The Bighorns of Central Park by Lucian E.G. Spelman

           Valerie basked in the spring sunshine with her long legs crossed at the ankle. The columns of light filtering through the Hawthorns mottled her little red dress, and her breasts, even and high, saluted passing strangers with each breath.
         A man in a striped suit approached.
         "Is any one sitting here?" he asked.
         Valerie smiled demurely. "No," she replied.
         The man in the stripes took a seat, and began to make small talk.
         He was a broker; he went to Cornell; he lived in a loft, and had a hunting cabin up north; he drove German, and spent freely.
         Valerie mostly smiled and nodded.
         The man's wheedling liturgy was interrupted by a good-looking fellow in jogging shorts.
         "Hello," he said. "may I sit here?"
         "The lady is having a conversation with me, buddy. Buzz off."
         Jogging Shorts Man snorted and spit on the ground.
         Valerie knit her brow, and chewed her lip. Striped Suit glared. Jogging Shorts glared back, and snorted and spit again.
         Valerie's eyes shifted from one man to the other, and then back.
         Striped Suit stood up, and never taking his eyes off Jogging Shorts, he began to back away. He spit, wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve, and lowered his head.
         Jogging Shorts took a few paces back, unfastened his heart-rate monitor, stuck it in his front pocket, and lowered his head as well.
         Valerie sat upright.
         Striped Suit and Jogging Shorts ran at one another with their hands at their sides. Their heads collided, sounding like a billiards break. They both staggered like drunkards, and keeping a careful eye on one another, wobbled back to their starting position.
         Valerie shifted in her seat.
         The men glared at one another. Stripe Suit had added a fresh stripe. It ran in rivulets from his hairline.
         They rushed at one another again.
         CRACK! they went.
         Valerie applied lip gloss.
         The men circled each other three times, and backed away, spitting and snorting and bleeding.
         They charged, and Jogging Shorts got the drop this time knocking his opponent backwards. Stripes reeled and his eyes rolled back in his head. He mumbled something about a leveraged buyout, stumbled a few paces, and fell to the ground.
         Valerie flashed herself a smile in a compact mirror, and closed it with a snap.
         Jogging Shorts took his place next to her, and began to make small talk.
         He was in sales; he went to Brigham Young; he was renting now, but was in the market to buy; he drove Italian, and spent freely.
         Valerie mostly smiled and nodded.

Lucien Spelman is a former child flamenco guitarist/actor/stuntman and current writer/web designer/boat captain who lives with his wife Isabella, son Teague, and pugdog Luci in the beautiful North Shore of Massachusetts. Like most Musician/actor/stuntmen/writer/webdesigner/boat captains, he has waited enough tables in his life that if you were to line them up end-to-end they would for a bridge from here to Alpha Centauri. He greatest wish besides the health of his family is to never have to wait a table again. He has managed to nearly make this dream come true for several years.

BBT Magazine, or Blood, Blade, and Thruster Magazine to the neophyte, is a print magazine that blends speculative fiction & satire. Think Realms of Fantasy meets The Onion. Think Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine meets Mad Magazine.

While pondering the lack of humor present in most genre magazines, Lucien Spelman fell into a deep Guinness induced meditative state. Upon waking several days later, he flushed, threw open the door, and announced his Quixotic mission to bring high-quality, satirical content to the world of The Geek. Lucien created BBT Magazine in June of 2006, and with a self-deprecating sense of humor about his own geeky nature, and the help of long-time friend Kennedy Smith and avant guard roustabout Earl B Morris, he premiered the first issue in Sept of 2006. Remember their Motto: Minutus cantorum, minutus balorum, minutus carborata descendum pantorum!