Rigor Mortis

My new book Rigor Mortis is available today in e-book format, so I thought I'd post the first chapter here so you guys can take a look. Kindle also offers the entire first chapter as a free sample.

Rigor Mortis is available at Amazon and at Barnes & Noble.

And I don't want to speak out of turn, but I have it on strict authority that Greg Crites is narrating the audio book as we speak. This book was written with his particular narration skills in mind, and I am extremely excited he's taken time out of his busy schedule to do it for me. If you're an audio book freak, go over and peruse his offerings on  veinarmor.com. I suggest starting with Crusade, one of my favorite books of all time, and that's on a list that includes Christopher Moore's Fool and the amazing Confederacy of Dunces.

And now, without further ado, Chapter One of Rigor Mortis.

1

The human body demurring to death is never pretty.

Rigor mortis had long ago set in and receded, great gouts of seeping fluid taking the place of the muscle fibers which had ratcheted shorter and shorter until fully contracted, eventually succumbing to the swell of decomposition.

"Oh, fuck me in the ass, she's oozing all over a real Persian rug. What a waste." The buxom bane of my existence hitched up her slacks and crouched next to the putrefying body.

I gnawed on my unlit cigar, still unaccustomed to the foul epithets that consistently slide from between the pretty lips of my secretary-cum-assistant-cum-stalker. Six months ago, Carla Danning sauntered into my life, all tits, temperament and testicular torture, and she's been an invective-spewing shackle around my tackle ever since. Also, I have reason to believe that is not the name she was given at birth.

But let me introduce myself before we go any further.

My name is Declan Morneau - Dex for short. If I look in the mirror, what stares back is a long-haired heap of sinew and gristle, with too few clients and too much drinking time on his hands. He's comfortable in his own skin, uncomfortable around anyone else's - tired, apathetic, and generally resigned to both, due to his propensity toward circumspection.

As a consequence of the aforementioned lack of clients, I supplement my private detective work as a process server. Thanks to the generosity of our slave-owning forbearers, all citizens of these fine United States have the right to be duly informed of being summoned. Sounds good on paper, but you can't sprinkle powdered sugar on that steaming pile and expect it to go down any easier.

From as far back as I can remember, I've had this weird quirk where I see people and emotions in color. I have no idea why, and frankly I don't care. Sometimes it helps me figure people out, sometimes it just confuses things.

Carla Danning is yellow. Which is interesting, since yellow is a universally accepted signal for caution. Sometimes she takes on an amber resonance, a bit of brown filters in just below the yellow, which to me indicates an underlying darkness. She's short of stature with an incongruously large presence and a tendency toward crassness at inopportune moments. It's hard to ignore the woman, even if you want to.

I squatted down next to Carla, my knees and ankles popping a painful symphony of regret.

"See these inconsistencies?" Carla fingered the knots at the base of the tassels running along the edge of the rug. "These are hand-knotted, for sure. And the fringe isn't fixed with machine stitches."

That's the thing. Carla's smart, which was why I grudgingly agreed to hire her, despite the fact that I'd taken out two restraining orders on her in the past six months; restraining orders that had nothing to do with the questions I now have about her past.

The restraining orders had been much like spraying Raid at a scurrying cockroach; you know it isn't going to do much, but at least you're making an effort to establish some boundaries. The background check - that's something else. A more direct assault, one I'm not so sure I can justify.

The heavy feet clomping through the front door are going to belong to Sergeant Lash, a squat sparkplug of a man, weeks from retirement. Lash is all meat with a bulldog square jaw, cleft chin and a bald head. He and I will go through the standard, "How'd you get in, Morneau?" followed by my typical response: "Door was open, Sarge. Had a lead on a client, landed me here."

If I get hired to track someone down and they're dead when I find them, I like to check things out before the cops come in and make my life more difficult. I have my job to do just like them. So I do it, then I call it in.

"Crime scene's on the way." Lash looked down at us and shook his head. "Carla, your perfumery assault on this space, coupled with the stench of decomposition, is a dual nasal assault no man or beast should have to bear."

I placed both hands on my knees and stood, my joints repeating their earlier protest. I tried to cover the chuckle, coughed it out, but the maneuver was unsuccessful.

Our close proximity, on top of my encouragement of the Sergeant's dig, begged retaliatory action. Carla glanced at Officer Murkowski - much younger, more lithe and generally less grumpy than his superior. He walked around the house scribbling in a small notebook. Carla took the opportunity to stick her tongue in my ear while both officers had their backs to us.

