Mike Exinger IS Buxton Manning!

@mikeexinger.bsky.social

2550 Followers 4485 Following

Retired, loudmouth, progressive, Oregonian (born elsewhere, don't judge me). 💙📚 Author of adult novels, YA novels, and five gambling how-to books. See it all: www.BuxtonManning.com No DMs

No Kings rally
SOTU Bingo
Badger in an apron
chart of the top 20 colleges with the highest STD rates.
Map of Buxton & Manning, Oregon
Cozy Mystery ARCs featuring Buxton Manning.
Two news clippings showing 250K jobs for Biden and only 50K for Trump.
five books from Buxton Manning
Cover of my novel, Gone Geezers.
Distracted writer
Me holding the cover image of my new book for 2026 - Gone Geezers.
score of Army Nacy in 3rd Qtr (16-7)
Copy from SI showing "cued" instead of "queued."
Schedule for the Scappoose Public Library Authors Festival.
Oh my God, he admit it!
https://open.substack.com/pub/mikeexinger/p/trump-calls-for-waron-us?r=4ypx1&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
https://mikeexinger.substack.com/p/what-happens-when-america-has-no
Words and Wine 11-29
Schedule of readings for SPLAF!
https://open.substack.com/pub/mikeexinger/p/a-breath-of-fresh-air?r=4ypx1&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
Whiny Butt Baby outfit
They’d been watching an old episode of Father Brown courtesy of Henry’s computer, which still had Windows 7. He’d found the TV series online and insisted to his friends that streaming episodes was the best way to watch, given his “small bladder problem” since he could stop the stream (the show’s, not his) in progress. There were still ten minutes to go when he hit the pause button again and raced off. It took tremendous willpower for Naomi not to grab the remote while Henry was gone and resume the show, as Father Brown had just discovered a key piece of evidence and was about to confront the killer. But while in mid-stream, Henry sensed her sabotage and yelled out, “Don’t you dare start it up again,” and Marva quickly grabbed the remote from the table and kept it from Naomi’s grasping hands. Once he returned, Marva gave him the remote back, while Naomi let him have it. “Dammit, Henry,” she squawked, “you’ve got to do something about your pee problem. Didn’t your urologist recommend laying off the coffee at night? I swear you spend half your life in the can.”
Three octogenarians sat on a sofa in front of a large-screen smart TV, intently watching an old episode of Hetty Wainthropp Investigates. Naomi Hale had her finger on the remote, ready to stop the show at a moment’s notice. Her sweatpants and house slippers were in sharp contrast to her Pierre-Louis Mascia crewneck floral-print silk top from Nieman-Marcus. Capped with silver hair (she always said “It’s never gray, dearie”) coiffed “just so” and enough makeup to increase the quarterly dividend at Avon, she was gorgeous for an old woman, and it was obvious she was stunning sixty years ago. Willowy and graceful as she sat back on the couch, one imagined Naomi was a dancer or model in her younger years. Dozens of pictures on the walls of her apartment confirmed the analysis. Same lovely face sans wrinkles, and the supple figure was still familiar, though some of it had been redistributed to other areas of her body.
Man holding sign 'It's going to get worse."
As they broke up after breakfast and started to go their separate ways, Henry made attempts to signal Marva and Naomi to stick around once Evie had left. He tried eye contact, but both had their heads down as they walked toward the dining room exit. Since that method failed, he coughed and made noises with his throat, hoping they’d turn in his direction, but the only one who looked at him was Evie. “Are you OK?” she asked. “Yeah, just something caught in my throat. Piece of toast, I think. A-HEM. There, better, thanks.” As Evie turned back, Naomi and Marva finally looked his way, and he made a grim face, pointed to the floor, and mouthed “Stay here.” It was the severe frown that delivered the proper measure, and the ladies allowed Evie to move forward without them, then doubled back to the dining room. “What was that all about?” Naomi asked. “I need to talk to you two alone. I’ve got more information, and a new theory, and didn’t want Evie to hear it just yet.”
“Did his son say anything else? Anything about a kidnapping? Or where his father actually was?” Granville scratched the side of his head as if this would improve his recall, but all he could come up with was, “Nope, nothing like that. I would have remembered.” “I’ll need both his sons’ contact info, please.” Matthews shook his head. “This is crazy.” The craziness continued once he reached Jason Kennedy at his law office. “We didn’t call the police because the ransom message said ‘No cops.’ And it wasn’t like they were asking for a fortune, so we talked it over and decided just to pay the ransom and see what happened.” Matthews made a face that might have withered Jason had he been there in person, but all he could do in response was to ask, “How much was the ransom?” “Like I said, not much. $19,000.”
