Tax season beckons like an unwelcome dinner guest that one can’t deny seating. I hate income taxes. Actually, I hate taxes of every creed. Federal, state, local, estate, county, property - they can all go to hell. Seriously.

Wherever it’s a choice between me keeping a dollar or the government, my philosophy is - I earned it first. Really, isn’t that what we all want? Our own money in our pocket. A simple dream.

My accountant spares me a lot of hair loss; our meeting today reminded me why punting to a professional is such a sound decision. Thank you, sir CPA!

If I ever uncover a 8 foot, 800 pound hog in Georgia, my last thought would be the scientific consequence. My first thought – why am I in Georgia? My second - what the hell am I doing with an exhumed pig the size of a Cadillac? And this is why I write. A missed shower has nothing on the stench of a dead hog.

As the legend of Hogzilla spread, and towns held festivals themed after the creature, documentary specialists saw opportunity. Capturing the beast on film might intrique many directors. But to a serious auteur, documenting a living freakshow is just too easy. The manly challenge – film six months after the animal dies. Biohazard suits, shovels, a taste for rotting carcass and a video camera - these are the tools that separate professional filmmaker from rubberneckers with camera phones.

According to Nancy Donnelly a producer of a documentary about the hog, “He was an impressive beast. He was definitely a freak of nature.” Hogzilla might not be the only freak of nature around here, Nancy.

Somewhere, somehow, some producer has plans for a Hogzilla: A Rotting Life reality TV show.

Hey Master Buddhapuss,

What do you do when you want to cut loose?

Party Girl

Dear Party Girl,

I just call 867-5309. When did you change your number?

A life in Zen is a life less stressed. The devout practitioner rarely succumbs to hedonistic releases like sex, drugs and rock and roll. However, such pursuits have their time and place. That time and place is when Sam is out of the house. Here’s a snippet of a recent 911 call from a neighbor.

911: 911 how can I help?
Neighbor: Yeah, I’m XXXXX at XXXX XXXX on XXXXX. I need the police right away.
911: What is the nature of the problem?
Neighbor: There’s a party upstairs, an unbelievable noise. Meowing and howling all night.
911: I hear the music. Sir, did you ask your neighbor to turn down the volume?
Neighbor: What? Say again? Someone’s at the door. ( in background ) Hell no - I didn’t order 25 sushi pizzas! Take these back!
911: Is everything all right?
Neighbor: I went upstairs. It was wall to wall pussy.
911: There’s a party with strippers upstairs?
Neighbor: What is taking you people so long?
911: I’ve dispatched the police. No need to confront your neighbor again.

Sixty minutes later….

911: 911 how can I help?
Neighbor: Yeah, I called before. Where’s the cops?
911: I show they’ve arrived…and indicated there was no issue at that address.
Neighbor: No issue? It’s like World War III upstairs.
911: Sir, please try and relax.
Neighbor: Oh my god! Someone’s delivering another stack of pizzas upstairs. And the cops! I see them in there. Talking to that no good black hairy pussy.
911: One more outburst and I’ll disconnect. We don’t tolerate such sexist talk.
Neighbor: But it’s a nonstop ruckus! And now the cops are in on it.
911: The issue shows as closed. Thank you for calling 911.

So Party Girl, what can I say? Nobody is perfect

2005 The Year of the Buddhapuss
Master Buddhapuss

After the fire department and police left, the landlord agreed to rent me storage space in the basement. Straight up, this is absolutely true. Check my chronology.

Between 1:23AM and 1:25AM - a neighbor, let’s call him the Torch who lives in Apartment 22 - decided it was time for dinner. Torch throws a steak on a frying pan.

1:26 AM Torch plops on the couch and watches the Spice Chanel.

1:30 AM Neglected contents in frying pan catches fire. Smoke fills Apartment 22.

1:31 AM Fire detectors engage. A horrible ringing starts.

1:32 AM The Wife says, there’s something wrong. Implores writer guy to investigate.

1:33 AM Writer guy verifies there is smoke in the hallway. Returns to apartment tells the Wife to get a coat. Together they stuff cats in the kitty carriers.

1:34 AM Next door neighbor ( not Torch ) calls 911.

1:35 AM Writer guy, The Wife, Master Buddhapuss and Electra evacuate with car keys, cellphones and wallets.

1:36 AM Sirens announce the arrival of the fire department. Police escort everyone out of the building.

1:37 AM Police locate the culprit, Torch. The Spice Channel is still on.

1:38 AM Crowd gathers outside the house, gawking at the spectacle of ten police, two fire trucks and eight firemen. Police cars block all traffic on the street.

1:39 AM Fire department informs tenants of the situation. Cursing at Torch begins.

1:55 AM Tenants allowed back inside respective apartments. Torch watches tenants enter from his doorway, the embarrassment visible.

1:56 AM Landlord arrives. Writer guy approaches him in the hallway. Says something witty like, “while you’re here I’d like to talk to you.” Makes offer on some space in the basement. Landlord accepts in theory.

1:59 AM Writer guy returns to apartment. Agrees with the Wife that the evacuation procedure is good, but needs practice.

2:00 AM – Sunrise – Other tenants toss and turn, while Writer guy snores like a wildabeast. He knows someday soon he will see his walls again.

A most intriguing question awaits Master Buddhapuss on Monday.

Even if no one really missed the site for the past few days, I missed blogging. Yes, I am comfortable sharing that sentiment with the Internet. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.

Meanwhile on the domestic front the book listing drama continues.

The Wife: How much longer do you need to list all these books?
Sam: It’s coming along.
The Wife: Might it come along faster?
Sam: Is that a hint?
The Wife: It’s not a question.

The situation resembles the drinking song 100 bottles of beer on the wall. Only books aren’t drinkable and are so proliferate they literally are the walls. Solution: List and sell me some books. Right now!

After careful consideration the writer/agent workshop is on my schedule. That’s the good news. The bad news, unless a miracle strikes ( go see the movie - anything is possible ), Velocity won’t be complete in time for the workshop. However, on the advice of virtually everyone, I’ve let that go. In place of the finished manuscript I’ll storm the facility with a few copies of the synopsis, the first ten pages and a perfect pitch.

After a mighty effort Buddhapuss Books prevails at the warehouse. Two trips, lots of water, protein bars and a krillion lookups. Next stop, listing 500 books. A note for my neighbors downstairs, if you hear some awful noise just don’t ask me what it was.

Behold the mighty Buddhapuss as he personally verifies the receivables.

There’s a real blog tomorrow. I swear!

Fans of the furry guy can blame me for the lack of Master Buddhapuss on Friday. The hiatus was not for want of a question, but for lack of time. See, good fortune delivered a pile of books to my doorstep ( Thanks Big Matt! ) and they needed listing. Because whenever the hallway doubles as a sorting station for more than twenty-four hours, The Wife gets real mad.

After adding the listings, I reset all the shelves, slashed prices on the laggards, and raised prices on the faster moving stock. Among the existing stock: four books unlisted for nearly five months. With nearly a thousand titles for sale, housekeeping chores like these take time. Poor Buddhapuss couldn’t get near the keyboard.

Monday and Tuesday is a buy trip for Buddhapuss Books and time constraints may preempt the blog until Wednesday.

Today, however, is a writing day. Still haven’t decided about the workshop in June. As the solitary voice of dissent about my attendance, I have to ask myself why.