Silver Teeth looked at him, took off his shades, and with a little bite said, “You’re that guy.” 
A bit miffed, Kane responded, “Guy. What guy?”
“The guy riding around down here with those Josh Allen stickers.”

Silver Teeth was referring to Kane’s 2019 Ram Promaster, which he and his wife travel the country in, doing the van-life thing. And he was correct; two stickers of the NFL’s 2024 MVP,  Joshua Patrick Allen, are affixed to the rear windows of the Promaster in classic Allen leap mode. 

Silver Teeth started to rag on Allen with the same old lame criticisms—overrated, turnover machine, can’t beat the Chiefs, Lamar should have won the MVP.

In the back-and-forth, it was revealed that the Silver Teeth conducted raids on kayakers and jetskiers, and most disturbingly, was a Dolphins fan—that’s when the dunking began. Kane pointed out that in addition to winning the AFC East for the last five years, Allen is 12-2 versus the Dolphins with 37 TDs, 8 INTs, and a QB rating of nearly 110. He added that the front-running Dolphins have won one game in thirty-plus years when the temperature dipped below 23 degrees, their vaunted five-foot QB, Tua Tagovailoa gets concussed combing his hair, their thirty-million-dollar wideout—the NFL’s Nick Cannon—Tyreek Hill had 80 receptions, less than a thousand yards and 6 TDs in 2024. And the team is twelve-million dollars over the cap for 2025.  

Silver Teeth grew angrier with each new stat Kane threw at him. But what sent him over the edge was when the 1.5 millionth ranked most popular Amazon author said, “Allen and the Bills bend over the Dolphins almost as much as the boys on the ship bend over your mom.”

Seeing where this was headed the bartender, Jean-Marie, interceded. He pointed to the Speakeasy dance floor and said, “Settle it—there.”

Silver Teeth got down from his bar stool, removed his prosthetic leg, hopped onto the dance floor, taunting Kane as he went, “C’mon you Buffalo bonehead, let’s settle this like real men—on the dance floor with one foot.” 

For the next ninety minutes, the two men ganchoed, feather-stepped, and apple-jacked in furious competition that saw them dig deeper than either thought they could. But in the end, just like the Dolphins, Silver Teeth didn’t have enough, and Kane, at great personal expense, pirouetted to victory.

Standing just off the dance floor after the competion with his foot a bloody mess, an exhausted Kane said, “I knew I had him the whole time. There was a moment during that Barry Manilow song when I thought who the fuck is playing this shit, but I set it aside and powered through for myself and the city of Buffalo. 

As Silver Teeth exited the Speakeasy in a wheelchair, Kane called to him, “Hey Silver Sucker, I’m going to get my foot fixed, but I’ll see you on your boat later. There’s a lady there I’m going to cha cha with, if you know what I mean.”

Kane was treated at the Lower Keys Medical Center. He was given fluids, and his battered right foot was cleaned, dressed, and x-rayed. There was no structural damage. 

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“I’m thinking of going for Town Council or Highway,” Kane said. “Supervisor seems like a lot of responsibility and probably wouldn’t correspond to my strict 5pm cocktail hour. Plus, I think the present guy is doing a good job. Clerk is out because I’d hate to know who is or isn’t paying their taxes. Town Justice is appealing. I mean, who wouldn’t like to slam down a gavel and yell, ‘Guilty,’ at some schmuck for doing 50 in a 35? On top of that you get to impose a hefty fine. And, if it’s Al Petko, you put him in jail overnight. The problem is I can’t seem to get rid of the Covid weight I put on during the pandemic and I’m afraid I’ll look like Orson Wells in those black robes. Or I’ll be mistaken for a big black sailboat. Full disclosure—I’m vain like that. Look at me, already pretending to be an “outsider” with my full disclosure honesty bullshit.”

Another thing the beret wearing, 1.5 millionth ranked most popular Amazon author said he would be honest about is the use of his office for personal gain. He stated if he went for the Highway position he would change his own Monday morning garbage pick up to mid-week. Ever since he’s lived in West Seneca he’s had the Monday pick up and it’s always been a giant pain in the ass, like a never ending Sunday night homework assignment that shortens the weekend. Additionally, if Kane were elected to Highway not only would his street be plowed first, but he would have a Town pickup truck following close behind to clear out the end of his driveway. Not one for the ass grabbing back slapping bullshit that comes with big lunches or rounds of golf in exchange for town contracts he believes that would be the extent of his corruption . . . unless there was an offer he couldn’t refuse. 

