No longer silent

AS if I ever was…

this is part of a new series which may or may not last very long…depending on who wants to be a motherfucker…that’s right calling out motherfuckers in the small press as it no longer applies to my personal life and other aspects of this brief mortal struggle…

say, Mike why are you taking a piss on ST AUGUSTINE POET FEST this year?

Well, do I have an answer for you…

Chris BOdor dry drunk narc

This is Chris Bodor…who submitted to DFP previously. We collaborated on a few things which led to him inviting me to St Augustine Poet Fest last year only to leave me high and dry


What does that even mean?

Well, Chris Bodor is one of those motherfuckers that is a virtue signaling dry-drunk. His sobriety a badge of honor as he dutifully attends church so you know he’s a good guy but guess what? He’s still an addict. Still needs that ego stroked. Needs followers. It’s not even a human, a narc is empty and dark inside and desperately cloys at you like an infant for something that it is missing to get high on its supply. A strange sort of mammal it is.

So after paying him to sponsor a show and sending hundreds of dollars of free DFP merchandise that motherfucker/dry drunk narc…didn’t pick me up from the Jacksonville airport…alright no problem. I ubered…only to get to my hotel and realize my phone was dying.

His reply “Can’t someone else help you at the hotel?” Apparently being 4pm he had to have dinner and go to bed early for the big day tomorrow.

No offer to take me to a cellphone store. Had to uber everywhere to find a charger and eventually got a new phone when someone outside of a department store gave me a ride. After my complimenting my CBGB shirt and smoking down with me.

End of story? NOt really. Had to use my old dying phone along with the hotel clerk’s late night into early morning as my new phone was programmed with the wrong password resulting in my being locked out. Eventually the hotel called to get me a cab to get to the right place to pay even more money to unlock my new phone.

I repeatedly tried to get in touch with Bodor throughout the night and early morning with him complaining about his bladder issues along with “document these adversities Henry Rollins would be proud”

THe next morning

No one reached out. Just are you going to be here…later in the afternoon. When I was supposed to have a solo reading, be part of a discussion panel and such.

What did I do instead? Went to book stores. Hung out with a one armed uber driver who gave me a homemade edible who was once the world’s potsticker champion (go figure) and crashed at the airport for 14 hours because my time was shit there and all I wanted to do was get home.

So yeah that makes Chris Bodor a dry drunk narcissist motherfucker.

Pray for me a bitch or have yourself a drink

Also fuck Poet Plant Press

Published by Mike Zone

Mike Zone is the former Editor in Chief of Dumpster Fire Press and managing editor of Concrete Mist Press. The author of Screaming in the End: Poems and Stories, Fuck You: A Fucking Poetry Chap, Shedding Dark Places (almost), One Hell of a Muse , as well as coauthor of The Grind and Razorville. A frequent contributor to Alien Buddha Press and Mad Swirl. His work has been featured in: A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Black Shamrock Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Better Than Starbucks, Piker Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Synchronized Chaos, and Cult Culture magazine.

2 thoughts on “CALLING OUT MFS

  1. I’ve had a few of these in my time, they make a big deal about the invite, then just leave you in a strange place to freak out.
    Then use it as an opportunity to trash you. Fuck him.


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