Bonus "Is It Spartanburg?" Edition

When common sense attacks,
them Spartanburg boys don't cut it no slack.

I'm aiming for posting these once a week, but sometimes you come across stories too good to wait. So here's a bonus edition of Is It Spartanburg? featuring a little sword play today. Here are your choices:

1. Pregnant Woman Bites Teen After He Cuts Her With Sword
2. Man Holds Up Waffle House While Wielding Samurai Sword
3. Three Arrested in Pirate Sword Fight Re-enactment Gone Awry

Swords aren't generally the weapon of choice with gang members, but in Sparkle City, anything goes. If you picked headline number one, you're today's big wiener. Coming to us from the scenic west side of town, sheriff's deputies say Malaki Alberto Dominic Aguado got a little ornery when talking about his gang and challenged another man to a fight. One thing led to another, as in the man kicked Malaki in the chest, causing him to drop his knife, and then Malaki's father dragged him in the house as he threatened to kill everyone.

Deputies say Malaki returned with a sword and began thwacking at everyone in site. He hit the original target, but also sliced a pregnant woman in the neck. Malaki foolishly dropped his weapon (I mean, you're already pot-committed at this point), and in the ruckus, the woman bit him on the shoulder.

Dad cleaned up the mess until the deputies arrived to haul Malaki away. According to deputies, Malaki, of course, gave them all the obligatory "I know where your families live" threat.

I may have to work a little sword play like this into my next book, which you can read about... now!

Sparkle City Cleaners
Divorce. Lay off. Cancer. Three old high school friends have hit the wall, and they haven't even reached 30 yet.
But one night as they drown their problems at their favorite watering hole in their hometown of Spartanburg, their lives take a turn. They meet a notorious criminal who just got off clean in a high profile murder case. When an unfortunate series of events leads the three friends to killing the man in a desolate field, one of them hatches an idea:
Spartanburg is filled with crime and scum. Why not clean it up... and make a little cash on the side?
The three start the Sparkle City Cleaners, a hitman-for-hire business that offers its services to victims who can pay up and keep their mouths shut. Operating out of a rundown skating rink, the friends find business pouring in a lot faster than they can keep it up.
And it isn't long before their successful venture starts attracting the attention of the FBI... and one of the most notorious crime families out of New York.
Because in a bad economy, the killing business is always good. And everyone wants their cut.

Free books, free rides, and free fruit.

So good we're giving it away.

Download Tallyho in the Squat free on Tuesday and Wednesday.
I'm offering another giveaway with my book. You can download it here Tuesday and Wednesday, free of charge. Even better, the top ten rated reviewers on Amazon will be entered to win a $50 gift card from Amazon.

Don't have a Kindle? Don't worry. You can download the Kindle app for your computer or smart phone free of charge. Don't make Rye ornery. Download the story today.

Is it Spartanburg?
In this edition of is it Spartanburg, we're getting a little fruity. See if you can guess which headline comes from Sparkle City:

Man assaults victim with watermelon
Man allegedly steals $1,800 worth of peaches
Melon truck overturns; shuts down I-85

Think you know it? One of the little known facts about South Carolina and the Spartanburg area in particular is that although Georgia boasts its title as the peach state, the Palmetto State actually produces more peaches than our neighbor to the south. So, according to police, Richard Hill couldn't resist raiding a local peach farm and making off with $1,800 worth of the fuzzy fruit, which as you know, is a helluva lot of peaches.

Police say Hill also had 30 grams of marijuana on him. Hey, when you get the munchies, it's always good to eat healthy.

This Ain't No Free Ride
Hopping down the road to my new home in Charleston, the city has declared war on people who use UberX, the ride-sharing app that circumvents the taxi industry in the area. City officials and taxi company owners met to discuss how this service would cause them a massive loss in profits wasn't safe for locals to use. Violators will first receive a warning, then they could face over a $1,000 fine.