However, the most likely place for Kane to land would be on the Town Council where he would advocate for a ten-percent across the board pay increase for town workers and teachers. He’s also fascinated by the idea of telling crybaby white suburban homeowners who endlessly complain about leaves, snow removal, teenagers, taxes, garbage totes, sewers, stolen elections, senior citizens and a whole host of other things to shut up. “I would love it,” he said. “It would be so fun to be at one of those town board meetings where some dude with a bad mustache from Dover Drive is complaining about his leaves not being picked up and I tell him to get a real problem and shut the fuck up.”

Kane liked the ring of that: Your “Shut The Fuck Up” Candidate

Without consulting god, his family or anyone else the author will make a decision about his political future by the first of the year.     

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Buffalo, NY—Loyal readers of Buffalo Mud may have noted a drop off in production in recent weeks. Unlike other area businesses struggling to find employees as the world slowly reopens from the pandemic the slowdown at Buffalo Mud is the result of local author and chief satirist P.A.Kane contemplating a different future for himself and the publication. 

In addition to Buffalo Mud, Kane has penned two novels and most recently a collection of essays: “The Last Playlist: A Sonic Epitaph.” He apologized for the drop-off in articles and said he is at an inflection point in his life and career. “Sorry for the diminished output in recent weeks, I just think it’s time to reassess where I’m at personally and what I want from the site going forward. I mean, how many stories can you write about everyone’s favorite South Buffalonian, Jack Conrad?”

The 1.5 millionth  ranked Amazon author also said he doesn’t expect major changes like when he bumped “Songs in The Key of Life” by Stevie Wonder out of his Top-Ten desert island albums and replaced it with Rickie Lee Jones’ first record. Or like when made the life altering move of going from double cream half decaf to half decaf one Splenda with his Tim Horton’s coffee. 

The change Kane sees for himself in both his writing and outlook is toward the natural world since he purchased a fully outfitted/ off the grid Ram Promaster,  “Yeah,” I don’t know,” he said. “One day I was listening to Neil Young sing about going to Alberta in the fall in the old Ian and Sylvia song, “Four Strong Winds” and I was like that sounds so good—the Canadian Rockies, donuts, hockey and universal healthcare.”

Kane said he could foresee his satire mutating into something like “Buffalo Mud Wild,” with nature-centric articles like “Study Finds Bears Still The Biggest Assholes In The Forest,” and “Local Author Swears That Pine Cone Lodged In His Ass The Result Of An Unfortunate Fall.” 

 Though he is still gathering his thoughts and contemplating his future he did say during this period, it would have been nice if Senior Mud Contributor, David P. Zach would have put down his Churchwarden Bilbo Baggins pipe and stopped daydreaming he was Frodo on his voyage from Middle Earth to the Uttermost West  and all that other Hobbit bullshit and wrote a fucking article or two—if you’re going to be the Senior Contributor at Buffalo’s premier satire publication you occasionally need to do some work .  

Aside from the annoying task of having to dress down his Senior Contributor, Kane remains upbeat and is looking forward to changes in both his life and Buffalo Mud.

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Buffalo, N.Y.—On Thursday medical officials and Reckitt Benckiser, the United Kingdom-based owner of Lysol rebuffed President Trump for suggesting that household disinfectant products could be used to clean the lungs of Covid-19 patients. Explicit warnings followed from manufacturers of disinfectants and the medical community to never inject or ingest these products into your body under any circumstances.

Local author P.A.Kane (look over there⇒for his books) rarely agrees with Trump about anything, but like the President, he has a free mind and often thinks outside the box. Kane was the first to suggest to Bill Gates, that we implant microchips into vaccines so people can be tracked at all times; he encouraged Kanye to meet with Trump and pimp both the MAGA hat and ideals; and he advised Peter Frampton that it would be a great career move to star alongside the Bee Gees in the 1978 movie: St. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Kane has been experimenting with a wide range of practices that come from not placing limitations on what is possible. In addition to being a free thinker, the local author is an advocate for developing critical thinking skills, which requires a great deal of reading. But reading is time consuming and time, even in a shutdown, needs to be used wisely. So, Kane has begun to test the idea of reading by paper transmissions. He’s still working out the math, but in short the idea is to press three books at once against the front and sides of your head and will the information into your brain. Results have been inconclusive thus far, but Kane has been noting certain trends:   

1. Recycled paper seems to aid in conveyance and feels nicer against your head than new stock paper.
2. Three steaming cups of black coffee or one Red Bull prior to reading loosens the receptors in the brain increasing the probability of transference. A fourth cup of coffee or a second red bull is too much.
3. The left side of his head (Goodbye Columbus, Philip Roth side), sends greater impulses to the brain.
4. Fiction seems to transmit better than non-fiction.

Other findings have been less promising but he will continue to work the process.

