About The New Porker

The New Porker strives to slap our readers with stories straight off the pig's back. We sizzle our stories in grease and serve them hot off the griddle: tasty, salty, and with a hearty crunch. Unlike other online periodicals, The New Porker is not afraid to reach elbow-deep into the bowels of truth. We provide our readers with fatty perspectives, harder to chew than grizzle. But as they say, the longer you chew, the closer you are to the swallow. Email us at: info@thenewporker.com

Check out The New Porker

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Hello, Old Friends!

I can’t believe it’s almost been 3 years since I last updated honestbuzzard.com!

Hopefully, in the near future, I’ll have time to upload some new stories and excerpts from the novel I’ve been working on.

But the main reason for this post is there’s a side project I’ve been working on that I think you guys might like. It’s a satirical news website I started called The New Porker. 

Here’s our logo:

The New Porker Logo

We’re currently looking for new humor writers that are interested in collaborating on stories and projects. Or if you have a great headline or idea for a story we’d love to hear it.

Check out our submissions page for more info.

You can also email me at: info@thenewporker.com

Hope to hear from y’all soon!

And I’m looking forward to getting honest buzzard back up and running in the next few weeks!

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Lights Out

Through a puff of smoke and the discordant

notes of an amateur piano man, I watch her

sitting alone in a back corner booth,

a candle paints her face, eggshell

eyes like two dead light bulbs. Continue reading

Paper or Plastic? (Part II—Double D’s)

    I used to work with a red head girl everyone called Double D’s. She inherited the nickname after she banged Robert the produce guy on a stack of lettuce boxes in the produce cooler. Double D’s stood for Dirty Dana, she was the store slut. Continue reading

Beyond Palace Walls

    Drunk, I staggered down a Tijuana alleyway. A moon bent like a finger nail clipping lit my way. I watched a mangy brown puppy eating old tacos from a tipped garbage can as I dragged my tired feet back towards the U.S. border. I had just been drinking, laughing and dancing with friends at one of our favorite bars when that familiar anxiety came over me. I had to leave. I told everyone I was taking a taxi back to the border, but I had something else in mind.

Continue reading