Just for laughs

'BORROWING' HUMOR

I borrow some humor for my books from old TV shows.  I just thought I'd share this from the old Hollywood Squares show:

Q. Paul, what is a good reason for pounding meat? 

A. Paul Lynde: Loneliness! 

(The audience laughed so long and so hard it took up almost 15 minutes of the show!) 


Q. Do female frogs croak? 

A. Paul Lynde: If you hold their little heads under water long enough.


Q. If you're going to make a parachute jump, at least how high should you be?

A. Charley Weaver: Three days of steady drinking should do it. 


Q. True or False, a pea can last as long as 5,000 years... 

A. George Gobel: Boy, it sure seems that way sometimes. 


Q. You've been having trouble going to sleep. Are you probably a man or a woman? 

A. Don Knotts: That's what's been keeping me awake. 


Q. According to Cosmopolitan, if you meet a stranger at a party and you think that he is attractive, is it okay to come out and ask him if he's married? 

A. Rose Marie: No, wait until morning. 


Q. Which of your five senses tends to diminish as you get older? 

A. Charley Weaver: My sense of decency.


Q. In Hawaiian, does it take more than three words to say 'I Love You'? 

A. Vincent Price: No, you can say it with a pineapple and a twenty.


Q. What are 'Do It,' 'I Can Help,' and 'I Can't Get Enough'? 

A. George Gobel: I don't know, but it's coming from the next apartment. 


Q. As you grow older, do you tend to gesture more or less with your hands while talking? 

A. Rose Marie: You ask me one more growing-old question, Peter, and I'll give you a gesture you'll never forget. 


Q. Paul, why do Hell's Angels wear leather? 

A. Paul Lynde: Because chiffon wrinkles too easily. 


Q.. Charley, you've just decided to grow strawberries. Are you going to get any during the first year? 

A. Charley Weaver: Of course not, I'm too busy growing strawberries. 


Q. In bowling, what's a perfect score? 

A. Rose Marie: Ralph, the pin boy. 


Q. It is considered in bad taste to discuss two subjects at nudist camps. One is politics, what is the other? 

A. Paul Lynde: Tape measures.


Q. During a tornado, are you safer in the bedroom or in the closet? 

A. Rose Marie: Unfortunately Peter, I'm always safe in the bedroom. 


Q. Can boys join the Camp Fire Girls? 

A. Marty Allen: Only after lights out. 


Q. When you pat a dog on its head, he will wag his tail. What will a goose do? 

A. Paul Lynde: Make him bark? 


Q. If you were pregnant for two years, what would you give birth to? 

A. Paul Lynde: Whatever it is, it would never be afraid of the dark.


Q. According to Ann Landers, is there anything wrong with getting into the habit of kissing a lot of people? 

A. Charley Weaver: It got me out of the army. 


Q. It is the most abused and neglected part of your body, what is it? 

A. Paul Lynde: Mine may be abused, but it certainly isn't neglected. 


Q. Back in the old days, when Great Grandpa put horseradish on his head, what was he trying to do? 

A. George Gobel: Get it in his mouth. 


Q. Who stays pregnant for a longer period of time, your wife or your elephant? 

A. Paul Lynde: Who told you about my elephant? 


Q. When a couple have a baby, who is responsible for its sex? 

A. Charley Weaver: I'll lend him the car, the rest is up to him.


Q. Jackie Gleason recently revealed that he firmly believes in them and has actually seen them on at least two occasions. What are they? 

A. Charley Weaver: His feet. 


Q. According to Ann Landers, what are two things you should never do in bed? 

A. Paul Lynde: Point and laugh.

It's fun to work to old gags into dialogue of new books.  Being that most of these performers are dead, I figured they wouldn't mind.  Good humor can be a difficult thing, but it never dies.

Sincerely,

Walt Knight
Author of AMERICA'S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION series

NEW RELEASE - America's Galactic Foreign Legion, Book 13

AMERICA'S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION
Book 13: Salesman From Mars
by Walter Knight
Science Fiction / Military / Humor

Zany military political humor takes a front seat with a new star in this thirteenth installment of the screwy military space saga.