Where Kane has hit pay dirt, is his experiments with light waves. Like President Trump, who suggested using ultraviolet or some other powerful form of light to fight Covid -19, Kane has been trying to improve his sex-life through black light immersion—black light—the light of love.  Kane has been sleeping in a bed surrounded by black light while silent radio waves of Drake’s forty sexiest tunes wash over him during the night. Mrs. Kane says her husband is about a million ab-crunches and six-months of dance lessons away from approximating any of Drake’s coolness, but since he has employed this technique she has been strangely open to the occasional reach around.

Another area of progress Kane has made is in his forty yard dash time. The improvement can be traced to the practice of soaking his feet in a bowl of water doused with a powder form of cheetah blood. His forty time has gone from 10.9 down to 10.1. He’s hoping to get the time down to 7.5- 8 range. Kane cannot point to how reducing his forty time will improve his life whatsoever. The sole reason for this undertaking is that Kane has always been kind of a fat slow guy and this summer, if we are ever released from home confinement, he hopes to smoke a few of his friends (other slow fat guys) in the forty while out drinking and then bust their balls unmercifully like an eleven year old boy.   

While it is unlikely the local author will ever find much common ground with President Trump, he does know that new breakthroughs only occur through brave, unbridled experimentation and thinking outside the box. 

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Buffalo, NY—After an extended brainstorming session this past week it was determined local author P.A. Kane was the least essential member of the Kane family and would continue to shop for food and other supplies while his wife and children shelter in place as Covid-19 rips through Western New York.

Kane, the author of two novels: Written In The Stars: The Book Of Molly and Leaving Jackson Wolf, is recently retired from his day gig as a driver at Mensa Plus and is Amazon’s 1.5 millionth ranked author. Due to his reduced earnings in retirement, his anemic book sales and his penchant for really stinking up the bathroom he became the family’s obvious choice to face potential exposure to the deadly Coronavirus. 

When he objected, it was pointed out to him that his wife was now the main breadwinner,  keeper of the health care and as a result of some shrewd moves was able to minimize the damage to their 401K retirement savings. He knew suggesting that their oldest daughter pick up some of the slack would go nowhere since she provides mental health services to the needy in her role as a social worker. He then turned to his middle daughter who is a gifted artist with a BFA in Animation. It was decided that her potential achievements would far exceed a 1.5 millionth Amazon ranking that Kane had accomplished. Kane then desperately argued that their son, the youngest member of the family, who is a History/Philosophy major at the University of Buffalo couldn’t possibly be more essential than him. “He just sits around reading Spinoza all day,” Kane pleaded. “After this is over is he going to get a job at the Spinoza store?” Kane’s wife briefly conferred with the children and then responded, “We see your point, but he still has more potential than you, he doesn’t stink up the bathroom and . . . he’s my baby.”

Kane then reminded his family that he was the only one who knew all the passwords to the Amazon, Netflix and Hulu accounts. That he makes the coffee every morning and is the only one who grills and knows how to operate the snowblower or when the inspections are due on the cars. Seeing these appeals were going nowhere he then turned to the family dog, Kaya Francis Bean, and said it was unfair for him to be exposed since no one else tends to her needs or cleans up her shit, but his daughter cut him short, “Dad . . . dad, we’ll be fine. We’ll figure out new passwords and we’ll take the dog for a walk. We love you, but this is what’s best for everyone.”

Waiting for his next shopping assignment Kane now spends his days removed from his family with his books, writing and music in his little back office. Meals of rice and beans with a little bits of chicken are left outside his door. He has strict instructions to wipe down and fumigate the bathroom after each use. He’s trying to make the best of the situation by learning new Taylor Swift and Billie Eilish songs and vows with his next book he’s going to break into the top million at Amazon—so help him god.

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Buffalo, NY—Freed from the tyranny of nearly three decades corporate service local author P.A. Kane now spends his days in peace and tranquility walking in the woods with his dog, catching up on some reading, experimenting with vegetarian recipes and working on various writing projects. It is a simple, uncomplicated life devoid of conflict, unless of course he leaves dishes in the sink. Part of his retirement agreement with his wife was that she would never have to deal with dishes in the sink again. A reasonable request from the holder of the healthcare and a growing 401K. Nevertheless, though his freedom was earned, one month into this new life, Kane is already sick of being Zen and is craving conflict.

He misses the kid at Tim Horton’s who would ask him day after day, with a barely hidden smirk, if he wanted the goddamn senior discount, which totally pissed him off even though he qualified for it. He misses being annoyed at slacking coworkers who spend more energy complaining about work than actually working.  He misses the daily rush hour commute where assholes inching along in bumper to bumper traffic won’t let him merge onto 90W. He also misses, when traffic opens up, the dudes in their F150’s with backwards turned baseball caps riding his tail at 80mph, as if Judge Judy and that twelve-pack of PBR’s won’t be there when they get home.

