By Beau Smith

Not a manly day passes when someone less manly than me asks me the manly question, “What goes on in the manly day of Beau Smith?”

The easy answer? Nothin’ but manly things.

But? if I answered the question like that it would be boring, and also not help out those less manly than me to seek the same manly path that I have carved out for myself.

Of course, you know that what works for me may not work for you, but then you knew that when you were born and soon found out you weren’t me.


Of course. I meant it to be.

Ya gotta be really smart or half way drunk to get low down with me.

Still confused?

I thought so. I’ll soon be havin’ sex with your woman and cashin’ your paycheck.

My manly ways unfurl like our great American flag over the White House. Gather close now and hear of what it’s like to walk in the burly boot prints of Beau.


Morning? Day time? It must be. There’s light comin’ through my window blinds. The same blinds I thought I nailed shut when I passed out last night in a beer induced haze. Of course, I also thought that I was Barry Bonds when I took that ball bat and beat the shit out of that mailbox that I thought was tryin’to attack me in the dark.

I must be thinkin’ way too much.

My brain hurts. Must be ’cause I’m awake and because of the beer. I shove one of the dogs out of the bed (A real dog? not some random woman of uncertain habits.) and sit on the edge tryin’ to read the alarm clock that I broke the day before. It always reads 2:30 so I’ve just gotta figure if the sun is up it’s gotta be the next day.

I swat the clock across the room for bein’ a smart ass and givin’ me the wrong time. I’m sure it’ll lie there in the floor waitin’ for its revenge. That’ll no doubt happen latter tonight when I step on it with my bare feet tryin’ to find the bed.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and pass out with my shoes on tonight. That’ll teach that treacherous alarm clock to mess with me.

I stumble, and that is a very embellished word, down the hall. My two dogs, Blue and Chubb, work as sled dogs to lead me to the kitchen. They know they will be rewarded for:
A. Not waking me up early and?
B. They will get a dog bone for leadin’ me to the kitchen.

I toast some form of food in the toaster and wait for it to get properly burnt to my satisfaction. I don’t drink coffee because that might fully wake me up and then I would have to really do some work.

So I drink water. Bein’ the scientist that I think I am, I figure that’ll water down any of the beer left over in my blood stream.

I sit down to eat my now unrecognizable food product. Don’t really remember what it was, but I do know that it’s now toast? even if it didn’t wanna be.

I read the sports page and then talk myself into believing’ that I read the whole paper. I figure by late afternoon I’ll even believe it.

All the while I ‘m eatin’ my burnt toast, Chubb, my part cattle dog, part beagle, all eatin’ machine dog? is givin’ me the dog mind control stare. This supernatural gaze is her greatest power. She knows that early in the morning is the best time to use it on me while I’m still groggy.

It works. I give her the last part of my brimstone toast. She prances off happy that her mind control is still workin’ on the dumb human that let her come live with him.

Blue is my other dog. An Australian Shepherd. 65 lbs of smart workin’ guard dog. He cares not for any table scraps. He figures that as long as no one is attackin’ me things are good. I never gave him a real job so he gave himself one? guardin’ me? from everything. He’s like Clint Eastwood in that movie where he played a secret service agent.

After my breakfast of champions I head to the office? my office is here at the Flying Fist Ranch. After I left Todd McFarlane Productions I was forced to give up my cushy outside office digs and set up shop here at the ranch. Lucky for me there is plenty of rooms here to call my own.

The first hour or so is dedicated to email and answerin’ it? or at least tryin’ to. Sometimes I gotta wait for the home office of IDW Publishing to open up out on the west coast before I can get all the answers that folks want. Most of the time I can handle it, but every now and then even the last real man in comics needs some help.

The next 30 minutes are spent checkin’ in with all the comic book and entertainment news sites. Gotta keep up on what everyone else is lyin’ about so my lies will seem even better.

I usually don’t answer the phones until all the email stuff is done. I make fewer mistakes that way. When ya get around 30 incoming calls and close to 100 emails a day ya learn to protect your thinkin’ time. ‘Sides, most phone calls are just an evil plot to kill my attention span.

Another little thing I do with phone calls is this? I’ve got my main line with roll over lines. If one is busy it rolls over to the next and so on. Well, on every line I leave a voice message that I’m on another phone line and can’t take your call. In reality I’m double screenin’ your call. How ya say? Well? first off the there is the regular caller I.D. That works great on most any number in the United States. That’s the first line of defense against unwanted callers that try and sap my valuable work time. The caller’s name and phone number show up. I then decide who is worthy and who ain’t. If the number is unlisted, business listing or has a I.D. Blocker then my heavy duty, high tech and expensive I.D. machine then gives me the city and state the call is comin’ from. I can then narrow down where the unwanted call is comin’ from. Then? if it comes up unavailable I know that it is an out of the country call.

To be honest with ya? I answer most all my calls. But? when ya got as many ex-wives, disgruntled ex-girlfriends and stalkers as I do? well? ya gotta be safe. I try not to kill people for free anymore.

Art By Brad Gorby

The rest of the morning is filled with call backs and return phone calls. Most of em’ to Diamond Distribution? besides me? they are the only other people in comics that are on the job before 12 noon. I don’t bother retailers until after noon.

Same with creators that I may have to talk to. None of those boys get up all that early? well, there are a few that walk the early morning beat? The Kubert Brothers, Ed McGuinness, Scot Eaton, Flint Henry, Billy Tucci and Chuck Dixon.