It's not exactly a surprising ruling as Charleston has a knack for kicking businesses in the teeth for the sake of tourist revenue and good press in tourist publications.

Uber has responded by offering to pay the fines of anyone the police ticket. I'm not sure if that's a good screw you to the city as they'll continue to make money off the issue, but at least Uber is watching out for its customers.

We locals can rest easy at night knowing the Charleston cops are cracking down on violent ride sharers instead of wasting time on all the unsolved homicides in the city (Charleston city beats out every other area law enforcement agency for unsolved homicides).

A City that Sparkles

Introducing Spartanburg's new city flag.

Whenever I see an amusing crime headline online coming out of South Carolina, or sometimes anywhere in the nation, I like to play a game called "Is it Spartanburg?" It's a simple game, really. If I click on it and the dateline reads my hometown, I pat myself on the back and take a swig of beer. If I lose, I skip the pat and still take a swig.

Since Spartanburg holds the title of South Carolina's most dangerous city and is the 12th most dangerous place to live in the U.S., there are no doubt a wealth of crime stories coming out of Sparkle City. And many of them are absurd. As Bill states in Tallyho in the Squat, if Spartanburg had a city flag, it would be black with a chalk body outline.

So in what I've decided to be a weekly segment here, I'm going to let you play my favorite game at home. Beer swigs not included. I'll give you three off-the-wall crime headlines, and you have to guess which ones occurred in Spartanburg. Here is your first entry:

Bullets Fired into Home Shoot Down Fan

Woman Tries to Sell GPS to Trucker She Stole it From

Wedding Ring Found in Goldfish Snack Bag

Man Fires Shots at Toddler's Birthday Party

So which one is in Spartanburg? Okay, I cheated this time. They all are! And that's just for the past week. Granted, a discovered wedding ring isn't a crime story, but I found it unique no less. The most Spartanburg County-esque one was the shooting at the birthday party, although thankfully no one was injured. In that one, police say the suspect shot a .22 pistol and then a BB gun into the ground during an argument with someone else at the party.

I'll try to keep the stories recent. But it's hard not to go back to classic blasts from the past like this one. Or the time truck hitch testicles making one sheriff's deputy ornery. Or when things get really hot down in the South, just grab an ice cream and stick your family jewels in a money deposit bag.

But sometimes, the news out of there gets really grim.

In good news out of Spartanburg (but probably bad news for police), another Blue Law takes a tumble as Sunday alcohol sales get the green light in the county. This should no doubt produce some fun stories after church for me to share with you. Cheers.

Of Beer and Futbol

Woke up this mornin', grabbed myself a beer.

Unique. Brilliant. Those are just some of the words the Magnolia Blossom Review used in their superb analysis of Tallyho in the Squat. You can watch the complete video review on the Youtubes. As the review says of the book, "A solid and humorous tale… I would highly recommend this book to anyone wanting an afternoon of side-splitting down home humor and debauchery."

Today I'm heading over to Brewery 85 for the U.S. World Cup match vs. Belgium. Before we get into discussing the lesser version of football, lemme tell ya why you need to check this place out. Brewery 85 recently opened in Greenville, SC. It's run by two local boys, Will McCameron and Jeremy Caldwell. While Bud Light may flow like wine in the South, I align myself in the beer snob/craft brew faction. And if you're looking for some beer that's also unique and brilliant, look no further.

Not only does Brewery 85 have a great set up to enjoy a few cold ones while watching a sporting event, but some of their concoctions are better than the usual craft brew fair you'll find at your local watering hole. I personally prefer the Quittin' Time, a delicious Helles Bock.

Look. If you're a beer aficionado, do yourself a favor and check em out. Not in driving range? Give em a holler by phone and I'm sure you can work something out.

I certify that they did not offer me free beer to plug their brewery. Although that would be nice...

