Dave's Fiction Warehouse

I would like to personally thank President Trump for steering Hurricane Dorian well clear of Alabama (and parts of Florida) through the sheer force of his will. That was a close one. If the president had not been closely monitoring the situation between rounds at his golf club in Virginia, this thing could have gotten rough. It’s still pretty bad: We have a couple of small branches in the yard and some puddles in the driveway. We will rebuild! Where do I go to collect my FEMA money? The other downside is that it’s kind of an emotional letdown. After five days of worry about flooding and the impermanence of certain trees nearby (and at least five unnecessary supply runs to Publix), we’re ending up with little more than a tropical storm — basically, a couple of regular Florida thunderstorms placed end to end. Very wet and very windy, sure, but fortunately we won’t be needing Trump to golf us through the aftermath. Just think: He could have gone to Poland after all!   One thing ...

D orian. Never met anyone named Dorian, unless you count “ The Picture of Dorian Gray. ” I finally got around to reading that a few years ago. Oscar Wilde. The book was sort of controversial in 1890. It’s about a guy who makes a deal with, if not the devil, then at least a Jeffrey Epstein-like character -- if Jeffrey Epstein had been a gifted painter instead of a gifted sex predator. The deal is this: Dorian may pursue a completely debauched and solipsistic life, with no consequence save one: the sum of his depravities will be reflected in the portrait.  So, given that, maybe it’s not something he’ll want to hang in the family room. Dorian will look OK in public, but that portrait: whoa. Every sin, it gets worse. Best keep it under a beach towel behind the StairMaster. And again, we’re back to Donald J. Trump, who notably (some would say exclusively) prefers paintings of himself. If there’s an attic in Mar-a-Lago, I’ll bet it’s home to one ugly-ass picture of the Orange One. We’re ...