to a men's bookclub...yes, you heard that right, men that read. And we read some good stuff (contrary to some of the jibes I have suffered when I mention our group. "So, what you read automotive manuals?" And so on.)

Last night we picked our books for the year ahead - and like the men we are, the competition and voting was fierce. 

This year, having a fiction blog, I've decided to post my thoughts on this year's booklist as I read them. First up is a book that I have been wanting to read for a while, "Divisadero" by Michael Ondaatje.

I'll report on this in a few weeks, depending on how much time I find to read this and the dozen other books I have on the go. But I always finish in time for the next meeting - that's my deadline nature. So by Oct. 3, I'll be sure to say something.

Joe Lansdale offers a mojo story of the week - these have usually been published in another form before appearing on his website.

I am not starting a new thing here, and this is not quite a mojo length story, but I hope you'll enjoy this little vignette. I doubt that it will see any other form of exposure, so I present it here.

(Oh, and I do like kids, so much so that I have three of them.)

Junior

I knew the little shit hid his true intentions. The Osh-Gosh pants with the cartoon daisies smokescreened his rapacious nature. He was more powerful than he let on and when controls were lifted a sinister single-mindedness would burble to the surface.

My neighbour fluttered her eyes. "You don't mind do you? I'd get a sitter, but under these circumstances." Her botoxed lips quivered."I'll be back in less than an hour."

Those emerald irises did me in.

The little creature pushed a dump truck across the floor, interspersing his happy gurgles with vroom noises. She coo-cooed at him, retaining her illusory composure, swung the apartment door open and lit out.

Two minutes later, the phone rang and I jumped to get it. Junior launched that Tonka like he was throwing discus for the Eastern Bloc before the wall came down.

Tufts of red hair joined to form twin peaks on his head just before the dervish ran full force into my crotch. The next forty-nine minutes proved to be a battle of wits, agility, sheer determination and drool.

When she flung the door open at the sixty-two minute mark I had my foe fast asleep in my lap.

"Oh, I hope he wasn't too much trouble," Ms. Gorgeous Eyes whispered. "I know you don't have any kids."

"Hey, I resent that." I smiled and winked.

I left hoping I got the smell of bourbon out of the bottle.