I batted her away and continued to scan the room. As far as the body, the homicide in question was a foregone conclusion, considering the knife embedded in the neck of the bloated body, with its blade buried to the hilt. When pondering suicide, pretty young ladies rarely take a kitchen knife to their own necks if options like razor blades, pills and all manner of household chemicals are available.

A cursory check of the tiny house had revealed razors in the bathroom, plenty of prescription sleeping pills and anti-depressants in the medicine cabinet, two boxes of rat poison, and enough lilac-scented Fabuloso under the kitchen sink to take down a water buffalo, should the need have arisen.

"Family hire you?" Lash eyed Carla, who was adjusting her low-cut blouse as she stood up. But his question was for me.

"Yeah, you know the drill," I said.

I'd received the call two days earlier; a concerned woman wanted me to check into the disappearance of a cousin she'd expected to hear from a few days ago, but hadn't. The woman said she thought her cousin had gotten in over her head with something, but she had no idea what that was. Just a feeling she had. Must have been some feeling for her to fork over a five-hundred dollar retainer, which she deposited that same night through my website.

Forty-eight hours and a few background checks later, Carla and I found ourselves at the residence of one Ward Deckard, the owner of the house we now occupied.

Crystal Bell was the name of the woman liquefying on the floor nearby. So far I'd ascertained that Ms. Bell worked as an independent contractor for Deckard's cleaning company. Their personal relationship was still in question, though it might prove difficult to determine since Ward Deckard was presently in the hospital hooked up to all manner of life-support devices, having succumbed to a massive stroke one week ago.

One of the guys from county morgue entered and immediately set upon the body. I squatted down for the third time that day, knowing I'd regret it later, and watched him pull open his medical bag.

"Cavalry is on its way, Morneau. Finish getting what you need and head out," Lash grumbled. He gave me a bit of latitude at crime scenes, but from what I've heard, his replacement won't be so easily managed.

Carla bent over and whispered in my ear, "And startling finds of science allied with beautiful tools to spawn a plethora of pleasures. As I sucked the very pith of such sweet reveries, then you appear, to make these splendors meager by compare."

"Woman, stop with the exclamations of lust over the stench of death. It's unseemly."

Murkowski grinned, tapping the tip of his pen on his chin. "Shakespeare?" When Carla shook her head, he tried again. "Shelley?"

Carla winked at him. "You got it, sweet-pea."

I stood and stretched out the kinks. "You two are grating on my nerves. Take that higher literary learnin' somewhere it'll be appreciated. Preferably another hemisphere."

"Jealous?" Carla asked.

The sound that came out of me is what's generally referred to as a harrumph. "Officer Smiley is welcome to partake of your foul intentions. I've no patience for an overly libidinous female with a mouth like a longshoreman."

"That's not the impression I got last night." Carla wandered over to a stack of books on a table and used a pencil to slide them around as she perused the titles in between looking up to gauge my reaction.

Both cops stared at me, hoping for some elaboration. I had no intention of sharing the events in question; namely Ms. Danning cornering me in our office late into a night spent pouring through old case files, after what even I had to admit was an unfortunate amount of Johnnie Walker.

"Wretched wench, probably the spawn of some otherworldly sea siren and one of those aforementioned longshoremen," I grumbled, heading outside to light my stogie.

I took a long puff and pondered my insufferable assistant. If she'd just stop talking. . . if she were mute, that'd be half the problem solved right there. Much as I hate to admit it - and I'd never admit it to her - the cringe-worthy stuff that drips like honey from her possibly-forked tongue inspires that same gut-burn I usually have right before I guzzle antacid straight from the bottle. Stuff like that isn't supposed to come from a mouth that I now know is glossed with peach-flavored tint. How are you supposed to ignore someone when you know they taste like your favorite fruit? How do you to erase that kind of assault from your sensory processing center?

I kicked a small rock from the gravel driveway and watched it skitter into the grass and come to rest at the base of a stake with a For Sale sign on it. Vale Realty; I made a mental note to contact them.

Damn woman. I'd been minding my own business, trying to track down a lead, something I remembered from an old case file, and there she was in the doorway of my office, holding a pizza out in one hand and a new bottle of scotch in the other, as the buttons of her blouse strained against the maneuver I knew was not inadvertent.

Opening that second bottle hadn't helped matters.

By the time I could even begin to start processing what was happening, she'd straddled me in my office chair and commenced a slow-grinding assault. Add to that the incessant nibbling on my ear, and the result was a perfect storm of unbridled tension that required immediate release.

