Today is the 106th year since the birth of Robert E. Howard. (Yeah, I know the local time is still January 21, but by the time most of you read this, it will be the 22nd. Besides, it's the 22nd east of here.) I'm not sure what I could say that would do the man justice that others haven't already said and said better. After last summer's disastrous Conan movie, those of us who champion Howard's work as literature probably have a harder row to hoe overcoming the (at best) misguided notion that his writing is hackwork. If you are only familiar with Conan through the movie(s), pastiches, or comics, read some of the real thing. And then read some of Howard's other writings: Kull, the horror stories, the historicals, the westerns, the boxing stories, the poetry. And raise a glass in his honor. Me, I'm going to celebrate by reading some of the spicy stories.