Another thing? new comics day is Wednesday. I don’t call retailers on that day unless it’s real important. That day is way too busy with them helpin’ all the wonderful readers get their IDW books. I don’t wanna mess up that business transaction.

I like to spend the morning time to go over the IDW Publishing schedule and I work off marketing plans and figure any sales venues that ain’t been touched yet. I gotta admit, most ideas? the best ones? come to me in the shower or while drivin’ around.

Morning is a great time for me to think up all kinds of new lies to tell folks that I do not really like. They can’t handle the truth, as Jack says.


High noon takes me to the post office to pick up the mail. That’s where all the wonderful fan mail, autograph requests, photos of women that are in lust with me, job offers and bills come to me. I also use that time out to do a beer run in case I run low. I’ll run outta gas before I run outta beer.

I take Chubb and Blue with me to the post office. They stay in the truck while I gather up the mail. They tend to guard the truck for me. It’s better than any high tech security device made. Yeah? I know the chances of crime here in Ceredo is next to zero? but it amuses me to see em’ scare old folks. I leave lots of folks clutchin’ their chests and wallowin’ in the post office parking lot when I leave.

I get back and have lunch. If I’m eatin’ here at the ranch I go through the mail then. Takes about an hour. After lunch and the mail I go out with the dogs and give em’ the run around. Good for me and good for them.

On some days I have lunch at The Central City Café in near by Huntington, West Virginia. It is without a doubt the best place in all of West Virginia to eat. Bar none. The best service, the best menu and the best atmosphere. You WILL become a regular customer after one meal there. Dave and Sherry Luther run a wonderful place. The staff? Nikki, Mike, Angie and all the rest of the gang make sure you are treated like family. I usually have lunch with my best friend Ray Crabtree.

Crab and I carry on manly discussions of everything manly as we eat manly food. We speak words of iron? things like what female celebrities we’d bump uglies with? What beer is best, what women in real life we’d do the naked waltz with, current sports topics, terrible things we did in our youth that we should’ve been arrested for, things we do now we should be arrested for, and what imaginary women we’d leave happy in a perfect world.

Ya know? stuff like that.

Lunches like that go on for a couple of hours. I believe in crossin’ all the t’s and dottin’ all those i’s. As well as thinkin’ of new ways of stickin’ Crab with the check. On my website there is a good photo of me and Crab with our boys at Central City Cafe at our favorite manly table. See:


The drive back to the ranch gives me adequate time to digest my manly lunch and ponder my next move in the Temple Of Testosterone.

After lunch more call backs and a list of ones that’ll have to wait until the next day. Most of the time after 2:00 is spent talkin’ with the home office of IDW in San Diego. I also do press releases and any paperwork that needs done. Ya gotta understand, the bulk of my job has me on the phone talkin’ to retailers, to distribution and other outside sources. I gotta figure the best ways to market, promote, sell, and get IDW stuff into as many hands as possible. The phone does not stop ringin’ here. That’s a good thing. When it stops? that’s a bad thing.

I usually keep it goin’ here until 6pm. Then even I have to call it a day. The end of the day is always celebrated with a cold beer? The celebrating goes on from there? f ya know what I mean and I think ya do.


Granted? most nights will find me doin’ more IDW work? since I’m here and all. Nighttime also finds me workin’ on my own writing career. I do my Busted Knuckles column at night, my writing for comics, video games and even a few of those novels and screenplays I’m workin’ on. More so in the winter than summer? Summer and longer days find my ass out doin’ more fun things. Work climbs in the back seat to my fun.

There’s a lot more that goes on durin’ the day , but I ain’t gonna give alway all my secrets? Hell? some of em’ could get me fired or arrested? remind me to tell ya about the fight with the six large sumo wrestlers and the one armed pirate? well? another time.

My evenings are filled with many manly endeavors. After dinner I usually have a couple of hours free before I go on? Patrol!

By Patrol I mean I walk my dogs throughout Ceredo and the adjoining city of Kenova to make sure that there are no feline terrorists plottin’ to take over the town. To make sure everyone is safe from liberal ideas and other terrible ideas that soil the fabric of our great nation. Most of all I scour the back alleys lookin’ for British writers that may be lookin’ to steal writin’ jobs from me. I do about a mile an’ a half every night no matter what the weather. Blue lunges at any car or person that he feels has invaded my personal space? that means everyone.

Both Blue and Chubb leave small piles of what I call “Yard Fudge” for those that think their lawns are safe from my K9 night stalkers. Hell, how do they think their grass got so green? my dogs fertilize it for em’.

Every other night will find me tossin’ the iron around? liftin’ weights. Not so much to make my body the Grade A Beef Buffet that it is? and it is? but more so to stay fit so I can live longer and torment more people.

I watch sports on TV, drink a little beer, listen to a little music, drink a little beer, go out with buddies? torment my wife? visit family? do things just like you? only a little more violent.

Sooner or later my vision gets blurry and I figure I had better hit the sack so I can function as comic’s last real man in the morning? I fumble my way into my dark bedroom? step on that stinkin’ alarm clock that don’t work? cuss a bunch? and pass out in the bed.

Next morning? I get up and do it all again? only the names change to protect the guilty.

It ain’t bad bein’ me.

As always? I ain’t hard to find?

Your amigo,


The Flying Fist Ranch
P.O. Box 706
Ceredo, WV. 25507

PS: As always I’m waitin’ to see your ugly mug in my email box. Send it through to me – – and you might find yourself on my manly website!

Prove your manhood by visiting Beau at the Flying Fists Forum!

About The Author


Beau Smith is a writer for Comics Bulletin