I shoved her off my lap and onto the floor at my feet, but that had done nothing to dissuade her. She'd popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box, her top three buttons popping at the same time. She leaned over me, her unencumbered and extremely bourgeoning décolletage aligned with my  nose. Which was just below my eyes, which were planted on her neck, and damned if I was going to look left, right, up or down into the widening chasm that would suck me in like the goddamned Bermuda Triangle.

"We done here?" Carla asked, coming around to plant herself in front of me.

"Woman, I'm gonna get a cow bell for around your neck so you can't sneak up on me like that." I backed up few steps and took a long tug on my cigar, blowing the smoke into the empty space between us, hoping it would act as a buffer.

Carla moved through the haze with the steely smile I'd expect Medusa to be wearing just prior to turning someone into stone and dry-humping them into a pile of dust.

"For the moment, we too must be twain, but your moment is almost up, Detective." Carla walked to my sedan and opened the passenger door, sliding in with all the grace of a predatory cat about to make a meal out of something. Namely me.

My ass clenched, my sack shriveled, and my pecker stiffened, in unison. I marveled at how that was physically possible as I tried to unclench, un-shrivel and un-stiffen so I could join her in the car.

Consensual Infidelity

So, what do you think when you hear the term "swinging?"

I immediately think of the movie Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice, or 1970s style key parties as depicted in the movie The Ice Storm. Then, naturally, my mind progresses to sordid scenes with arms and legs akimbo, naughty bits all tangled together in one squished up delightfully debauched—

Ahem. Excuse me, I'm going to need a moment—

Oh, who am I kidding. I get frazzled with one person eyeing me naked. Add one or two more people to the mix and I'd be in full-on panic attack mode before anyone could scream Muskrat!

Note: Muskrat is the safe-word I've chosen in case I should ever need a safe-word during my lifetime. I like to plan ahead, even for eventualities that aren't likely to transpire. I've also written my Academy Award speech, in the event I somehow end up co-starring opposite Morgan Freeman in a romantic comedy.

Anyway, I think I could be a voyeur, if I were allowed to watch the goings-on from behind my hands, occasionally peeking between my fingers - the same way I watch tampon commercials and rated-R sex scenes.

Don't get me wrong, there's no judgment here. I think consenting adults should be able to do whatever they want, and shouldn't have to explain themselves to the moral majority. Let your freak flag fly, people. Just be sure to write about it once your finished so I can live vicariously through you.

Which brings me to today's interview. The book is called Consensual Infidelity: The True Story of One Ordinary Couple's Experiment with Swinging, by Kaysee Smart.

Here's how Wikipedia defines swinging: (What? Your immediate impulse when you need to consult an authority on sex isn't Wikipedia?):

Swinging or (rarely) partner swapping is a non-monogamous behavior, in which singles or partners in a committed relationship engage in sexual activities with others as a recreational or social activity. Swinging can take place in a number of contexts, ranging from spontaneous sexual activity at informal gatherings of friends to planned regular social meetings to hooking up with like-minded people at a swingers' club. It can also involve Internet-based swinger social networking services online.


As I scroll down the Wikipedia page, I'm reminded of the All in the Family episode where Edith meets a couple whose names she finds in a "friendship" magazine. Cut to her inviting them over for coffee, only to learn they expect her and Archie to partner-swap.

Archie: Swinging! Is that what you call it?

Male Swinger: Yeah, what do you call it?

Archie: Communism!

Consensual Infidelity has its own humorous moments. At the outset, Kaysee is invited to one of those Tupperware-like parties for sex toys, and her utter mortification with regard to the objects for sale made me wonder how a woman who didn't even own a vibrator ended up in a "swinging" situation.

Then, there are lines like this:

"I hadn't even had my husband's tongue down there until after we'd been married for five years."

Suffice it to say that if you spew iced mocha in the vicinity of your e-reader, that goo isn't coming out of those little crevices around the keys very easily. My Kindle is still sticky.

Consensual Infidelity was such an enlightening read, I asked the author and her husband if they would do a blog interview. Since the book is written from "Kaysee's" perspective, I wanted to put "Justin" in the hot-seat first. Which is where he now sits - bound, with his wrists behind his back. Kidding! I'm kidding… He's answering these questions from safety of his home, with the exact amount of distance most men in this situation would want between themselves and an inquisitive interviewer.

So "Justin," here's the question you posed to your wife one night, which eventually led to your swinging experience: "Have you ever thought about having sex with a woman?" I'm wondering if, at any point, you said to yourself: "I never thought she'd say yes! What have I done?"