Born salesman Donald Crisp is down on his luck and short of money. When Crisp accepts a loan from the USGF recruitment ATM, he ends up - of course - enlisted in the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion.

Oranges for scorpions, semi-sentient penguins, biting Blue Lizards, ghosts from the past, and cheating at cards make life interesting as Crisp chills at the South Pole, then makes a splash in Caldera Lake - all the while watching out for the Grim Reaper!

Available in ebook at these popular online retailers - Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords - and coming soon in print!

eWorld – eGads!

Eddie’s Take on Technology

by Robert J. Wetherall

Despite its pervasiveness in our lives, the little E is still in its infancy. In twenty years, we’ll wonder how we put up with such a complicated, unpredictable, frustrating amalgam of computers and clouds as the Internet exists today. My good friend, Eddie Salinski, celebrated writer and welder, weighed in on this very subject while picking dandelion greens near his trailer last weekend.

“Think of the Internet and all its trimmings as a wee little babe,” Eddie told me. “Cute and cuddly as all get out, but blessed with all kinds of baby baggage: Smiling at you one moment and then burping and spitting up the next. Lulling you with that adorable baby Winston Churchill smile, until you discover it’s just passing gas. That’s the eWorld in a nutshell.”

Eddie tromped through his garden in knee-high mudders, with a kettle wrapped in his left arm. “It’s just beginning to crawl, and we’re still naively intrigued with the newness of it all. Horror of horrors, should we get left behind. So we’re texting, twitting (or is it tweeting?), blogging, liking, posting, and poking like crazy. And making sure that we’re grabbing our share of space on a zillion sites that immerse us in whole universes full of information and nonsense.”

Eddie paused to swat at a horsefly the size of a Kindle that was circling his thin gawky neck. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I think all this eCommotion is great,” he continued. “I do all of my writing on a laptop these days, but sometimes I miss the simplicity of pencil and yellow legal pad, or my old Remington and Wite-Out. Things were slower then, and it seems I had more time to actually think about what I was writing, rather than just slamming it into the magic box. But I think I’m maturing a bit, too.”

“How so?” I asked as he grabbed a swatch of greens and put them into a kettle.

“I’m cutting down on my eStuff a bit: First off, I quit Facebook and Twitter. That saves me a ton of time better spent writing or just lying on my backside and smelling the flowers. I’m not texting any more, either. I mean, who cares that I ran out of vanilla while mixing up a cake this morning? All those giddy gadgets work for some folks, but as for me, they have a strictly limited place in my little world.”

Eddie picked up his kettle of greens and headed for his trailer. “Join me for chow?” he asked as I followed at his heels. “I’ve got a big chunk of ham and some spuds to go along with these greens.”

“So you’re not tossing out your laptop?” I asked as we entered his modest dwelling.

“Not on your life,” Eddie said. “The Little E has its place. I’m just going to enjoy it in a bit more moderation. When it’s all grown up, I might jump in a bit deeper.”

As I drove home later, I pondered Eddie’s words. My stomach happily rumbled with the remains of dinner, and I made myself a promise. Eddie’s birthday was just a few months off. When the great day arrived, I’d present him with a new iPad.

Visit Bob's Amazon author page

The Best Time to Write

Best Time to Write?

Eddie Says – Break the Rules!

By Robert J. Wetherall

“Any time is the best time for writing,” so celebrated writer, welder, and my close friend, Eddie Salinski, proclaimed one Sunday when I found him at home in his trailer. I had brought up the subject of creative timing after I developed a profound case of writer’s block. It was only natural that I seek sage advice from Eddie, as he has seen practically everything there is to see in the ups and downs of writing.

Eddie was busy giving his pet raccoon, Petey, a bath in an old galvanized wash basin. The poor little beastie looked at me with his sad burglar-in-the-night eyes, as if imploring me to free him from the realm of soapy water and let him return to his usual resting place atop his master’s bed.

“You gotta realize,” Eddie said, vigorously lathering the top-knot on Petey’s head, “when the muse strikes, you go with it, no matter what the clock in the kitchen says. Hell, I get my best ideas about two in the morning, usually after a bad dinner. All kinds of wild and woolly stuff pops into my head – most of it sheer crap, but worthy of being sorted out when I get up. Of course, I usually forget a lot, but more often than not, I’ll remember a little jewel, just a little sparkling thing that I can use to goose up a scene or two.

