WEEKEND REPORT: Epic, Thea, T.I.A., and Me! A Splendid Time Is Guaranteed for… oh, Maybe Not.

Posted on by Malcolm J. Brenner
Me, on No Kings Day, trying to look like a genuine Antifa member! Note, I mis-spelled “Fascist”! Good thing I didn’t feel well enough to attend the rally, with that shirt on, I’d have lost my posting to the Central Committee!

What follows is an utterly true, insanely compelling, and totally unbiased report to my Russian translator, known here for his protection only by his initials A.R., of what has happened to me since last Sunday evening that is of some significant medical note!

I say “unbiased” even though I write here about my own experiences, not because I think I can be seriously objective, but because this didn’t make the local news the way it did when, for instance, the celebrated primatologist Dr. Jane Goodall kicked the bucket recently, and if I don’t write about the shit that happens to me, who the fuck will?

I’m not naive enough to think that anybody else gives a rat’s ass about what’s going on here at Casa Galla del Delfino, aside from my scant friends and my money-grubbing family, all of whom are only awaiting my ultimate demise so they can divvy up Brenner Industries and my other significant holdings in painkiller pharmaceutical precursors, cluster bomb manufacturers, North Slope oil holdings, Sea Whirled Kuwait, and of course my secret whaling fleet, which I bought cheap after Aristotle Onassis died!

But after a night with no sleep, some rum and a bit — okay, more than a bit, a couple of joints of pot — I wrote A.R. this letter to inform him on these changes with my health, and then realized that if I didn’t post it here, on WordPress, I’d be kind of stupid not to inform you, my legions of slavering, demanding fans, of my impending, but hopefully uncertain and far-off demise!

Because if you really want an autographed or, Godz 4bid, DEDICATED copy of “Wet Goddess” or “Mel-Khyor,” the time to get one is, perhaps, soon? It’s not that I don’t trust my beloved daughter Thea, she of the sometimes-purple hair, to keep publishing the books after I die, if she sees any money or benefit in it, it’s just that I don’t think, even with electronic amplification, that hooking up an Auto-Pen to a Quija board is going to deliver the results you want! Just saying. Now, the letter…

Hey A*****, here’s some news that may move you to contact: I was just in a local hospital for 2 days! And let me level with you, it was no fun at all! A hospital may be a place to get tested, diagnosed, treated and healed, but is is no place to get well! That is best done at home, or some place where you can relax. In the hospital, you can’t relax unless you are so sick, that is your only option! But as usual, I digress:


Last Sunday evening, right around sunset, I was out walking my dog Epic around the block, which my house sits on the SW corner of. We had gone about 3/4 of the way, and were on the home stretch, when it felt like a gale-force wind, or some invisible thing, struck my right side, pushing me HARD to the left! But there was no wind! I staggered, and found I could no longer walk a straight line; I was zig-zagging like Trump awaiting Putin in Alaska! I dragged the mutt home as fast as I could, about 30 meters at that point, and once we were inside I looked in the bathroom mirror. The left side of my mouth was drooping down, even when I tried to smile.


These were all signs of a possible stroke. In her last years, my poor mother suffered a lot of small but incapacitating strokes, and I was familiar with the symptoms. I called my friend Dave, who lives about 30 minutes away (13 miles, 21 km), and arranged for him to take care of Epic while I got myself to the local ER of the better of two hospitals in town. I gathered up the necessities of aged life — glasses, my apnea-preventing CPAP sleep machine, cell phone and charger, dentures and Fix-O-Dent — stuffed them in a carry bag and called an ambulance by dialing 911, the American number for the nearest emergency dispatcher.


When it showed up in about 5 minutes, I reassured Epic (who has some serious abandonment issues) that I’d be back, and walked out to meet the ambulance. The EMT’s strapped me down on a gurney, even though the hospital is only 1/2 mile – 0.8 km away, and one started unwrapping a needle to insert a catheter in a prominent vein in the inner elbow of my left arm — all this while we were driving to the hospital.


“Couldn’t you wait until we get there?” I asked the EMT who was playing Dracula.


