Category Archives: humor

An Open Letter to the Kellermans from a Bookshop Owner

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Dear Jonathan and Faye Kellerman:

IMG_3621Please, for the love of God, stop. Have mercy. Have pity. Have some personal pride. Stop.

We get it. You’re brilliant thrillerists. Yes. Fine. You’ve thrilled and titillated us–accent on tit–for years. Thank you.

Don’t you think now is a good time to rest on your laurels, before you actually have to come up with a second plot device?

That day could be coming. Once you pass 100 uses of the same stock characters, readers start noticing. And no matter how much they love you, readers may pick up on other subtle clues as well. Like the assumptive arrogance of publishing a book that doesn’t have a title on it.IMG_3623 Or any printing on the back. Or front. But with a lot of back on the front. That’s kind of a giveaway that you think you’re stronger than market forces. Or your readers’ minds.

But hey, what do I know? I’m just the bookslinger who keeps taking your books in trade. And taking, and taking, and taking. Selling, umm … not so much. Which is where the problem lies. Martha Stewart has this really nice pattern for paving a driveway with hardbacks. We’re thinking of naming it “Kellerman Lane.”

Now don’t get mad, Mr. and Mrs. K; we appreciate all you’ve contributed to the literary world. What is the key to your success? The titles below? Which, if they happen to spell out anything, is completely accidental.

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No no, I’m certain there is IMG_3625Justice in the world. And that your legacy will live forever. More’s the pity. But couldn’t you accept that you have left a great–okay, vast–body of work behind, and retire to some island you could buy with pocket change? And leave us poor bookslingers to get on with finding shelf space–or floor space, or space bag compactors–enough to hold your many fine contributions? Without, oh, say, involving your children? Because of all the scary stories you’ve ever cop–er, devised, this is the scariest: IMG_3629

We don’t wish you ill, dear, kind Kellermans. You’re probably in real life very nice people who plant flower gardens and take the neighbors soup when they’re sick. Please, please, show the same consideration for bookshops. We need just a little shelf space for other authors. There’s that King fellow, and the Clancy lad; they seem to be crowding in. So couldn’t you, wouldn’t you, take a little breather, and give us some breathing room?

Thank you, on behalf of second-hand book shops everywhere.

Sincerely, A Desperate Bookslinger

Sexual Frustration

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Our scruffy staff mutt Bert is the wee bit confused. And our gorgeous long-haired foster Tallulah is frustrated.

IMG_3625Tallulah came to us two months ago after giving birth to three sons, all of whom have now been adopted into loving homes. Accent on loving. Because–as most Mommy Cats do–Tallulah waited a couple of days after closing the milk bar, then went back into heat.

She has a spay appointment next week–the first available on the Margaret Mitchell van that services our area with discount “fixing.” PAWS, the rescue we foster for, has a standing arrangement with them.

Meanwhile, Tallulah isn’t doing much standing. She’s flinging herself about in a “take me, take me now, sailor” kind of way. And she’s mostly flinging herself at Bert.

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Bert is trying to be a gentleman about the whole thing. At eight years old, he’s flung his flings. Plus, as responsible pet owners, we had his reproductive equipment removed.

We’ve tried talking to Tallulah, explaining that females certainly do have more options these days, but maybe dogs aren’t one of them. Cross-species is still a hard sell; LGBT acceptance doesn’t really cover it. If she’d focused on Beulah, our in-store cat, the neighbors wouldn’t be talking now. IMG_3627

But the heart wants what it wants.

Meanwhile, staff kitten Owen is taking it hard. Naturally, he feels he should have been the first choice for Tallulah’s affections–or lust, as the case may be. Owen hangs around in a heartbroken kind of way, just in case Tallulah, umm, changes course.

IMG_3634So far, she hasn’t noticed.

And so it goes. Just another day in the bookstore. Yes, we do sell books now and again, but right now all eyes are on the soap opera unfolding before us. Friends drop in just to see the floor show. Tallulah never fails to entertain. We should record the noises she’s making.

No, on second thought, we shouldn’t.

Poor befuddled Bert. And poor wee Owen, offering unrequited love to a disinterested Dulcinea. Y’all send them good wishes. And spay your cats, or this could happen to you.