“And forget that stuff about writer’s block. No such thing. Just grab that cheap laptop of yours and start pounding away. Like a good BM, you’ll start loosening up, and before you know it, that so-called block is history.”

Eddie picked up Petey and a thick towel and began rubbing the two together like he was trying to light a fire. Petey’s little paws flailed this way and that as Eddie tousled his furry friend to a fair-thee-well.

“Sometimes I like to just sit myself down and start writing, not knowing where I’m going or why I’m going there. That’s when it’s really fun, when you find yourself drifting into all kinds of unexpected places. Kinda like Alice in Wonderland. My best stuff comes when I can’t tell you how or why I got there.”

“But that’s your style,” I said. “It probably wouldn’t work for me or anyone else.”

“Jeez,” he exclaimed, “don’t take everything I say so literally. Get with the concept, Bobbo.”

“What about all those writers who have certain personal writing rules, who get up every morning and, like clockwork, write from seven ‘til noon, and never miss a day?”

“Their pants are too tight,” Eddie said, hitching up his faded Wranglers.

He kind of shook Petey as if he were going to hang the little guy out to dry, but the raccoon, all fluffed up and cute as the dickens, squirmed loose and jumped onto the nearby bed. The raccoon looked at us suspiciously with his little brown bandit eyes and promptly fell asleep.

“Another thing,” Eddie said, dumping the wash basin in the front yard, “you don’t have to be around the house to write. Be mobile. Put that idea down inside your damn head. Carry it around for a while. Tinker and toy with it. Bounce it around a little. Squeeze it like Charmin. You’ll have a lot more fun that way. Then, when it’s convenient, slam it into the old Magic Box.”

Eddie glanced over at Petey. “Christ almighty, he’s on my pillow again. He knows better.” He gently lifted the sleepy raccoon and placed him at the foot of the bed.

“Rules,” he said.

Robert J. Wetherall

Last Flight Home

The Making of Bernie Trumble

Forever Andrew

Available at Amazon

Great News for Golf Fans - Al-Qaeda Fatwa

Breaking news from our author correspondent Robert J. Wetherall...

Al Qaeda Fatwa Declared on 'In the Hole' Idiots

by Robert J. Wetherall

In a surprise pro-Western goodwill gesture, Al Qaeda and its Taliban subsidiaries have announced plans to forge a Jihad against all those drunken goofballs who yell “In the Hole” every time a golf pro strikes a ball during tournament play.

“These besotted fools have no shame and must be dispatched to the Land of the Virgins by any means,” declared an unnamed Al-Qaeda spokesman. This announcement came after the group learned many Americans believed the “In the Hole” idiots were actually Taliban insurgents employing a new psychological terror tool.

US golf tournaments have been plagued and disrupted by slack-jawed imbeciles who have to scream “In the Hole” after every golfers’ swing. This has disrupted play on many occasions and has understandably led to rampant bloodshed in many instances. 

“We will track down these misguided devils without mercy,” declared the Al-Qaeda spokesman.

American tournament officials have thus far withheld comment on the situation, except to announce that, beginning with major PGA tournaments this fall, free parking spaces will be set aside for visiting camels and their riders.

Robert J. Wetherall
Last Flight Home
The Making of Bernie Trumble
Forever Andrew

...available at Amazon and other online booksellers

New Release - VAMPIRE IN THE OUTFIELD

Vampire in the Outfield
by Walter Knight


Can vampire's play baseball? They can if they play only at night - and don't eat the umpire!

Johnny Black just wants to play baseball in the major leagues. He wants to so badly, he's willing to do anything, even make a deal with the Devil. And it seems he's already in Hell when he goes down to Mexico to tryout for the winter league. But as he fouls out on the mound and his dream seems to be lost, his luck changes when he goes to a cantina to drown his sorrows and meets a beautiful mysterious woman...

Available in ebook at popular online retailers

Al Qaeda Confirms: Osama's Dance Studio Still Open

BREAKING HEARSAY NEWS from our author-correspondent at large...