He looked at me with a rather bored but nevertheless professional expression and said, “We do this all the time. We know what we’re doing.” SKRRRRICH! He drove the needle in. 


When we arrived I was wheeled directly into the ER room where X-rays and other non-invasive diagnostic techniques are done. An ER doctor on duty gave me a blood thinner and anti-coagulant, and after a short exam by CAT scan, I was listening to a preliminary diagnosis from a remote neurologist on TV, and feeling very much like the protagonist in a low-budget sci-fi movie!

To show how hospitalization can make even a handsome, suave, sophisticated guy like me look like shit.
(Me, hospitalized and not looking quite as sharp as usual. Must’ve been a fingerprint on the lens of my iPhone!)


Although my symptoms were those of a stroke, there was no gross evidence of one that would show up on a CAT scan; a more detailed diagnosis would have to await Monday, when they could do a detailed MRI scan. They kept me overnight, and I barely got any sleep at all, because that goddamn catheter hurt! I asked my nurse to move it, but he didn’t get to it until the next day.


Well, long story short, they not only did the MRI scan Monday, I also got a chest echogram, an EKG, and echograms of my carotid arteries on both sides of my neck. They were looking for any irregularity that might have caused the presumed blood clot in my brain, but they came up empty handed. Much to the disappointment of many of my harshest critics, I turned out to be disgustingly normal.


A very nice woman neurologist came by eventually to explain what they thought it was: a Transient Ischemic Attack, or T.I.A.. No, this has nothing to do with Radical Islam, “ischemic” means not getting proper blood supply. I probably did have a “mini-stroke,” but my circulatory system then got up off the mat and proceeded to beat the snot out of the blood clot, which broke up and was promptly flushed away. Those blood clots, they can dish it out, but they can’t take it when the tables are turned! GRRRRRR!


I agreed that that explained my symptoms, which had gradually waned, and I’d recovered most of my ability to walk again without support by Monday afternoon. After another night of observation, the doctors agreed it was safe to release me back into the game preserve.

 

The scenic view from my hospital room window. The doctors here believe this view of Mother Nature promotes healing -- but then again, they still use leeches, tool
The scenic view from my hospital room window. The doctors here believe this view of Mother Nature promotes healing — but then again, they still use leeches, too. The park design is Modern Industrial, a look that is Brutalist, and not that different from the industrial mining town where my translator was trying to sell in a failing appliance store before he came across Wet Goddess, and the rest, as they say, is Great Russian Literature! Count Leo Tolstoy, Anton Checkov, Franz Kafka, eat your hearts out!


I had to catch a Lyft ride to get home, as it was too far for Dave to drive that day, and when the Lyft driver arrived, I got into his car without a shirt. Dave had visited me in the hospital the day before, and thinking of poor Epic sitting at home not knowing when or whether I was ever going to return, I gave him my T-shirt so she could smell it and know I was still above ground.


Walking the dog again that afternoon, I was astonished by the vibrancy of the sky, the glory of the beams of sunlight drawing water through the clouds, the lushness of the greenery all around me and the nicely ordered houses.


Nothing like a little brush with death to make you appreciate life, eh? I’m OK, but I’ve got a whole new list of medications, a new diet that basically eliminates everything I like to eat, and a couple of new specialist MDs, a cardiologist and a neurologist. Oh joy!


Well, our governor, Ron De Santis, has said “Florida is where WOKE comes to die!” I know you were trying to express your false dreams for the death of social responsibility, Ron, but let’s face it: SO DOES EVERYTHING ELSE!


Thus concludes for now my tale, A****. Tell me of your life, if you will! Or tell me to get lost. Just tell me something, OK? Thanks! — Malcolm

My sincerest thanks to the doctors, nursing staff, technicians, administration, and everyone else on Floor 4, HCA Fawcett Hospital, Port Charlotte, who took pretty damn good care of me while I was there, and put up with all my dumb Boomer-Age jokes! You’re a great bunch, and believe me, there’s no other place I’d rather be sick than with all of you around! — MjB

Shows the author with some junk stuff he's got stuck on the walls to cover the cracks, like some photos he risked life and limb to get.
ABOVE: My good friend Raving Dave gave me the Balsa Toucan, a former decoration of his palatial mobile home, and I chose the empty spot over the doorway. Little did I know that the Great Blue Heron, wading on the wall over my shoulder, would grow insanely jealous of the ornithological competition he now faced! The argument was about who had the better beak.

