Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Excerpt from "Occurring or Situated Between Stars"

The sci-fi novel, Occurring or Situated Between Stars was mostly overlooked when it came out in 1997. Many people found the definition-heavy title to be off-putting and "sleep-putting" to their brains.

       "Alright, alright, alright." Captain Mahonahay said in a smooth, relaxed and slightly southern draw. "Let's kick this puppy into high-gear..." he continued, while kicking an actual puppy into the higher gears of the Equinox's loud, pumping engine. The puppy let out a terrifying yelp as the gears of the space shuttle crushed it's sweet, three-day-old puppy skull. 
       "The blood of that innocent baby puppy should lubricate those pistons for another hour or so," Mahonahay said calmly, while strapping himself into the captain's seat. "Let's hope we can find a planet to land on before we've crushed you all in the pistons."
       The pile of cute puppies that Captain Mahonahay was talking to on the bridge of the Equinox just stared back at the laid-back man cutely. The little one, Pip, squeeled with delight, standing on his hind legs for attention, wanting to be loved. "Alright, alright, alright." said Mahonahay, reaching for the puppy. "It looks like you need some love, Sugarcake. I think I'll throw you in the turbines, next." And with that, the Captain made his way back to the engine room, tickling Pip under his soft, furry neck the whole time. The whole time. Yes he did. The whole time. And Pip wuved it. Yes he did. He wuved every second of it didn't he? That's a good puppy. 
        Pip was then hurled mercilessly into the grinding gears of the space shuttle's engine, splattering another coat of red across the room. 
        "Alright, alright, alright." Mahonahay said as he walked back to the bridge to find forty-five fully grown German Shepherd's foaming at the mouth and growling at him. "Oh, no!" Mahonahay said quick as lightning, "We must have flown through a disturbance in time and space and somehow it only affected the bridge of the ship, causing these once lovable and innocent puppies to grow instantaneously into adult dogs with an understandable hatred of me." 
       Mahonahay blinked but once before the dogs descended upon him, tearing him apart like a child of seven opening a gift on her birthday. As Mahonahay died painfully, he thought of humanity, and how they, too, would now die a painful death, since he had not found a planet suitable for humans to live on. That was his one job.

(For more sci-fi excerpts check out Voyage to the Crimson Moon Excerpt #1 and Excerpt #2)

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Excerpt #4 from "The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn"

The fourth excerpt from "The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn", book 3 of the epic 79 book fantasy series, "The Spheres of Larnitha", takes place in the Great White City of Qwoo, where Aesh'orn has been taken.

       The Common Knight slowly opened his eyes. They burned as the light seared into them. Above, were flowing banners of white and yellow, made from paper-thin silks. The walls, and floors, and ceilings were all the purest white, carved from the fabled Snowstones of the Western Isles. Aesh'orn looked down and noticed that he was no longer wearing the studded, rough-spun surcoat over dull and rusted mail that he had worn every day of this cycle. In its place were turquoise linens and below were ornate silk breeches for covering his naughtiness. 
       On the turquoise linens, thousands upon thousands of dragon's turds were intricately inlaid. There were dragon's turds of all colors and shapes and sizes. Golden turds from the Mandel Dragons of the North, crimson turds from the Dragons of the Pine, lavender turds from the Lotus Dragons, turds of pink and lemon yellow from the Dragons Beyond the Sea, there were bright green turds and dark green turds, both from the Eastmond Dragons, and from the Goj-ee, there were dragon's turds that sparkled brighter than diamonds. Along the sleeves of his silkened tunic, he noticed rows of turds that had been mixed together. Turd cocktails of blues and browns and silver and auburn and a hundred more, each more wonderful than the last. 
       His belt was the softest leather, sheepskin, a black darker than night.
       On the back of his silk tunic were even more dragon's turds, adorning the soft, sheer fabrics. Tiny turds from the Spring Dragons of Montha, in all the colors of the rainbow and arranged in beautiful patterns. The turds were too small to have come from anything larger than a baby dragon. Along the walls, however, were the bigger display turds. Massive dragon shits that had come from full-sized adult dragons with a healthy diet. They shimmered in the late-day sunlight as Aesh'orn slowly walked among them, fingering the dimples and dents and mounds and curves of each of the solidified fecal piles.
       The Common Knight had never seen anything as beautiful in his life. He searched the great empty hall, but apart from the gorgeous piles of dragon waste, there was no one. Aesh'orn realized he was alone. All of the dragon's turds in the world were useless in a city with a population of one...