Evie sucked in her cheeks and closed her eyes, no doubt imagining, and Naomi went on. “We like the Brit shows because they tend to be more cerebral than the American mysteries. All entwined with affairs, blackmailing, and everyone lying about everything. But there’s always a common thread. It’s a challenge to find it. These programs really make you think.” “Not unlike our situation,” Marva hinted. “Especially the common thread.” “You mean Xavier,” Evie said. “We do,” Naomi said. “He’s the only one we can place at the apartments that have been victimized, and he’s clearly central to the kidnapping. Like in the Morse episode, he’s the common thread. He either knows something or…did something.” Evie had just taken a sip of her tea. She carefully set down her cup and placed both hands in her lap. “Logic tells me he probably is involved, somehow, but knowing him these few months…I just can’t see it. He is holding something back, though.
“A teenager, dear,” Naomi implored. “All young girls are like that nowadays. I’m sure we were a handful when we were that age, too.” Marva shook her head. “Not me.” “No, I’m sure you weren’t. Castro wouldn’t have allowed it,” Henry said. “Castro?” Evie gasped. “You were in Cuba?” “Marva and her ex escaped in ’67,” Henry told her. “Somehow wound up in Portland running a Latin-themed food truck, and thank goodness for it. I had just transferred to the main branch of First Interstate Bank back then as a junior auditor, and their truck was only a couple of blocks away. She and Domingo made the best damn pulled pork and yuca fries you ever had.” Henry looked at Marva with wistful eyes. “We had a history even before Golden Shores.” “And Naomi, what about you? What’s your story?” “Scandalous, darling. Simply scandalous.”
“And keep those items most precious to you safe and protected,” Matthews said, repeating himself for emphasis. “If this requires you to store them in a more secure location, such as a safety deposit box, so be it. Or consider a small home safe if you want or need access to those items regularly.” Henry winced when Matthews said “safety deposit,” making the same mistake so many of his bank customers did. “It’s a safe deposit, dammit,” he whispered to Marva. But despite being bothered by Matthews’ error, it was his next comment that grabbed Henry’s attention even more. “Now I want to mention that there have been recent reports of some thefts in the villa. Nothing major, just some money and jewelry, and no one was hurt physically. But none of these incidents were on file with us.” His tone shifted slightly, revealing his agitation with the situation. “When that happens, it makes our job extremely difficult. You’re tying our hands. It sounds like there’s a pattern to these events, but we can’t be sure. You need to work with us and be involved.”
She immediately became combative. “He’s not my boyfriend, and you must be mistaken.” “I don’t know about the first thing, but I’m sure about the second. Ted said Xavier had volunteered to fix the leg of an end table while they were at dinner. Had to be then. Has to be him.” “Oh, just like that old Vikki Carr song I heard on the oldies station,” Naomi said as she sang, “It must be him; it must be him. Or I shall die. Oh, how I loved that song.” “And now he’s missing from the villa, so I suspect he knows the jig is up. Not sure how he knows, but he’s not here to defend himself. So—” No one said anything further. Henry basked in his glory, Evie hung her head in shame, and Naomi moved back and forth in her chair, singing another oldies tune in her head. Charlene came with their dinners, and they ate in silence for a while.
Emma put down her container and reached underneath a shelf next to the ice cream bin. She shifted her weight a bit and reached way back, then brought out a brown squeeze bottle. “Chocolate sauce,” she whispered. “Squirt a little of this on top. Delish.” “Uh, no, thanks,” Henry said. “What I wanted was, um, wanted to know was, um…” He couldn’t say it, and she stood back up and looked at him. He pointed to his own head with its receding hairline, and she nodded. “Years back, I tried some wacky diet to lose weight. Didn’t work a damn, and caused some of my hair to fall out. Started wearing a wig, and found that it fit better if I got rid of the rest of my hair, so ever since I’ve been like this. It’s great for scaring the grandkids, making sure they go to bed when they’re supposed to.”
“Well, hello there, bookworm,” he said. She didn’t respond, her attention drawn to the books that he held. She was tilting her head sideways, trying to read the titles. “Is something wrong?” he said. “Huh? Oh, no, just trying to see what you have there.” Xavier shifted the books in his hands so that a small thin volume lay upside down on top of two other books. “Just returning these two,” he said, holding the two books in question tight against his chest. “This one’s mine.” He held the small, thin book with pride and turned it over to show her the front cover. “The ABC’s of Craps?” “Yes, bought it online and it came in yesterday’s mail. I’m planning another trip to the casino, and thought I’d try something different this time.”
18—Geezer-Napping Henry had spent Thursday morning after breakfast back in his room, making a list. On one side of a sheet on a legal pad, he wrote down all the known burglaries in the villa and where they occurred. He looked for patterns, but the thefts occurred in all corners of the building, on both floors and in every wing. He’d hope to find some type of reoccurring array, such as they all occurred at the end of the corridor, or in a west-facing room, or something. Actually, he hoped there wouldn’t be such a grouping, since he so desperately wanted the answer to be “Xavier.” He smiled a bit when he found no pattern of the rooms, so he turned the sheet over and wrote down the victim’s names. Again, no pattern. No matter what categorical heading he came up with, the only connection he could find between events was Xavier. He smiled again.