Al Qaeda Confirms: Osama's Dance Studio Still Open

by Robert J. Wetherall

According to reliable reports, terrorist fears have eased over concern that Osama Bin Laden’s sudden headache will limit his activities.

My good friend and mentor, celebrated author Eddie Salinski, says his sources confirm that Osama’s School of Ballet and Tap in Boca Raton will remain open. As Eddie puts it, “Intensive training in ballet and tap have been a required part of terrorist training for years, ever since startled aides found Bin Laden wearing a pink tutu while molesting his favorite camel.”

Eddie reminded me that swarthy men wearing colorful tutus have long been a part of the Boca Raton street scene. Locals believe the men are part of a troupe of circus performers, despite the AK-47’s casually slung over their shoulders.

Before his sudden onset of head trauma, Bin Laden had claimed that skillful execution of ballet moves would help aspiring terrorists in their more intensive training efforts. And he advocated up-tempo time-steps by tap-dancing suicide bombers as an effective way of entering crowded markets without causing undue notice.

I asked Eddie if he trusted these reports. (After all, our daily TV and news outlets haven’t picked up this news.) 

“Who gives a rat’s ass?” he countered, a wide smiling creasing his gnarly countenance. “I love stories like these,” he said. “There’s so much bull floating around in the press these days, you can’t keep up with it. Those crazy bastards’ll print anything, I swear upon my trusty Donald Trump Bible.”

“Not anything,” I said.

“Anything,” he repeated. “Want some proof?  Okey-dokey.” He jammed a newspaper into my face, and I looked at one of the headlines. Something about the world coming to an end.

Robert Wetherall

Last Flight Home

The Making of Bernie Trumble

Forever Andrew

Available at Amazon.com, penumbrapublishing.com

Recipe for Success: Going to the Dogs

From author Robert J. Wetherall...

Celebrated author and welder Eddy Salinski tells me that anytime he writes himself into a corner, he just pops a dog into the story. Mutt or champion, it doesn’t make any difference, insists Salinski. "You’ll be swamped by drooling agents and bean-counting publishers," he says.

People, including those who can read, have a special place in their hearts for pooches, according to Eddy. Big pooches, small pooches, fat pooches, skinny pooches ... they’re all the same: lovable, laughable and loyal to a fault.

As a serious writer (or an unserious writer for that matter), you can use pooches to good effect in writing yourself out of all kinds of jams.

Tired love scenes? Throw any large pooch into the fray. Dull dialogue? A yipping Chihuahua can sprinkle your story with sage comments in Spanish. Blocked on your tense mountain avalanche tragedy? Try a trusty Saint Bernard to the rescue.

This works in all media, of course. After all, who ran for help when that little kid (Timmy?) got stuck in the well? (Yes, that's right, Lassie to the rescue.) And even the iconic Budweiser Clydesdales frequently add a bit of pathos to their commercials by tossing a Dalmatian into the mix.

And it’s so darn easy, requiring not a shred of imagination or literary expertise, because you can plug any old dog into your work and leech off a good measure of furry warmth. Puppies are surefire, of course. Pair them with doggie names like Katie, Buzzy, and Elmo, and you just can’t go wrong.

One caveat, thought - match mutts to your storyline. Would Stephen King have had a bestseller if he had chosen a Yorkie to play the part of Cujo? Perhaps not.

Summing up, literary success is yours for the asking, according to my pal, Eddy Salinski. Put a pooch to work in your saga, and you’ll never have to eat beans again.

-Robert Wetherall

Last Flight Home
The Making of Bernie Trumble
Forever Andrew

Available at http://www.amazon.com/, http://penumbrapublishing.com/, http://www.wetherallbooks.com/

Writing Humor: Top-Five Query No-Nos

Always looking for more information to stock our modest quiver of knowledge, we recently contracted one of our authors, Robert J. Wetherall, to conduct an exhaustive poll among of seven harried literary agents, to understand their pet peeves regarding author queries. Five of them responded (thus our 'top-five' list). Below are excerpts of queries that went out of control and plunged off the narrow road of acceptance:

1) Self-denigration: You’ve written your heart out — now don’t mess things up by not standing by your manuscript.