JUSTIN: I didn’t have any expectations of a yes or no.

Where did the initial question come from?

JUSTIN: If you ask any guy, they’re going to tell you that a threesome is a sexual fantasy of theirs. Guys talk about it, you hear about it. So I wondered about it in my own life. I thought I might as well take a shot with asking.

In the book, we learn that at some point, while scanning a swingers website, you learned that you might have an easier time finding "couples" rather than just adding one other person to the mix. Was that a segue you were immediately comfortable with? Take us through the thought process, as well as any apprehensions you might have had about that.

JUSTIN: I was pretty comfortable with it. I realized that it made sense. Apprehensions would be eased if both the husband and wife were involved. When I got to know how that world operates, it made sense.

There is a part in the book, a very poignant moment actually, where the swinging relationship takes a more serious turn. It is at the point that all four members of the couple get together, when previously you separated as couples to have sex. I wondered what the difference was for you, specifically, being in the room, and in hindsight, was it something you were prepared for?

JUSTIN: Separate rooms were comfortable, like going on a date. When it went to the four person thing, I thought I would be okay, but it was more emotionally powerful than I was ready for at the time.

When you finally read the book, what did you think?

JUSTIN: The book was good. It accurately depicted what happened. There were a few little things that I saw differently, but I understand how Kaysee saw it through her eyes.

Now for some questions for both "Kaysee" and "Justin."

What was the most positive experience you had during your swinging experience?

KAYSEE: Two answers come to mind immediately: the effect on my marriage and the feeling that somebody “gets me.” Throughout the swinging experience, I felt like Justin was not only my husband, but my confidante and my partner-in-crime. I couldn’t share this enormous secret with anyone but him, so my focus shifted from girlfriend talk time to husband talk time. We had so much to talk about!

The other terrific outcome was the relationship I had with Leslie. She and I got to talk about the frustrations of keeping secrets because our beliefs were so different from mainstream society. She was also the only girlfriend I could talk to about my unusual sexual experiences. Yes, it’s bizarre that I would talk to her about sex with her husband, but her enjoyment of the discussion is what gave us such a close bond. I loved the time she and I spent together.

JUSTIN: It made my relationship with my wife better.

What was the most negative experience you had during your swinging experience?

KAYSEE: Chapters 29-35. It’s so painful to think about, I’d rather not rehash it here.

JUSTIN: I was disappointed with the lack of understand from the other couple. When things got tough, the relationship changed. I think they immediately started planning their exit strategy. It would have been better if there was better communication from them.

How did swinging affect your marital relationship?

KAYSEE: I mentioned earlier how Justin and I connected through our secret conversations. We also reconnected sexually. Having sex as a focus in our social life translated into more sex between the two of us. As I mention in the book, I walked around town with sex on the brain, finally understanding what most men must feel like every day! While the sexual experiences with other people were great, the sex between the two of us was the best.

JUSTIN: I think it made it better.

During my research, I came across a website where a swinger defined swinging as "a way to experience the bodies of people besides your partner, while not having relationships with them." But that wasn't exactly the case with you two. Was yours more of a version of an "open relationship"? Do you think a swinging relationship would be better or worse if the actual "relationship" bit were left out, and it was only concerned with the physical? Why or why not?

KAYSEE: The thought of sex with strangers is scary. I don’t think I would feel safe. The fact that we knew our partners on a social level made the sex easy and fun. We had an open line of communication, so I knew I could say what I needed at any time. I think sex with strangers would be more awkward for me.

I didn’t see our situation as an open relationship because it had such strict boundaries. We weren’t open to sex with just anyone, we were only open to sex with Mark and Leslie. Our arrangement doesn’t fit any of the nice categories: open relationship, polyamory, orgy. Honestly, I don’t even like to call it swinging because there were no parties, no seducing, no clubs. I suppose if I have to define it, it was the couple version of “friends with benefits.”

JUSTIN: Our relationship with the other couple was a friendship relationship. That’s what worked for us. The quick and dirty version isn’t any “worse,” it just depends on the feelings of the people involved. Some people don’t want to get to know people they’re having sex with and that’s fine for them. Ours was not an “open relationship” because it wasn’t random. It was more of a closed setting with just the one other couple and us.

In what ways, if at all, do you think that swinging is different from simple promiscuity? Is being promiscuous as a couple different than being promiscuous as a single person? Is one moral, but not the other? I ask this to sort of get a "starting point" to your thought process and if morality comes into the equation for either of you.

