- 5,723 hits
- Follow Botendaddy on WordPress.com
- Ghosts of Closed Pittsburgh Restaurants
- Harmony Silvester Celebration 5k
- Official Race #65: Morris 'Doc' Turner 5k Run, Highland Park , PA
- St. Alphonsus 5k: The three deadly H's Heat, Humidity and Hills
- Alt-Right and Batboy Attack Pinko Botendaddy for Qweeting about Yvanka's Appearance at the 5 Mile Run
- A Painful Trail Run: What's the Most Scared You've Ever Been?
- Do you roak the schmiee? She asked blithely.
Tag Archives: Man in the Fictional Mode
I stood in front of the Writer’s Workshop ready to pontificate my verbal bowel movement. It was ‘Pride Week’ so I was surprised that our four *gay* Writers were all at the Workshop. “What the hell are you guys doing … Continue reading
“Botendaddy, our collection of Vinyl LP’s and 45’s is excellent.” Also spraach die Boten-Daughter, to I, the aged wise Botendaddy, as she played Toccata and Fugue in D Major by Johannnn Sebastian Bach on the delicate Victrola. We stood in … Continue reading
Ah Joy Littell and her marvelous series from McDougal, Littell. It still stands up even today. It’s still avant-garde today. It’s still risqué and a bit politically incorrect even today, but evenly so. If any of my readers should find … Continue reading
I walked down the long corridor of the great Mansion at Botendaddy Manor Estates, High above Olde Uniontowne on the ancient haunted plateau of House Utonic. One of the servants, the lowly, hirsute, deformed, groveling, possibly evil sidekick and laboratory … Continue reading
I stopped writing literary reviews for a while. I took down most of the reviews that I had written because I was getting stale. I had difficulty reading. Everything that I read was boring me into a vapid stupor. Do … Continue reading
What an amazing short story. What a beautiful, lyrical piece of Americana. Originally published in Harper’s Magazine in the January, 1952 edition with a four-frame illustration. It was the lead story from ‘Man in the Fictional Mode’ Volume 2 from the wonderful … Continue reading