“To whom it may concern: You probably won’t like this, but I’m sending it to you anyway. It’s the usual life story, and even includes a funny bit where my mom took a hot poker to my bottom for eating the last of the Cheerios. Hope you like it, but it’s not a big deal if you don’t.”

2) Mega-confidence: Opposite of No. 1 ... Don’t overdo it.

“I chose you guys to represent me cuz I heard you were the best in the lit biz. I’ve enclosed half of the first sample chapter to give you an idea of the opportunity that’s yours for the signing. It’s copyrighted, too — so don’t even think of ripping me off.”

3) The Numbers Game: Overwhelming agents with a constant, unending barrage of your stuff doesn’t work.

“I’ve given yeoman’s service to the task of trying to get you to represent me, including hundreds of faxes, emails, tweets, texts, and what not. How about sex? This is my final offer.”

4) Handle with Care: Take the time to show the agent you respect your craft by making sure you’ve prepared your work with dedication and diligence.

“Enclosd pleze find 3 simple chaptrs for my latest book, LUV IN THE RAFTERS. It’s the saga of a family of mice reproducing in extrordinery numbers. Pleze git back to me ASAP as I’m holding my breaths.” [Take special note of the misspellings and typos.]

5) Threats: Directly or indirectly, it doesn’t usually pay to shower prospective agents with dire events, should they reject your literary treasure.

“Remember your Chihuahua Pepe? I’m holding the little mutt hostage until I get a favorable note from you regarding my novel, PETS FOR LUNCH.”

Indeed, these are the kind of communications that cross agents’ desks with surprising regularity. No wonder they’re afraid to open their mail. So, take heed. This business is tough enough without some of you wrecking it for the rest of us.

Robert J. Wetherall
Forever Andrew;
Last Flight Home;
The Making of Bernie Trumble

Amazon.com; penumbrapublishing.com;

Osama Bin Laden - Strictly Fiction (and strictly humor)

There is compelling evidence that Osama Bin Laden doesn’t exist – and never has.

For writers, this means that the sprinkling of mere words across a page still possess the power to alter the course of history. Here then, are the facts as we know them, from the writer who started this masterwork of fiction, Akmed Ish Ke-bab, in his own words...

*****

It was back in the early 1960’s when I was mistakenly arrested near my Saudi home on suspicion of spying for the insurgent Haji tribes. Government police tossed me – torn, bruised and bleeding – into a cold concrete cell. Huge rats the size of burros nibbled at my toes as I contemplated my fate.

Soon enough, the iron cell door squeaked open and two huge jailers with pistols and long beards entered the cell and dragged me upstairs. My interrogator in traditional Saudi robe and headdress wore a monocle in his right eye and was smoking a brownish cigarette. As I sat on a small stool in front of him, he signaled the jailers to begin pummeling me lustily with the butts of their pistols. This they did with alacrity, despite my pathetic cries for mercy.

“So now, who is the leader of your group?” the interrogator asked, motioning the jailers to cease their ministrations for the nonce.

In response, I vomited my last meal of donkey entrails, casual barfing sounds escaping my bubbling lips as I did so.

“Ah,” he cried. “We have the name at last!”

“What?” I asked, wiping my lips with a tattered sleeve.

“You said Bin Laden. Osama.”

“No, that was just a noise I made.”

“Too late to take back, you filthy swine. My ears do not deceive.” He motioned to the guards. “Take him out back and hang him.”

Just then, a heaven-sent RPG dissolved the building in dust, and I found myself out in the street, surrounded by body parts and overturned vehicles, but miraculously still alive and in good working order. Later that night, sleeping beneath a palm in a public park, I had a revelation and awoke, asking myself, Who is this Osama Bin Laden?” – syllables of which my larynx had inadvertently concocted as bile burst forth from my lips.

Such a man did not exist. But, as a typical starving, homeless writer, I was adept at grasping at straws. Thus, in giving this Osama figment a life, I would shape him and use him for whatever good fortune would bring me. Thus, single-handedly in the years that followed, my imagination gave birth to this fictional character Bin Laden, telling of his mad exploits and loopy outbursts in books and articles for the masses. My words gave him a rich father, a family of wives and brats, money to pursue his giddy ideas and crackpot schemes. Little did I realize then that thousands of crazed followers would become enamored of this Bin Laden, the bizarre creature of my cerebral cortex. It would give them all something concrete instead of their former careers fashioning bricks from steaming camel dung.