KAYSEE: Morality does come into play. Justin and I discussed it at length before ever meeting anyone. We define “faithfulness” as a loyalty to one another. We are in love and we have each other’s back no matter what. Having sex with someone else does not make us unfaithful because it’s an experience that we’re sharing together. The strengthening of the marital bond that we experienced cannot be immoral.

I believe that promiscuity is considered immoral only by convention. Somewhere along the way, society decided it was a bad idea to have sex with multiple partners. And it is a bad idea if you’re not smart about it. Promiscuous people having loads of babies they don’t want and can’t care for is immoral. Using multiple sex partners for acceptance or revenge or power is immoral. When a single person or a couple has sex because it’s fun and feels good and brings them closer together, how can that be immoral?

JUSTIN: It’s similar. But in the swinging world, there are rules and structure. With a single person having a one night stand, anything goes. Morally, it’s up to the people involved. In the swinging world, no one is trying to impress their morals upon anyone else. Also, if you’re participating, you’ve had that talk with your partner, you’re on the same page.

The book outlines your relationship with one other couple. Is this something you'd consider doing again? Why or why not?

KAYSEE: I’m so glad we had what we had. Unfortunately, there are a lot of down sides. This lifestyle is simply not acceptable to most of society, so it’s stressful to be secretive about it. The process of searching for a great couple is emotionally demanding. If someone handed me an awesome couple and nobody cared what I was doing, I would pick it up again in a heartbeat.

JUSTIN: Yes, I probably would consider doing it again.

Do you have any advice for people considering trying swinging on for size?

KAYSEE: Yes! Start with a strong, stable relationship. Talk about all your wishes, expectations, and boundaries. Be ready for a wild ride. Remember that your relationship with your partner is much more important than anything else. Have fun!

JUSTIN: You have to start with a strong marriage and good communication. There’s no owner’s manual. You just have to have your own experiences and work through them with good communication. Consensual Infidelity is a real life experience that people could read to get a feel for what it might really be like. Even though everybody’s experience is going to be different, it’s helpful to learn what other people have gone through.

I want to thank "Kaysee" and "Justin" for taking the time to do this interview and I recommend the book. I found it very interesting.

Finally, for all of you Archie Bunker fans out there, here's a clip from the Archie and the Swingers episode. It's one of my all-time favorites.

My Name is Jeni and I am a Chickenshit

I freely admit it: I am a chickenshit.

(Autocorrect wants me to change that to "chickens hit," which I'm pretty sure they don't do. I've never seen a chicken battering someone with their wings. Autocorrect is stupid.)

So, yeah - chickenshit party of one, my table is ready. Right over there in the corner by the swinging kitchen door. The place where I feel most comfortable: out of the way where nobody will pay attention to me and I can sit and watch everyone else living.

Shhh, don’t tell anyone of my chickenshittery. It'll ruin my street cred.

It would be a shame if the truth got out: the gal who has no problem writing a book that delves deeply into the dysfunction of her own life, not to mention graphic descriptions of her own hemorrhoids - the same person who in fiction will gladly explore any and all issues normally considered taboo - that same person is a Chickenshit extraordinaire.

This week I had two out-of-town book signings and I forced myself to go alone; to drive almost three hours to a part of the state I was unfamiliar with, armed only with a suitcase full of clothes, some toiletries and a handful of Mapquest driving directions that ended up being mostly inaccurate.

NOTE: If you're planning a trip and need directions, let me suggest you use Google maps. Mapquest's motto seems to be: Leave the getting you lost to us.

Now, I'm not going to say that I had a panic attack exactly, as I pulled into the very cheap hotel I'd booked in a seedy side of town, (after having gotten slightly lost as I exited the highway into a downtown that was undergoing a huge amount of construction which required numerous detours) got my room key at the front desk, walked up the stairs with my bag, opened the door, entered, and closed the door behind me.

I didn't exactly have a panic attack. I promptly set my bag down and pushed one of the hotel tables in front of the door which was locked, bolted and had that little slide thing that prohibits the door from being opened more than an inch when engaged.

Oh yes, it was engaged.

Still, my first instinct was to rearrange the room so that access to the only exit, in the event of a fire, would be greatly diminished. I was prepared to die in a fire. I was not prepared for someone to come into the room while I slumbered and have their criminal way with me.

Perhaps I've watched too many episodes of 48 Hours on WE. I am acutely aware that being kidnapped, chopped into a few dozen pieces, then mailed to various places of business, is not out of the realm of possibility. It happens.