Kane has tried to fill the void by arguing on social media, but quickly grows frustrated when people with opposing views are only interested in making him cry his big liberal tears rather than arguing a point. He has tried to engage his son, who is still home on Christmas break, into heated conversations about his future and just what he’s gaining from reading The Political Writings by Karl Marx, which is a thousand pages deep. But the kid won’t bite. He just rolls his eyes in that condescending “OK Boomer,” way and waits for him to leave his room. He’s tried and failed at ratcheting up rage at the Wegmans’ cashiers who always seem to pack his reusable grocery bags “light” when he clearly says “heavy.” Doing this, he feels stupid and regretful because he remembers all too clearly what it was like to work shit jobs and have old people yelling at you for no reason at all. And because, you know—he’s Zen. 

It is unlikely that Kane will lose this Zen anytime soon. He is leaving for a month long trip to Florida where he plans on doing more of the same: reading koans, writing haikus, meditating, and relaxing with herbal tea. There is also the added bonus of engaging in a lot of day drinking by the pool with one of his brothers who also has shed the yoke of corporate oppression. His one hope of achieving  a high, non-Zen like level of irrational pissedoffness is— golf.

Because of time restraints and general disinterest he hasn’t played much golf in recent years and his skills have eroded greatly, which has really annoyed him. However, with so much free time since he retired, he’s taken several trips to the Wehrle Golf Dome, where he made some swing adjustments and has been crushing the ball. He hopes these adjustments won’t last and he’ll start spraying balls all over the course, miss some short putts and continually lift up his head while trying to escape sand traps. Nothing ruins a sunny Florida day like sucking at golf. And, nothing would make the local author happier than being pissed off.

Until then, Om . . .

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Buffalo, NY—For years local author P.A.Kane has endured rumors regarding his lack of manhood. A recently leaked photograph seems to refute these rumors and reveal the author to be HUGE. 

Kane confirmed there had been whispers circulating for years among old girlfriends and surprisingly enough, his wife of almost three decades, Donna. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I’ve seen the hand gestures, heard the hushed laughter and the nicknames—the endless nicknames: Captain Lightswitch, Dust In The Wind, The Two Inch Grinch, among others. It was very hurtful to be disparaged that way. But the truth is out there now, so that’s HUGELY gratifying,”

Asked why his wife of almost thirty years and others would perpetuate such rumors Kane said, “My wife fashions herself a comedian and I’m always her foil. She’s also afraid to lose me and los pink hammer, so she spreads these rumors. I mean, not everybody gets to spend decades of matrimonial bliss with the 1.5 millionth ranked author on Amazon. And, those from my past are maybe a little angry things didn’t work out for us. So, they go around referring to my stuff as: The Gingrich or The Milimeter In The Morning.

Kane also confessed that because of the heat he was packing, as a young man he considered a career in porn. He made several inquiries, but ultimately, he decided against it. “Even though it was the 70’s and body hair was a thing, I had a bit too much and they wanted me to trim it back. I was unwilling to compromise myself in that way so I decided not to pursue that career path.” 

Like President Trump, who accepted apologies from the fake news after calling him out about doctoring the path of Hurricane Dorian with a Sharpie this past week, Kane also accepted the apologies from those, including his wife, who have perpetuated this myth regarding his size for years. 

Kane is presently shopping a recently penned essay: “The Pain and The Pleasure: The Story Of My Lonely Meat Stick,” to web outlets and magazines.   

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Before the round at Bardmoor Golf Club, long time friend Alvin Gryffindor generously passed out cigars to the group of twelve golfers and instead of quietly accepting the tobacco novelty Kane took the opportunity to rail on his brothers and friends as a bunch of elitist, white, middle management assholes. Fixing his gaze on the group dressed in their brightly colored golf shirts with their oversized drivers Kane said, “Look at all of you sucking on those cigars without even a thought for the Cuban migrant working twelve hour days for pennies so you can reassert your unearned white privilege. You make me sick.”

This opening salvo from Kane was met with eye rolls and rejoinders from his brothers telling him they had something for him to “suck on” and he should “shut the fuck up” or they were going to call his wife to set him straight.