While I'm there today, we'll be watching the futbol. I don't care much for soccer. It doesn't drive me into fits of irrational hate like it does this favorite Fox News psycho, but like most Southerners, I'd much rather watch the American pigskin variety than guys in knee socks rolling in the grass in pain whenever someone blows on them. But why do I give a damn today? Cause 'Murica.

It's a superb anomaly. People who ordinarily avoid soccer like the Mark Clark Highway in Charleston cannot overcome their jingoistic zeal when the boys in red, white, and blue take the field. Chalk me up as well. Hey, if it makes us forget about which side of the political spectrum we fall for 80 minutes of united debauchery (plus three minutes added time for Congressional bullshit), then bring it on.

I don't really understand what warrants a yellow card, but I understand "Goal, y'all!"

Giddyup

Dat's my cousin runnin' right dere.

So my friends and I ventured to the 68th running of the Blockhouse Steeplechase in Tryon, NC, this past weekend. It's horse race that serves as a front for a shit show of drunken debutantes, frat boys, and Spartanburg hicks. I lean more towards the latter.

Southerners take horse races to epic heights of pageantry and ridiculousness. The most infamous in South Carolina is the Carolina Cup, where the only horse race most participants ever see at the event is a beer chugging contest between some USC coeds. The Blockhouse isn't as epic of an event, but we hold our own every year with a dash of stupidity in our mint juleps. As you can see above, I make sure bring along my horse mask each year.

Amidst the usual smorgasbord of beer pong, cornhole, and some Wofford freshman passed out on a camouflage cot, the Blockhouse offers an assortment of unique goodies. There's a British PA man who drips of sarcasm and smack talk. They release several white doves, which causes most of the good ole boys with shotguns in their cars to exercise some restraint. A pack of hounds does a couple of laps around the track beforehand, and old bitties compete in a hat contest. There's a tailgating contest as well, but I think that's for whomever has the nicest setup, not the tailgate with the drunkest idiots. So we don't compete.

One of my favorite Blockhouse memories as a kid of 10 or 11 was waiting in line at the portable toilets. Two  drunk good ole boys decided they should push over a john--which contained another drunk good ole boy friend of theirs--into the creek. He emerged faster than a filly that had dropped her load before a race, covered in blue water and shit, both fists swinging. His friends had a head start and retreated into the mass of tailgates.

I don't have to tell you that folks up in Kentucky take it seriously. In fact, we had to miss out on a Kentucky friend's Derby Party in Charleston where people dressed to the nines--to watch a race on TV. And that's what makes the South awesome.

An even more redneck SC horse race event is the Elloree Trials, where your tailgate is notably out of place if it lacks a Confederate battle flag. Our entourage had a shotgun cocked at us at the after party by a nearby meth head, so we called it a fun outing.

The best part about these races? You get into the event with one car and as many people as you can fit on the vehicle. So if you want to join us next year, holler at me. I have bungee cords and a luggage rack.

Whatsoever goeth upon the belly

I'se in yer Mt. Plastic, drinkin' up all yer mimosas.

So a Gaboon Viper is on the loose in Mt. Pleasant, and it made folks a bit uneasy as they sipped their mimosas during Sunday brunch. Faux beaus everywhere suddenly became a little less country at the idea of this quite dangerous African snake slithering around near the Bridge Run.

Had the critter been released in Spartanburg or some of the other surrounding Upstate areas, I'm quite sure it would have set off a county-wide snake hunt, and the first one to corral the little bastard would have been given the garage door opener to the city.

Most Southerners become accustomed to growing up around snakes, and children are taught at an early age to look down at the ground when traipsing through the woods. This lesson saved me from a few snakebites in my day, including the time I encountered a 4-foot copperhead sunbathing near one of our Beagle pens as I hosed them down.

We're also taught to take care where we stick our hands when it comes to sorting through brush and woodpiles, a lesson that my father forgot a few years ago. It earned him a bite from a one-fanged copperhead on his pinky finger. About a year later, the family Labrador battled the very same one-toothed beastie. Although it tagged her on the snout and left a scar, Molly emerged victorious.