“My beak is sharp and deadly, and I can spear fish, amphibians, reptiles and even small mammals with it,” the GBH crowed. “Everyone better watch out for this death-dealing beak!”

To which the Toucan replied, “My beak eats fruit, doesn’t kill anybody, is charmingly colorful, and people think I’m a feathered comedian! HA! Go fuck yourself, you pompous, death-dealing excuse for a toothless sauropod! All the little critters fear you, but humans LOVE me!”

So far, the argument has not reached a definitive conclusion, and I have to listen to old 1970’s hits to tune it out. Any suggestions?

ALL CONTENTS ©2025 Malcolm J. Brenner/Eyes Open Media. All rights reserved. Secured in that giant computer in Brussels, Belgium that has everybody’s information in it. Yeah, yours too, you schmuck! Signatory to the Interplanetary Secrets Treaty of 1958, Dwight D. Eisenhower, President and Commander-In-Chief of Terrestrial Forces, officiating for Earth.

“Grusch revelations verify my UFO novel,” science-fiction author claims

Posted on by Malcolm J. Brenner
Cover illustration by Thea Boodhoo

For Immediate release, June 8, 2023/NOT EMBARGOED

Staff Report, Eyes Open Media

PORT CHARLOTTE, FL — Recent allegations that the U.S. has recovered parts, wreckage and even intact vehicles of extraterrestrial origin, made by a former government employee turned whistleblower, should expand interest in a controversial local author’s 2015 story about the attempted retrieval of a crashed alien spaceship and its surviving crew member.

“My novel ‘Mel-Khyor: An Interstellar Affair,’ opens with four members of an elite but woefully inadequate government black-ops unit trying to locate a reported UFO that’s crashed in the foothills of the Rockies, outside of Durango, Colorado,” said writer Malcolm J. Brenner. “What follows is a rather improbable science-fiction story, told in three-and-a-half timelines, of interplanetary intrigue, cosmic war and lust, both human and alien. It’s also the story of my second marriage, backed up by an authentic newspaper clipping.”

Brenner, just turned 72, is the author of two other self-published books, one of which has achieved some notoriety. “Wet Goddess: Recollections of a Dolphin Lover” is his thinly fictionalized novel of courtship and eventual seduction by a marine mammal of unusual abilities, one of them being interspecies telepathy! First published in 2010, it’s since sold more than 2,500 copies in 18 countries, Brenner said.

The plot of “Mel-Khyor” revolves around the surviving alien’s attempts to repair his AI-augmented spaceship and escape Earth, with the help of Susie Louise McGonagle (a pseudonym), whose family happens to own a vacation cabin just down the trail from the crash. Susie is shocked when the alien, called Mel-Khyor, tells her if he and his Ship are about to be captured intact, he is under orders to disable the Ship, and then kill himself, to prevent humans from obtaining advanced, star-traveling technology!

“Needless to say, Susie springs to his aid, then wonders what she can do to repair an alien spaceship,” Brenner said. “It so happens that the Ship learns to interface with her, so that she effectively becomes part of it, repairing itself!”

As unlikely as this scenario sounds, Brenner recalled, it originates in some pillow talk he and his fiancée had in New Mexico, after watching an early episode of the then-popular 1990’s cosmic-paranoia show “The X-Files.”

“She was sleepy, and that episode about UFOs must’ve jogged her unconscious,” Brenner said, “because she mumbled some words as we were going to bed, and when I realized she was talking about an actual, first-hand encounter with an extra-terrestrial alien, my blood froze.”

