Very excited! My new novel, Thawing A.C. Nielsen, is now up and available for "pre-sale" (just $2.99 for Kindle or other ebook format, then price goes up before the holidays) on Kindle here:
http://amzn.to/2bULRD1
Selling like crazy- please go to that link and consider ordering the ebook or at least sharing the info with other book enthusiasts! It's already hitting top 100 various genre lists on Amazon!
Newly posted there-- a 5-star review from one of the top reviewing companies! Until it goes "live for sale" there won't be any customer reviews or samples-- that happens Oct. 18th. There will also be a paperback version up soon. Check it out and please spread the word. I need all the publicity help I can get since I am not giving away my book to a mainstream publishing house!
I am wondering if any of you would consider reviewing the book. It will be released on Amazon/Kindle on October 18th. I need reviews from regular folks posted to amazon on the release day, if possible. You get a FREE pdf, word.doc or .mobi (Kindle ebook file) copy and plenty of time between now and mid-October to read it. Let me know, friends!
CHAPTER 35 is pretty bawdy- if you have sensitive ears you might wanna skip reading it. But, it is pretty funny!
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“What the hell are all these papers you’re dumping on my
desk, Shontae? You know I hate paper. Get rid of it!”
“Shut the hell up, Jak, and
please mix yourself a drink. You got any liquor hidden in here? You’re so far
beyond cranky. That damn caffeine drink just makes you a hyper asshole instead
of a boozy one. Tell your doctors to fuck themselves. Anyway, this stuff is
from Baby Boy Bronsteyn—more show proposals from the public. The deadline is
almost here. These are the best, or maybe just the weirdest ones that have come
in recently.”
“Oh, really? I am so excited. Look at me, I’m jumping with
so much joy. Oh, fuck it—what’s he got?”
“Here’s one, the working
title is Caboose Wars. A bunch of
female railroad enthusiasts. They fixed up some old train cars and cabooses—you
can sleep in them. Kind of like a bed-and-breakfast thing. They’re in South
Dakota.”
“And the war part of
it—what’s that, Shontae?”
“There’s another bunch of
women one town over copying the first chicks and trying to steal the customers
away. You should read about the evil stuff they’ve been doing to each other to
try to get the upper hand. Also, all the women happen to have really large—well
you fill in the blank, Jak. Can you guess it?” Shontae said, winking.
“Oh fuck, seriously?
They’ve all got big asses? What are the odds? Caboose Wars? Yeah, people will watch it.”
“Yes, they will. And maybe
we can get Amtrak for some product placement.”
“Anything else?” Jak asked.
“Here’s one. Hmm, let’s
see,” said Lou Stanislav, Jak’s production assistant, as he scanned another
proposal. “Blade of Truth. It’s this
guy in Winnipeg who’s got blades for legs, like that Olympic runner guy who
killed his girlfriend. Remember that? Anyway, this blade guy is a hotshot
lawyer. Takes cases no one else will. And he wins them all.”
“Wait, this is for real? It
sounds like a script.”
“No, it’s for real. I’m
reading it through. Check out the pic. The dude is handsome. Chicks will dig
him. His mother submitted it. She thinks it should be called Blade of Truth: Going Out on a Limb.”
“That’s so bad it’s good,
Lou,” Jak said. “Lord. Any more? Please say no.” He grabbed the tension-release
gadget his secretary had given him for Christmas and started squeezing the
thing. It hardly helped. A frigging
tennis ball would work just as well as this stupid, overpriced thing, Jak thought.
“Sorry, Jak,” Shontae said.
“Here’s one more the interns marked all up with yellow Hi-Liter exclamation
marks. They call it Who’s Your
Oven-Bakin’ Momma?”
“Cooking show? We don’t do
that. Boring!”
“No, stupid,” Shontae said.