I'm sure Northern city folk have other worries, but poisonous snakes in the wild--or any snake, for that matter--aren't high on their list. Last year, when relatives came down from Cincinnati and we headed to the backyard for the usual Spartanburg tradition of blasting targets with our assortment of firearms, I watched as the entire Northern extension of my family walked right by a 5-foot black snake without any of them spotting the critter.

In the South, there is only one sentence for a snake that crosses our paths: Death. We were armed to the teeth, so justice was swift.

I know this upsets some folks, particularly any animal lovers out there. Sure, we understand that snakes make good predators for rats and other critters. But a snake in the yard can often lead to a snake in the garage, a snake in your pet's pen, or even a snake in the house. For example, the two enormous black snakes I caught doin' the nasty in my parents' basement.

On our property, snakes were a particular danger to the Beagle puppies we raised and the rabbits we tried to keep alive. We didn't fear them like Jimbo did; nay, we rained down death. But there's still plenty around the South to keep the population up.

But a Gaboon Viper? Nah, I'm good. Happy hunting, Mount Pleasant.

Spending Time With My Fools

It's not really fair to call drinking a great Southern past time as it's pretty much been a relic of every culture in every country ever since mankind figured out how to ferment just about any organic substance. Hell, in Africa they tap the damn palm trees and make wine of out it. But in the South, I would argue we turn drinking into an art form. We, on the whole, are the least responsible with alcohol, and South Carolina remains one of the biggest drinking states per capita in the nation.

We Clemson fans and our in-state rival Gamecock fans likely have a little hand in those statistics. After all, when you order a Coke from the concession stand at a game (they now have payment plans so you can afford them), savvy soda pourmen know to leave a little off the top so the buyer can slip in a little bourbon. Or a lot of bourbon until your wife bans you from bringing a flask into games because your postgame behavior on the Atlanta MARTA was, shall we say, "poor".

As Hemingway said, "An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend times with his fools." I, however, enjoy surrounding myself with intelligent men who like to act like fools. And we plan to do our share of foolishness this weekend here.

Booze and the remnants of the Confederacy have always produced the best stories, and it is from those I worked a few details into my fiction writing. There is a light of truth in the old joke, "What's a redneck's last words? 'Here, hold my beer a sec.'" (Or sometimes just "Hey y'all, watch this!") Thus I share with you an adventure in Chicago that five Southern boys (one of them being yours truly) had a couple of years ago.

I'm not sure what led us to Streeter's Tavern, but it took us maybe an hour and three minutes to hit legendary status there. I would like to point out that two of our party were a former professional wrestler and a parole officer. I believe these to be somewhat important details. Streeter's had a beer pong table, although you had to use water due to Illinois health code standards. We ran it immediately, and we soon found ourselves surrounded by DePaul students fascinated with these rowdy Southern boys who had invaded their bourgeois abode. We sang boisterously and loudly to every song played, and we soon had the bartender pumping in country tunes.

A line formed at the beer pong table and people asked us if they could sign up to play. One member of our party made up a fake list and acted the role of the beer pong bouncer.

Needless to say, we shut the bar down at 4 a.m. (two hours later than South Carolina drinking times) and stumbled to the subway. There I snoozed all the way to the hotel, and when my comrades roused me at our stop, I discovered that my legs no longer worked and I collapsed to the ground.

I found the only words appropriate: "Help! My legs don't work!"

Those of you who have read Tallyo in the Squat might recognize a similar occurrence with Jimbo on the Atlanta MARTA. One of my buddies dragged me off the subway while the other absorbed the constant slamming of the subway doors against his sides so I could escape. A lone flight attendant witnessed the spectacle and hopefully had a story to tell as she departed across the country later that morning.

Perhaps my friends get drunk so they can spend time with me. Either way, those moments make the best stories.