All of this has provided me with a good living.

*****

A bright smile on his bronze, bearded face, Akmed is older and a tad creaky now, but his memory is Gillette sharp. His books and movies embellishing the Osama legend have garnered him millions. He now lives in a lavish hideaway near Boca Raton, Florida where he follows the frequent bursts of news about Bin Laden’s alleged follies with a grin and a chuckle.

But, you ask, what about that bozo with the scraggly beard that appears all the time on the tube threatening to blow up America’s carmelcorn stands?

“He is my idiot nephew, Omar,” says Akmed. “I pay him to ‘pretend’ whenever they turn him loose for a visit home from the hospital.”

So that’s the ticket, fiction writers! Come up with your own imaginary characters. Just remember: Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun have already been taken.

Robert Wetherall
Last Flight Home
The Making of Bernie Trumble
Forever Andrew

Available at Amazon.com, penumbrapublishing.com, wetherallbooks.com

New Year Blues Cured With Humor

Hope all of you had a great holiday! Did you get that new iphone or X-box from Santa that you were hoping for this year?

No? Well, too bad. Maybe next year, huh? Oh, wait. By next Christmas, what you wanted will be outdated and replaced by something newer and better and twice as expensive. So start saving now. You can't depend on an old fat man in a red suit to make your gadget dreams come true!

So ... how about New Year's resolutions? Make any of those?

No? Well, then, what promises will you have on hand to break? Get busy! It's not too late to make those resolutions so you have something to feel guilty about when you don't achieve any goals. Remember, you only have 23.8 months until the world comes to an end. Yes, Dec. 21, 2012, is the target date set by the end of the Mayan calendar, before those elegantly savage indigenous people all mysteriously disappeared from the face of the earth in a mass alien abduction.

What? You didn't hear about that? Well, go ask your friends who have cable and watch the History Channel, where the doom and gloom mocumentaries can be viewed each evening at prime time. (Just kidding about that end-of-the-world thing, folks. We probably have at least three more years left.)

If you're not into "Life After People" or "Mega Disasters," then tune into the UFO mocumentaries. Some of them are quite startling in their pseudo-realistic information! The alien dummies used in the autopsy photos are truly inspiring with realistic details. And if UFOs aren't your thing, there's always some evil comet or renegade asteroid lurking just outside Earth's orbit, waiting to wreak havoc on our delicate atmosphere. (Like we aren't doing enough of that ourselves with carbon emissions. Why wait 40 billion years for the sun to expand to a red gas giant and fry our atmosphere - we can do that now on our own!)

Meanwhile, if you're looking for some amusing pasttime to escape all that scary stuff, be sure to check out some of our humorous and entertaining books...

The AMERICA'S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION series...


Book 1: Feeling Lucky

Book 2: Reenlistment

Book 3: Silent Invasion

Book 4: Demilitarized Zone

Book 5: Insurgency

Book 6: Culture War

Book 7: ... coming soon!



THE MAKING OF BERNIE TRUMBLE:
A Tale of Man and Mutt in a World Run by Women

Introducing Bernie Trumble, renegade. Born in a world ruled by women, where women direct commerce, make the laws, create the art, and dictate fashion – while frustrated males stay home to wash socks and wipe runny noses.

The Making of Bernie Trumble pits one man against the system. Bernie is an outcast because he thinks, unlike most people in his world, that males and females should have equal opportunity for growth and fulfillment. Bernie risks everything – family, friends, job, and self-esteem – in a stubborn attempt to find happiness by closing the gender gap. Maybe a transgender operation is the answer. Or maybe not.

Bernie’s odyssey takes him to extremes, plunging him into one adventure after another. Like Dorothy in the Land of Oz, he meets a lot of interesting people along the way – and some of them aren’t so nice. But through it all, this humorous fantasy pokes fun at the real world and gives a surprising look at gender in society, where the roles of men and women are not only unequal, but totally reversed. The result is at times sad and maddening, as the reality of gender inequality is exposed in all its nasty detail – but the tongue-in-cheek flair helps ease the pain with every guilty chuckle.

