Howdy from Big Yuke! Hope everyone is doing okay in the lockdown. Stressed? Restless? Anxious and not sleeping? Yeah, me too, buddy, me too…
If this was a book jacket, it would read, “Euclid Ferrara was born in sunny San Diego and has not strayed too far from there ever since.” I’m not one to go on about myself, or to hype myself like I just written a Magnum Opus. I think humility is a lost art, especially these days when everyone is a sparkling dew drop on God’s cosmic left tit. For real, be humble, and remember thou art mortal, fool.
For those of you that need to know though, I’m the only ASE Master Tech with a Batchelor’s Degree that I know of. What does that say about me? Damned if I know—maybe that I’m indecisive. Whatever it means, the end result is that I approach everything with one foot planted deep in my busted-knuckle, blue-collar roots while, at the same time, aspiring to loftier ambitions as I attempt to deconstruct the world around us through literature.
Am I sounding like a portentous author yet? Good, I think its working.
Real talk, though, I enjoy a good yarn full of blood and swash as much as I do higher-level, thought-provoking hipster stuff. Throughout my work I’ve tried to establish a hybrid of both these concepts and hope to reach an audience interested in this kind of thing. If not, I suppose its back to the drawing-board; maybe a career in erotic fan-fic won’t be so bad, just as long as I can find enough hand-sanitizer to absorb a soaker-tub quantity of self-loathing and shame on a daily basis.
Like many of you, I’ve found myself with some extra time on my hands and figured that there was no better time to get these stories out of my head and into yours. This week’s story is Samdroid ™. Yes, Samdroid with a TM. This short story is set in a fictional universe where armies no longer fight under flags, but under corporate logos. To complicate matters further, all the women of the world have given up on the dudes and gone on to greener pastures. The story starts off with a day like any other, until the Sarge lays on his boys that he just might have found the reason all wars have been fought for, ever, and its riding into their neck of the woods in the back of an armored car.
You could call this a satire of jingoistic military sci-fi with a less-than light sprinkling of homoeroticism and snark. Being born an American military brat in the late 70s, I was raised with the steady stream of hoorah-hetero-apple-pie-lets-all-die-in-a-third-world-war playing constantly in the background and I thought I’d take a jab at all that jive with this story. Like I said, I enjoy taking a trope of my youth and turning it on its head.
If this sounds like your kind of bag, and you own a kindle, head on over to Amazon and send me $2.99! (I promise, it’s not for beer.)
Stay sane, stay safe (ish),