This website offers a variety of my Giclee art prints for sale.  Also, free to read and see are snack-sized fiction, and little tidbits from my imagination in the form of cartoons, and animations. New stuff may pop-up at any time, but generally, it will be posted on a Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday — Enjoy, and of course, comments are welcome.


Indigenous Harmony

Beauty & the Bees—Indigenous Harmony
Call 316-990-2496 for Giclee print pricing (Sizes 16″x20″, 18″x22″, 20”x 24”)


Mona Lizard

Call 316-990-2496 for Giclee print pricing (Sizes 12″x15″,16″x20″, 18″x22″, 20”x 24”)mona_Lizard16x20

Prima Ballerhino

Call 316-990-2496 for Giclee print pricing (Sizes 12″x15″,16″x20″, 18″x22″, 20”x 24”)ballerhino

Stephen Colbert call

Call 316-990-2496 for Giclee print pricing (Sizes 12″x15″,16″x20″, 18″x22″, 20”x 24”)Stephen_Colbert2

Tough Guys Polo

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Jesus—for all races

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Drain the swamp…he is the swamp

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Just Coffee

I felt zombie-like, as I wandered through the airport.

My odyssey so far had three weather delays and two re-routes. I was booked on a red-eye in an hour and I needed a cup of coffee—bad. 

Spotting a kiosk I headed for the counter.

“What can I get you, sir?”

“Large coffee, please.”

“We have a special on lattes, frappicinos, cappicinos, expressos, and our iced mochas.”

“Just coffee.”

“Regular or decaffeinated?”


“Excellent choice. We have ‘Lighty Brighty,’ ‘Roasty Toasty,’ or ‘Lava Java’?”

“Uh… we’re still talking about coffee, right?”

“Of course sir.”

“I guess I’ll try the ‘Roasty Toasty.’”

“Awesome choice.” After tapping some keys on a register, he said, “That’ll be fourteen dollars.” 

I stared at him in awkward silence, as I waited for him to crack a smile, and say that he’s kidding.

Didn’t happen.

Out of a groggy desperation, I handed him my Visa, and looked up just in time to see ‘Delay’ pop-up next to my flight. 

Showing the slightest hint of a smile, he swiped my card, and said, “Oops, I’m sorry sir —I forgot to add in the airport tax.”




It’s not like I’m obsessed. I just like watching her. I look at her a lot—but that’s not a crime. It’s not hurting anyone—it’s not like I’m a weirdo. I work. I pay taxes. I buy Girl Scout cookies.

When I go out, I watch people, and honestly, I prefer being by myself; observing, and listening in on other people’s conversations. They’re so creepy and dishonest. Only saying things they think the other person wants to hear. They’re fakers.

But me, I’m sincere and extremely excited as I take a peek. I know she knows I’m watching. She flaunts her wet, naked body—she looks straight at me. If only my goldfish could talk, it would be perfect.

Teddy Bear


The teddy bear, like Switzerland, refused to take sides, it’s shoe-button eyes stared straight ahead with complete neutrality.

“It’s mine!” the boy wailed in vain.

“Noooo…let go! the girl screamed.

The 3-year-old twins were in a heated tug-a-war. The stuffed bear had become the single-minded object of their affection. At three, the little boy didn’t have the natural physical advantage that he would eventually develop. So for now, his sister, with pure tenacity, was kicking the crap out of him and winning the battle.

The boy gamely hung on to one fuzzy arm, as the girl, pulled him in twisting and flopping like a thirty-pound tuna. In desperation, the boy launched himself forward, sending everyone tumbling across the floor and into the base of the sofa with a thump.

From the kitchen, an ignored voice of authority called out, “Play nice!—You kids stop fighting or you’ll both be in timeout.”

On the floor, the struggle continued unabated with the toddlers wrestling for control. Suddenly the boy let out a shriek and screamed, “Sissy bit me!”

Mom rushed in and stood over the twins. The boy was laying on the floor with tears rolling down his cheeks.

His sister was sitting beside him. She clutched the teddy bear and looked up through her watery brown eyes and said “I didn’t.”

Picking up her son, she rocked him and kissed the rising red welt on his shoulder trying to make it all better. Mom then narrowed her eyes at the little girl, and scolded, “We don’t bite.”


With blood still glistening on its fangs, the spider thought, ‘but we do’, and scurried back to its babies under the sofa.


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