Further research revealed the timing of his ex-wife’s encounter, the night of August 2, 1978, coincided with reports of an unusual meteor falling over Canada and plunging south to Cheyenne, Wyoming, where it apparently exploded harmlessly 15 miles up, but with the force of a tactical nuclear weapon. The U.S. Air Force confirmed that the object, a bolide, was not man-made; Brenner believes the blast may have been a decoy intended to discourage searchers from looking for the survivor.

“If so, it didn’t work,” Brenner noted wryly.

It now seems that statements and allegations made by David Grusch, reportedly a former employee of the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA) and the National Reconnaissance Office (NRO) and a decorated Army combat veteran of Afghanistan, confirm that the U.S.A., and other nations, are in possession of wreckage, debris and even intact vehicles of extraterrestrial origin. Grusch was a liaison with the Defense Department’s Unidentified Aerial Phenomena Task Force for three years, and later a leader of the NGA’s UFO/UAP analysis unit. He is well-spoken-of by members of the intelligence community who know him. (Source: The Debrief, June 5, 2023.)

Referring back to his ex-wife’s experience, which he admits to sometimes doubting, Brenner said “It’s not the lack of extraterrestrial vehicles, it’s the lack of pilots who can actually fly them! These craft are, according to my ex-wife, controlled by a very sensitive, sophisticated artificial intelligence which merged, in some way, with her mind. The alien did that so he could interrogate her, but the net effect was that thereafter, she and the Ship were mentally linked, giving her the ability to work as its eyes and hands in repairing it,” Brenner explained.

“Flying one of these vehicles is going to require someone, like her, who has already been tuned-in to the sapient Ship and can do the equivalent of a ‘Vulcan mind-meld’ with its supercomputer,” Brenner continued. “It isn’t going to be easy, and if you don’t have what amounts to the computer’s password, it isn’t going to be fun, either!

“Such people are going to be in demand, to the point where our government might intervene to get them to cooperate, for National Security reasons,” Brenner mused. “I told my wife that her best protection from that would be to go on Oprah Winfrey’s show and tell her whole damn story. That way, if you ‘disappear,’ at least somebody with some clout will notice!” However, she rejected the idea.

Brenner has steadfastly refused to identify his ex-wife, or tell of her current whereabouts. “Somewhere between the Mississippi River and the eastern border of California,” he said when asked if he knew where she was. “She has relatives back East, somewhere, so she might be there, too.

“Please note that her son, in his late 30’s, served as a U.S. Army Ranger in the 10th Mountain Division for several years, surviving a brutal fire-fight in a conflict zone. I know for a fact that he will brook no intrusions whatsoever on his mother’s privacy,” Brenner warned would-be busybodies.

Brenner’s third book’s a memoir, “Growing Up in the Orgone Box: Secrets of a Reichian Childhood,” documenting the trauma inflicted on him by a sadistic pedophile psychiatrist and a cold, sometimes-brutal mother.

“Mel-Khyor” and “Wet Goddess” can be bought on Amazon, and an audiobook version of “Mel-Khyor” is available on Audible and other sellers. “Orgone Box” is at present only available as an ebook from Smashwords, but Brenner hopes to be able to reprint it as a trade paperback soon. He is working on a non-fiction book about his time as a newspaper reporter on the Navajo Nation.

Brenner’s web site is http://malcolmbrenner.com. He can be reached at malcolmb2@centurylink.net, or by cell phone at (415) 640-5013. Brenner strongly suggests you text him before calling, as he receives a lot of junk calls and sometimes answers them rudely.

Below is the Durango Herald’s clipping referred to above, documenting the alleged meteor’s fall.

And finally, a review of “Mel-Khyor” from the Florida Weekly.

That’s all for now, folks!

An “unidentified flying object” appears over the desert near Highway 50 in central Nevada. Photo taken with a 35mm Olympus OM-1 SLR camera, Kodacolor film, 35-70mm Zuiko zoom lens. Exposure f11 @ 1/125. Date: September, 1992.

NOTEZ BIEN: This post somehow went out yesterday restricted only to my subscribers, so thanks, both of you! But I meant it for the sweating masses of the Third World, the laboring ignorant peons that make up the bulk of Earth’s population, the ones who haven’t bought any of my books yet, and I don’t know how it got so restricted! Here it is again, now available to anybody who can read, which I hope includes you, dear reader! Enjoy, or enjoy again, if you got this yesterday. More to come!

