George Singleton, the Chuck Norris of Literature?

Steve Almond: I remember seeing [George Singleton] at some civic lit fest in the South—Nashville or Charlotte, one of those cities with a flower for a theme and lots of corporate sponsorship. I’m taking this elevator downstairs to the lobby and the door opens and there’s George, stinking of cigarettes with a can of beer in his hand. It’s, like, 8am and he starts howling “Steve Almond! Steve Almond!” because, see, the first time we met was in New York, at some Book Magazine junket, where he got plastered and I was (of course) stoned out of my fucking mind.

Anyways, down in Nashville or Charlotte or Richmond or wherever it was, George drags me to an abandoned bar in the hotel where he continues to drink and smoke. It emerges that he did not, in fact, sleep the previous evening. Then he looks at his watch and says, “Shit! I’ve got a panel.” And he lurches over to the panel, where he reads beautifully and answers questions in his big booming voice, very relaxed and exuberant, so that everybody is thinking, “Wow, The George seems like he must be drunk but it’s 8:30 in the morning so he’s clearly just PRETENDING to be drunk.”

At this point Almond added that he and George had been lovers, but those of you who know Almond understand that this is just a nervous tic of his.

Mark Franks: One day we were hanging out at a “classy” bar downtown with the drama teacher who was teaching me and George fake fighting moves. We were asked to leave and went to a less classy bar where George trapped the drama teacher in the men’s room with an orange traffic pylon. When the thespian forced his way out of the toilet, he threw the pylon at George and we moved on to an even less classy bar.

Why am I posting these? Because they're funny, and I like Singleton's work. And he has a piece coming out in the next issue of Booth. More snakes and cigarettes and faculty-terrorism here.

_________________________________

Can I toss out one tiny bit of self-promotion? Barrelhouse just posted my (very) short story, "On Tubes, by Ted Stevens."

If that title makes you go whaaa?, here's a little refresher.