BROADLAND SUSPENSE: The Blue Lady

The year is 1974, a time of strife and turmoil in the British Isles and across the globe, as the economy plunges downward and industry collapses. Undaunted, a group of young Scottish men hire a cruiser on the Norfolk Broads for their summer holiday.

Comical circumstances complicate their attempts to find fun and romance, and the interference of a criminal element ensures they get more than they bargained for.

Their nautical skills are put to test with high waters and near-collisions, while their attention is drawn by scantily dressed young ladies. Unwittingly caught up in a Customs sting to catch a crafty gang of smugglers, the boys find their fortunes quickly changing. But even in the midst of adversity, intrigue, and danger, these plucky lads depend on their camaraderie and sense of humor to see them through.

This is one holiday they’ll never forget; their time with the Blue Lady changes their lives forever.

NIGHT OF THE GUPPY:
Sylvia Chesterton, Vampire Guppy Hunter

From the author of Blood and Sunlight: A Maryland Vampire Story, comes the riveting tale of a vampire fish, a hunter, and the most important guppy show competition ever. (Totally tatheleth and ridiculouth, but try reading it anyway. After all, it’s free on Smashwords and only 99-cents on Amazon! Anyway, what better way do you have to waste your time?)

THE CAT'S FANCY

Humans think they rule the animal kingdom, but cats know better. Every now and then, humans need a little help, and Max the Cat meets the challenge when his human Kari gets in deep doo-doo after losing her job. His solution? Kari needs a mate – and fast!

KariAnn Ingles loves her big black kitty Max, who seems to understand her so well, she suspects he can read her mind. Unfortunately, Max the Cat is very protective and runs off every date she brings home. As a result, Max is the only man in her life.

Max adores his human Kari. But suddenly she starts spending all day, every day, at home, not bothering to go to work. This seriously cramps his feline lifestyle, and it’s time to take matters into his own paws. Kari needs a mate, and Max is on a big-kitty mission to find her the purrr-fect man – if there is such a creature!

Daniel Cole Jordensen is settling into his new apartment after a job transfer and breakup with his latest girlfriend. When a black cat shows up at his door and won’t leave him alone, he follows him to the apartment of a charmingly unkempt young woman named Kari Ingles. Suddenly Cole’s past troubles with women are eclipsed by Miss Ingles and her darned cat!

DOMINATRIX-ONLINE.COM - Mistress Blackheart: Policeman's Prerogative

“You’ve been very naughty, and you must be punished.”

When snarky über-slacker Dominique Milhaus gets arrested and hauled to jail on her twenty-fifth birthday and is charged with Internet prostitution, her nights as a video-streaming dominatrix come to an abrupt halt. But Gwinnet County motorcycle patrolman Richard Carlyle, subbing as booking officer at the station that night, has something else in mind for recently out-of-work Mistress Blackheart.

A little afternoon delight complicates things in a hurry, and the ex-dominatrix who can’t commit quickly finds herself at odds with the irritating cop used to getting everything his own way. Add a pair of handcuffs to the mix, and there’s no telling who will end up on top!

The Dominatrix Rules of Engagement

1. The woman with the whip is the Dominatrix. The Dominatrix will be obeyed without question at all times.
2. The personal space of the Dominatrix must be respected. Touching or attempting to touch the Dominatrix is strictly forbidden. Violations will be dealt with swiftly and severely.
3. The Dominatrix will dictate one hour in which to make her entrance at the designated area, and will arrive at her leisure.
4. When the Dominatrix arrives, the designated area becomes her realm. The Dominatrix forbids illegal activities or substances in her realm.
5. All subjects 18 years of age or older within the realm of the Dominatrix immediately become her submissives. Anyone under the age of 18, and anyone who does not wish to be a submissive, must be gone from the designated area when the Dominatrix makes her entrance.
6. The Dominatrix demands complete obedience from her submissives. Any hesitation or reticence in obeying will displease the Dominatrix – and it is never a good idea to displease the Dominatrix. Those who dare will be punished severely.
7. At the conclusion of her reign within the realm, the Dominatrix accepts cash gratuity.

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