Author slashes price on UFO novel!

Posted on by Malcolm J. Brenner
An allegedly unidentified flying object appears over the desert near Highway 50 in central Nevada. Photo taken with a 35mm Olympus SLR camera, Kodak film, 35-70mm Zuiko zoom lens. Exposure unrecorded. September, 1992.

Port Charlotte, FL — In acknowledgment of the forthcoming military UFO/UAP report to the Senate Intelligence Committee, inappropriately chaired by that fount of misinformation Marco “I missed more votes than anybody!” Rubio, Eyes Open Media, publisher of weird books, announces a major price cut on one title.

Mel-Khyor: An Interstellar Affair has been reduced from $14.95 to $9.95 for a limited, but at this point indeterminate, time. Shipping remains at $3.99, making total purchase price for the book + S/H $18.94, a saving of $5.00 over the previous price.

It wasn’t really necessary to point that out in the previous paragraph, but I want to make sure you realize I’M PRACTICALLY GIVING THIS FREAKING BOOK AWAY JUST TO GET IT READ, I’M MAKING SKIN-OFF-MY-KNUCKLES THIN PROFIT MARGINS HERE, AND I CAN’T AFFORD TO DO THIS FOREVER!

“I’ve probably lost my mind, due to all the daily stress I suffered during the four years of the previous administration,” Brenner confirmed from his cinderblock, hurricane-resistant, above-the-flood-plain home near the Hospital District of Port Charlotte, “but I have reduced the price on this book by around 33.333… etc. percent, a significant amount, I figure, to provoke some sales, get some reviews and get the public talking about my ideas about what UFOs/UAPs might be, they way they are talking about dolphin sex and dolphin personhood in lounges, bars and oceanariums across this country.”

Author Malcolm J. Brenner holds a copy of his latest novel, Mel-Khyor: An Interstellar Affair. Photo by D. Lemke.

Mel-Khyor tells the breathtaking tale of Susie Louise McGonagall, a professional English teacher and amateur mother and housewife, and her encounters with three men:

•Her first husband, who becomes an abusive, alcoholic jerk;

•Her second husband, an investigative newspaper reporter;

•And preceding them both, Mel-Khyor, the engineer and only living survivor of a alien spaceship that crashed almost in Susie’s back yard… or so she remembers! And the investigative reporter must find out the truth… if their relationship can survive Susie’s painful recollections of life with “the jerk,” and the buried memories of her other strange, almost-human lover…

The story progresses on four time lines, from the Rocky Mountains of Colorado to the rings of Saturn and beyond, in one constant, intertwined plot, leading to a provocative ending.

“Jeebus, there’s enough wit, sarcasm and genuinely weird sci-fi in here, including consensual sex with aliens, for a dozen of those so-called books the so-called sci-fi writers are churning out lately,” Brenner lamented, holding his novel up before a verdant, cascading wall of bamboo while the motor drives flashed and the flashes whirred. “It’s a wonder they’re still showing ST:TOS on MeTV, I guess nothing great has been written in this genre since 1967?”

Cover design by Tharkibo. Thanks, honey! Love you bunches!

And look! The book even has a newspaper review… a weekly, but it’s a real newspaper on news print stock with ink and big presses and everything!

Sooo… WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

You’re probably that same poor sap who was offered Microsoft stock at $3.50 a share in 1980 and didn’t buy, aren’t you? YOU ARE, AREN’T YOU? WELL DON’T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE IN YOUR LIFE! DON’T LET YOUR FINGERS LEAVE THE KEYBOARD, GO TO AMAZON.COM AND ORDER THE TRADE PAPERBACK FOR NOW ONLY $9.95, A 1/3 SAVINGS, or go to any reputable place where you order AUDIOBOOKS and order Mel-Khyor as a .mp3 file, read in the author’s inimitable mellifluous voice, recorded in his home amphitheater/studio!

Don’t delay, order it today!

You will, you will, you are growing sleepy…

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