“It’s about a group of teen girls in Mississippi who realize there’s big money
in being surrogate mothers. They’re not considering getting a job down at the Walmart
or Hobby Lobby—that’s for losers. They keep carrying cute little test tube fetuses
over and over, hauling in serious dough from desperate-for-children East Coast
rich couples. All these girls have funky tats, too, Jak. We all know you love
the ladies with tats, right?”
“Eh, fuck you, Shontae.”
“Okay, stop arguing and
being such assholes,” Lou demanded. “I timed Chris Bronsteyn’s proposed one hundredth
Dimi and Khail Show. It’s a pretty
damned good storyboard, but we’re going to be eight or nine minutes short. I
can’t find any way to stretch these scenes out to hit our mark. What do you
want to do?”
“How about we have Dimi sit
on Jak’s face on camera?” Shontae offered. “Watch him squirm. That could be
five minutes.”
“Jesus, Shontae, don’t go
shocking Lou’s innocent mind with your filthy mouth. He’s a card-carrying
Lutheran, for Chrissake,” Jak said, abandoning the stupid gadget and fidgeting
with his tie.
“I don’t get it—why doesn’t
this show ever just jump the goddamn shark?” Lou asked. “I mean really, who
cares about Dimi and Khail? I’d rather watch Montana Mama. Now there’s a
woman.”
“So you dig her, Lou? Isn’t
she kind of old for you? She’s like forty-five and you’re what—thirty?” Shontae
said, poking hard at Lou’s biceps. She loved teasing the millennials who kept
coming in waves into the ranks of the biz.
“She’s beautiful. I know
her hair is turning gray, but it’s so thick and damn gorgeous. And she’s got
like perfect 34C boobs.”
“Oh, so you don’t like
Dimi’s? What’s wrong with them?” Jak asked as he filled a cup of coffee. He’d
grown tired of the Red Bull.
“They’re gargantuan,” Lou explained.
“She could strangle a guy with them. Lure him in, like a black widow spider or
a girl praying mantis, and then suffocate him. And imagine what those titties
will be like when she’s fifty. Hell, we’ll probably still be filming this damn
show then.”
“Lou, in the future we can
film it in space. Her aging boobs won’t sag in zero gravity,” Shontae said.
“We’ll get NASA’s approval.”
“Ha, stop it. Don’t make me
laugh so hard.”
“What, Lou?” Shontae asked.
“You’re getting hard? Here, just thinking about Montana Mama?”
“He likes Mama and
especially all those bighorn sheep out there in Montana, Shontae,” Jak said. “I
think he’s a real animal lover—a zoophiliac, I think they call it.”
“Well, then he’s got
something special in common with Dimi and her ancestors. Didn’t those Greek
shepherd boys like to fuck their flock?”
“I believe so. Say that ten
times fast: fuck their flock, fuck their
flock!” Jak let out a long sigh—it was nice to have funny, irreverent
friends. Being around them substantially reduced the daily stress of running
the production company. For Jak and his staff, these wicked little office
gabfests were comic relief for crass people in an admittedly despicable, yet
highly lucrative business. “Oh well, seriously, guys, how are we going to pad
this show? Add eight minutes? Where, how?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” Lou
said.
“I got an idea, guys,”
Shontae blurted out as she stood up, grabbed two markers and started to make up
a manic storyboard, scribbling wildly on the whiteboard in Jak’s office. “What
if we backtrack a little—make that a road trip to a spa in San Diego? There’s a
Saturday Night Sexsations shop in a mall there, so that works. That gives us
more to work with—easy five minutes. After the mall thing, we’ll tag on three
minutes by following Khail and Dimi to Balboa Park. They can ride the carousel,
nibble each other’s ears, something sweet just the two of them. Then fade into
the sunset.” She added a drooling smiley-face to her presentation, plus a
sketch of someone giving the finger.
“Aw, Shontae, that’s precious.”
Jak laughed. “Okay, that will work. And if we’re still short a minute or two,
Dimi can look straight into the camera and flash the audience, right?”
“Yes, exactly,” Lou said.
“Release the twins!”