(Other excerpts from The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn: Excerpt #1, Excerpt #2, and Excerpt #3)

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Excerpt #3 from "The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn"

[In the third excerpt from the epic fantasy novel, The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn, Little Webbly and Lord Wolfe finally reach the Triplets and the Army of Orphans is broken apart by the use of the unspeakable word...]


       The Triplets, three matching towers guarding the Pimple-Neck Pass, loomed over Webbly. He looked up at the ancient structures, their shadows covering Webbly like a ragged blanket of Ice Cotton. Little Webbly reached into his food sack, retrieving his last bit of hardened milk-bread, " Mmmmm. Hard, milk-like bread..." He said, eating the hard and milk-ish bread. 
       "Webbly," Lord Steppen Wolfe pointed at Webbly to make sure he knew which of the twelve Webbly's of various sizes he was talking about, "Lil' Webbly, the only thing worse than the stale, milky bread going into your mouth are the stale, milky words coming from it." 
       "I'm sorry, m'lord," Webbly said, with a mouth full of stale bread. 
       "Seriously, stop talking." Lord Wolfe said.
       "Seriously, I'm sorry." Webbly replied.
       "Alright, I'm going to kill you." the Lord said, as he pulled his long sword from it's scabbard.
       "But Ogana, the One-Eyed Crowen said that if you killed me, all of Larnitha would perish to the evil darkness that is Garadun, the Black Wizard of Sadness, Despair and Small Children."
        "Fine," Lord Wolfe sheathed his sword, and bit his lip. "I suppose I could always kill you after we've used your unwavering child innocence to destroy the final Sphere of Larnitha." 
        "Yeah, just do that." Webbly smiled. 
        "Oh, I'm going to," Lord Wolfe retorted, "but in the mean time..." Lord Wolfe reached out and in one quick swipe, smacked the boy across his stupid face. 
        "You cunt," said Webbly, his hand now resting over his dumb cheek.
        "Whoa. Hey. Whoa. Hey. Whooooooooa. Hey now. That's not cool." Lord Wolfe responded. 
        "Wait, it's cool if you smack a seven year old child," Webbly said, "but, it's not OK for that seven year old child to call you a 'cunt'?"
        With the second mentioning of the unspeakable word, Lord Wolfe gave the child another backhand across his idiotic face. "You're only seven?"
        "Seven and a half, m'lord." 
        The Lord of Wolfetin slapped the dumb child a third time. "Half years don't count you fat, overgrown man of a child."
        The third slap was not only all his dumb face could take, but also all his dumb pride could take, "I'm telling Ogana the One-Eyed Crowen on you!" Webbly said as he began to sob and run through the woods. Lord Wolfe turned to face his remaining three hundred followers who had been politely waiting for the altercation to end and after a moment said, "Finally... Am I right?"

(Other excerpts from The Gauntlets of Aesh'orn: Excerpt #1, Excerpt #2, Excerpt #4)

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Excerpt from "West of El Paso"

[In this classic western from 1965, Trent Bullocks and Preacher Thomas must save El Paso from a gang of outlaws by defeating them one at a time in a no-holds-barred chicken-wire cage match.]

        "Don't do it, Trent," the preacher said.
        "Don't tell me what to do, old man. You can't even get your chew in the spittoon, you crazy, old fool. You're just an old, crazy fool. That's what you are, you fool of a crazy old man."
        "That may be, Trent, but I ain't plannin' on fightin' no Charlee McBrawns bare-knuckle in a cage made of chicken wire, am I?" Preacher Thomas replied.
         "I ain't afraid of no Charlee McBrawns, or none other of them Samson Gang." Trent said while swigging from the preacher's bottle of whisky.
         The preacher looked at Trent with his beady, little preacher eyes,"You should be, boy! Why I once heard that Charlee McBrawns killed a rattler snake with his bare hands while he was shitting, just because he forgot to bring a book."
         "Well...so what?"
         "I heard he once didn't know what to get his friend for her birthday, so he borrowed her horse, killed it, skinned it and sewed it into a matching outfit that he then gave back to her as a gift."
          "That seems excessive." Trent said.
          "And I also once heard Charlee McBrawns was bitten by a sweet little bunny rabbit while they was playin' and he got so pissed off that he wanted to murder it, but it was so cute that he couldn't bring himself to do it; so with all this murder buildin' up inside of him he slaughtered everyone in that mining town south of Hartland."
           Trent was getting nervous about the choice to fight Charlee. "What's your point?" Trent asked.
           "Anyone tell those stories about you?"
       

