Albert Frank

I work for the University of Texas, and it pays the bills. I could use more money but I’m not going to complain, things could be much worse, much more uncertain. I know because I’ve been there.  I’ve had many, many jobs in my adult life. I’ve managed to whittle together a pretty seamless resume of 5 jobs, but the truth is much more entertaining. My actual resume would never get me a job, but it’s pretty interesting. Here are my jobs as follows;

Jimmy Gabacho

A young Italian woman who had recently moved to the area discovered the wonders of eating dinner at Cracker Barrel. Like Marconi, she broadcasted her discovery on her Facebook to the entire world. Her brother, who was living in the Windy City, was appalled.  He raved at the shame that she had brought on their family name and threatened to disown them publically if they didn’t make a pilgrimage to the Vatican City and cleanse their bodies in the waters of the Tiber.


Let’s start with the obvious: all of us are, or should be, thankful that Portland’s Christmas tree lighting ceremony was not bombed by a would-be terrorist. Other facts to put on the table: the young man harbored strong anti-American feelings, he communicated with and attempted to visit a friend that moved to Pakistan, and, most importantly, he believed his actions would lead to the detonation of a bomb at the tree-lighting ceremony.

But there’s another important point that may not be as obvious to those of us reading the news reports this week: there never was a plot to bomb Portland’s Christmas tree lighting ceremony, nor was there ever any danger of such an attack.

John Hicks

Time is tight.  It’s Thanksgiving Day (these are my last precious moments of peace and quiet for god knows how long) and I just got back from a road trip that featured lots of fun and music and very little sleep.  More on the trip later.  First things first.  Let’s go!

It’s been thrilling to see the number of contributors to BBL&L shoot up over the last few weeks.  I assume this means we’re getting a bunch of new readers, too.  I’ve been asking all my friends to mosey on over and check it out.

Here’s my usual pitch: “It’s an eclectic bunch of writers and artists from all over the country.  You should mosey on over and check it out.”


When you’re a kid everyone asks you what’s your favorite color. This is a silly question. There are too many colors to choose from. Like it is fighting over green yellow and black. Because I like all of them even other colors. I like black because it’s dark. If you press hard it looks dark and nice and pretty. I press my pencil hard to get that color. I like green because it’s so shiny and my tongue is green right now because I got a green lollipop.

Albert Frank

My rental car stalls on a country backroad. I turn the key, and it chugs away helplessly. I get out and start walking down the gravel pathway. The sun is shining pleasantly. I soon see a small farmhouse in the distance. The grass along the road is tall, and amber colored, it whips along with the wind. Behind me, I can hear what sounds like rainfall, or popping corn, only faint, as if at a distance. I turn around and see the undulating blackness of a locust swarm. It was coming my way, like a filthy blanket…rolling.

Bob Hudson

Bob recently fractured his femur and wrist while in the Bahamas during his latest money-making scheme, The Bob Hudson Poetry Cruise.  He was whisked from the cruise ship to a secret underground medical facility where they rebuilt him and made him better.  His collections include the majesty of the past, into the cold wind, the train, women not my wife, trance of paranoia, she lets me and no gunshots right now.