“I think we’re good,” Henry said, “But before you go, we wanted to pick your brain.” “My brain? What’s wrong with it?” “Nothing. That’s just a figure of speech. We want to ask you about your dad—we hear he’s a detective.” “Um, yeah, got promoted last year. Big deal, I guess, but I dunno, because all he does is stuff like go after people stealing from cars or taking money out of the vending machines. My brother makes fun of him and calls him ‘Joe Friday’ for some reason, but he works other days, too.” “Joe Friday was the name of a famous police detective on TV, dearie,” Naomi said. “Happened way before your time.” “Oh. I don’t watch much TV. Anyway, what do you want with him?” “We want his advice on dealing with criminals.” “What for?”
Xavier’s brow furrowed deeply. “Me? Why in the world would I want to kidnap Evie?” “I can think of a lot of reasons,” Naomi said. “I mean, what people might imagine your reasons to be. You needed more money, and she was an easy target. Or you wanted to hurt her because you wanted her and she turned you down. Imaginations can run wild, especially when something like this occurs.” “That’s just silly. I have only the deepest respect for her. She’s quite a lady, and she—” “She’s missing,” Henry growled. “And I think she’s in danger. It’s time we found her and put a stop to your plan.” Xavier stomped his foot. “I keep telling you, it’s not my plan. It’s…” He caught himself before he said anything more. “We know it’s Mitch. And that’s why Evie’s in danger.” “From her own son-in-law?” “You really haven’t thought this through, have you? If Mitch took Evie, who is supposed to pay the ransom? And if there’s no ransom paid…what happens?” Xavier looked up at Henry with the same look a small child has when the beard falls off his uncle dressed up as Santa. He gasped, “You couldn’t possibly…he’d never hurt…no way!”
Me with a double scoop at Zinger's in Seaside, OR
After using the toilet, he fell back asleep and found himself back at the carnival midway. All the women of the town lined up to play balloon darts, ring toss, duck pond, skeeball, and the milk bottle game. For every game, they’d win tickets they could cash in for prizes, with Leo the top prize. From where he sat (next to another merry-go-round that never stopped), he couldn’t see who had the most tickets. Was it Lois? Gemini? Nora? Then he saw Amy Polaski, the woman Barnaby was dancing with, exchanging her tickets with Nora for a stuffed bear. Nora took those tickets, stuffed them in a bag, and handed the bag to Lois, who joined Gemini in the three-legged potato race. The two of them took off, tied together, and were way ahead of the rest of the pack, circling around the merry-go-round where Paula and Wendell both sat on camels, laughing at Leo each time they went around. Then he saw Hunter setting up cocktails at the cotton candy booth, pouring them into empty paint cans. The last thing he remembered before waking up in a cold sweat was everyone in town grabbing a paint-can cocktail and a straw, sipping it as they all rode the merry-go-round, reaching out each time they rode by to grab for Leo as if he were the brass ring. He jerked awake and sat up. Sighing, he got out of bed and went outside, around the back of the building so he could face the ocean. It had finally stopped raining, and the moon was just peeking out from the clouds. The air was brisk and the wind was cold, but to Leo, it felt like refreshing air conditioning on a hot summer’s day, with the added benefit of that delicious ocean brine aroma filling his nostrils. He inhaled deeply in an attempt to drive the demons from his mind. The moist, salty air soothed his stressful mind, allowing him to think more clearly. Finally, recovered from his nightmare, he wandered back into his room and fell into a deep, deep sleep.
“Hmph,” Henry hmphed. “She’s so stuck on that damned Xavier she can’t see straight.” “I know. I think you’re on to something with him,” Naomi said. “He’s involved somehow. Everything is centered around him, but without evidence, we’ve got nothing.” “Evie’s closer to him than we’ll ever be. Shame we can’t use her to find something.” “I thought that, too. And she’s so good at asking questions and figuring things out, so Marva and I are going to invite her for a little ‘girl time’ after lunch. We’ll propose watching an old episode of something on the tube and play sleuthing. We’ll try to get her involved again. You need to find a reason to be somewhere else for lunch so we can convince her to join us.” “Like what?” “Excuse yourself and say you’ve got to run to the bathroom. She’ll believe that.” Henry hmphed again.
GOP Convention signs
GOP Convention
WIP
WIP
WIP
GOP convention
WIP
GOP convention with Mass Deportation signs
Work in Progress - Gone Geezers
GOP Convention with "Mass Deportation Now" signs.
GOP convention with Mass Deportation Now signs.
GOP convention with Mass Deportation Now signs.
GOP convention with Mass Deportation Now signs.
GOP Convention with "Mass Deportation Now" signs.
Gone Geezers, final chapter
Mission from God my ass.
Mission from God my ass.
Mission from God my ass.
Work in Progress
Modified Trump meme
work in progress with "sign"