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Excerpt from "Dusty Bowler"

[Written in 1938, Dusty Bowler was a harsh criticism on the corruption in Washington. Although it wasn't well-received when it was first published, it remained not-well-received to this day.]

        The old man put his pick-axe down and wiped the sweat from his brow with an already-soiled handkerchief. "Well, you're gonna come to a fork in the road about fifty yards that-a way," he said, "and you're gonna wanna make yourself a left turn. Then you're gonna go about a mile and a half till you get to a trident in the road. Now you're gonna wanna take the middle prong about forty-five feet further down until you get to an oscillating hexagon in the road...this is where most people get lost, now." 
        "Ok..." Jacob responded. 
        "Now see, an ancient fourteen-foot troll is going to appear and ask you three questions. Now, the first two questions are just formalities such as 'how are you?'; answer those however you please."
        "Ok..."
        "Now the third question is going to be a trick question, ya hear? He's going to ask you why you didn't compliment his hair. Now see, it's because he doesn't have any hair, but he'll be expecting to you to say 'I did compliment your hair' even though you clearly did not. If you do that, he'll kill you in an instant. Just tell the truth. That's the only way to get to Piggly Wiggly. Just tell the truth."

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Excerpt from "The Deadliness of Daylight"

[In this excerpt from The Deadliness of Daylight, one of the many Landon Welsher espionage novels, Landon finds himself on the outskirts of an evil compound masquerading as a popular grocery store chain. In this darkest of moments, he has a realization...]

        The thick, mossy water was up to his chest now, and Landon giggled inappropriately as the cold swamp reached his nipples. "Hahaha! It's cold!" He shouted uncontrollably.
        Rethington raised his hand upon hearing the nipple-related giggles in the distance. The two guards following close behind stopped immediately as the man in the blue "How May I Help You?!" vest gripped his rifle and listened for another clue to Landon's whereabouts.
         Landon watched his breath turn to fog and evaporate before his eyes, and for a brief moment, he thought about how beautiful it was that the breath he was exhaling was combining with the same air that the men who were trying to kill him were breathing in. We are all truly part of the same universe, he thought as he lined up his silenced 9mm automatic with the face of an unaware guard. I wonder what his name is...probably Greg or Jerry or something. I can't see his face through the balaclava, so why am I assuming he's white? Maybe he's a Rajat or a Huan. Wait. Is that racist? What if he isn't white? Why does his name have to be Rajat or Huan? Maybe he's a nice Indian man named Kevin. I don't know. Hell, maybe he is white AND his name is Huan, why would it matter?  It shouldn't. We're all humans.
        Landon squeezed the trigger and watched as the man he didn't know fell lifelessly to the ground with one more hole in his head than he used to have.
       

Monday, July 21, 2014

Excerpt #2 from "Voyage to the Crimson Moon"

[In the second excerpt from Voyage to the Crimson Moon, a science fiction book first published sometime in the late 1950's, the hero known only as "the space-scientist" finds that he's gone twenty-nine years into the future by accident. Fun Fact: Voyage to the Crimson Moon was the first book to depict hippies as having werewolf-like powers.]

        "Has it really been twenty-nine years?" the space-scientist said to himself. "How...how could it have been twenty-nine years?!" He covered his mouth with his hand as he thought in silence. It makes perfect sense that a golf ball accidentally getting lodged into a state-of-the-art computer on a space shuttle would hurtle me not only twenty-nine years into the future, but also to Spokane, Washington. The space-scientist thought.
        The greasy hippie stared at the space-scientist in disbelief for a moment. "Well that's one crazy space-getup you've done got on," the pot addled man said, "What are you? From space or somethin'?" 
        Before the drug-laden hippie could reach for his gun, the space-scientist crushed into his dirty hippie head with the fist of American justice. The filthy, long-haired man fell to the ground and the space-scientist quickly stabbed him through the heart with a silver bullet to stop him from regenerating into a wolf-like creature of the night.
        The space-scientist bolted out, away from the hippie and towards his ship. The long field of grass was the only obstacle between the space-scientist and his time-shuttle. Or so he thought. As he made his way through the tall, green grass, the space-scientist heard a muffled rumble and screeching sounds. He looked left. He looked right. He looked left again. Then he continued to look left, before looking right a second time. That's when he saw it...the music festival. There were over a thousand dirty hippies sitting between the space-scientist and his ship, and he only had enough silver bullets to stab half of them...