Realizing he was bringing down the entire event Kane was able to remain quiet for a time, but after losing a nine dollar push on the sixth hole he began complain about the need to wager.  “Why do we have to always measure ourselves in competition and try to exert our dominance? Are these dick measuring contests really necessary? Can’t we just enjoy this beautiful day and the fellowship of friends and sport for the sake of sport?” And, then looking around he said, “I know all of you guys and there’s no shame in having a tiny penis. Really—it’s okay. Cast aside this never ending, soul crushing capitalistic need for competition and let us just be men enjoying men. ”

Gryffindor and their other friend Francis Paramecci, who had sort of lost touch with Kane in recent years and were reuniting for this golf weekend looked at him with certain amount of confusion. Seeing this confusion Kane’s younger brother Mike said, “Sorry, since he’s become the 1.5 millionth most popular ranked author on Amazon he tends to be an insufferable ninnie.” The younger Kane then turned to his brother and again said, “Hey P.A., shut-the-fuck-up—you stupid tosser.”

Kane was able to remain relatively quiet for long stretches and mostly made indistinct guttural sounds to himself, but at the fifteenth hole he gave the golf cart girl an earful about Florida’s recycling policy as they just threw can after can of empty beer into the garbage. The girl told Kane, “I’m twenty years old and my job is to smile and get a big tip from you, not make environmental policy. Two Buds and two Coors Lights—that’ll be $16 and no, I don’t have change for a twenty,” she said with a broad grin taking his money.

Kane was able to keep his powder dry for the remainder of the round, but sitting outside with a beer as they tallied up the scores and bets he again lost it. His brother Peter turned up the volume on the loop of U2 songs he had playing the entire round. “Oh my god, how can you listen to this horrific dad-rock-bullshit. Every fucking song is the same shit about reaching for the fucking heavens and finding your higher self. Over and over and over they never find what they’re looking for and it sucks. Preachy anthems from self-aggrandizing Irish zillionaires who live in castles don’t inform or enlighten anything. How can you not see that? It sucks.”  

Sweating profusely after this rant Kane excused himself to use the restroom. While he was gone everyone quickly got in their cars and left, forcing him to Uber it home.

The scene repeated itself the next day as Kane lectured on the New Green Deal, the continuing relevance of Bob Dylan and the proper way to enter and exit a golf cart, thus wrecking a second sunny, warm Florida golf day.

The group again ditched him when he went to the restroom after the round.         

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West Seneca, N.Y.—For cash payments local author P.A. Kane will write you into his new novel, Leaving Jackson Wolf. With the crowdfunding phenomenon sweeping the country Kane thinks this would be a fun way for people to participate in the writing process and for him to increase his profile and revenue stream.

Kane is open to any ideas people have for placement in the coming of age novel due out this fall. You can be a swarthy guy standing on a corner. You can make a pass at Jackson’s brainy best friend McDougal. You can have a beer at a corner bar with Jackson’s alcoholic father. Or, you can have Jackson beat the shit out of you—if that’s your pleasure. Anything you want, just as long as you have cash money.

The first to step up with a cash payment and make their way into the future best seller are longtime friends Jesse Homes and Jack Conrad. Kane has written a scene where the protagonists, Jackson and McDougal are looking at a Facebook post by Holmes, who is conversing with Conrad about the virtues of Jackson Browne song, These Days. Clicking on the Youtube link to These Days McDougal asks:

  “How does this old people shit end up in your feed?”     

“That guy Jesse Holmes was my fourth grade teacher and I don’t know, he kept showing up in that Suggested Friends thing, so I sent a request.”  

   “He listens to shitty music.”

    “The Nico version of this song is pretty good.”

    “Think Nico did that as a joke.”

    “Look here,” Jackson says with a laugh. “Mr. Holmes swooning over this stupid song:”

           Did you know Jackson Browne wrote this when he was just sixteen?

          Just sixteen?’ Conrad says. Wow, all I was doing at sixteen was failing my road test and waxing my carrot.

           Yer still waxing your carrot, Jack. lol.

           Yeah. LOL.

    “Man, these guys are assholes.”

    “Mr. Holmes was an alright teacher,” Jackson says with a shrug.

    “Really? Waxing your carrot?”

“Yeah,  goddamn mom jeans and Dad jokes. Screw them.”

In addition to a scene like the one above, Kane is also open to selling the dedication to the book or will mention you in the acknowledgements for a reasonable fee. Typically these are nice little tributes to friends and family who have put up with all the bullshit that comes along with producing a book, but to Kane money is more important. He believes nobody really cares who inspired you or gave you wise counsel through the writing process. To him all that stuff is overrated. What isn’t overrated is beer money and double Crown Royal neat. So, if you would like to be the inspiration or the wise counsel in this story about a young man searching for his power in an unforgiving world, Kane is open to any reasonable offer.

Of course, all offers are subject to negotiation.        

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