But something strange occurred over the course of my next 48 hours:

Sometime after I arrived at the first signing only to find that I'd gone to the wrong bookstore location, and had to get a harried set of driving directions from the very kind employee. (Schuler Books and Music in Lansing rocks!)

Sometime after I breezed into the second Schuler Books location fifteen minutes later than the event was supposed to begin, sucking on an iced coffee - which I knew would only exacerbate the symptoms of my impending nervous breakdown.

Some after the lovely, dreadlocked Whitney (amazing event coordinator) made the storewide announcement over the intercom that I had arrived and we all made our way to the rear of the store.

Sometime after I spoke to a very charming group of people for a couple of hours, all the while ignoring my inner monologue that never stopped bleating, "You're blathering; stop speaking so loudly; what the hell did you just say?"

Sometime after I got back to the hotel, took a shower, then sat staring at the table I'd again pulled in front of the door as a barricade.

Sometime after I spent a restless night praying to not be murdered in my sleep, or get lost the next day on the way to the next event (which I did)…

Sometime after I got through the video presentation and chat with the gathered attendees at Delta Township Library in Lansing and headed to my car, wondering if I'd make it back to the hotel on my own, rather than having to resort to stopping at the local gun shop or liquor store for directions… (The fantastic librarian gave me his cell phone number in case I ended up lost and sobbing on the side of the road. Thanks for everything Thomas!)

Sometime after all of my required duties were complete and I got a couple hours of sleep, before heading home the next morning, a crumpled set of written directions from Google maps clutched in my paw…

Sometime after all of that, it occurred to me.

Holy chickenshit, I did it!

About fifteen miles from home I realized I had a huge grin on my face. I felt like I'd just stepped up to a door I was certain I wouldn't be able to open, balled my fists, clenched my teeth and kicked that damn thing off its hinges.

Okay, so most of you will say, "Big deal." Right?

Wrong.

It was a big deal for me. Like my two autistic kids, I'm very afraid of stepping out of my comfort zone. I don't do it if I don't have to. But I realized that if I was going to regularly require my kids to step out of their comfort zones, it was pretty goddamned disingenuous of me if I couldn't do it myself.

So I did it. And now I know:

I am still a chickenshit. But now I'm a chickenshit who knows she can push through that discomfort and come out the other side feeling like Xena Warrior Goddess Ass Kicker. I'm here to tell you, that feeling was worth two sleepless nights and the worry over being kidnapped, chopped into pieces and having my mutilated remains mailed around the state.

The icing on the cake: "I'm proud of you, Mom," Jake said when I arrived home.

So yeah, totally worth it.

Thanks to everyone at Schuler Books & Music, Delta Township Library in Lansing, and all the wonderful people who were a part of my successful chickenshit weekend, even if you didn't know it.

*Some of the attendees asked if I'd post the video clip I presented so they could pass it along. Here it is:

Perspective...

When you write a book and put it out there, you’re never sure of the response you will get, and further, never prepared for the feeling when you learn how your work has touched someone else. I can’t tell you how moving it is to get letters every week from parents who have read I Wish I Were Engulfed in Flames and say, “Yes! Finally, someone that I can relate to! Your family is my family!”

I have always believed that we all want to be seen; to know that there are other people out there going through the same things. That we are not alone.

So far, that has been the best gift I have received from writing the memoir. Being able to make people laugh in the process is like the cherry on top. I firmly believe humor is one of the few things that can be a great equalizer - something we all need in our lives.

This idea became ever more apparent to me this week because I received two pieces of correspondence that really touched my heart. And on the same day, no less. If I were any further into my pre-menopause journey, I’d have been a puddle of sobbing flesh on the kitchen floor.

First, from a woman whose recent journey has included cancer:

“I find myself thinking about your book when I want to complain about my Big C challenge and missing boob :) Thanks for giving me a different perspective.”

Needless to say, it was she who gifted me with an instant dose of perspective.

Hours later, this message from SPC Bradley Dorroh, US Army hit the “Waiting for Karl Rove” website, and it floored both Kat and I:

“I’m actually deployed to Afghanistan right now and came across your book, “I Wish I Were Engulfed in Flames.” I laughed my butt-hole off because I know my wife can relate to you on the ‘joys’ of raising two children, albeit mine aren’t autistic, though sometimes I wonder. Anyways, I read that one and had to have more, I’m almost done with “Waiting for Karl Rove.” You guys are friggin hilarious and thank you so much for keeping me entertained in this shitty place.”

Yeah, so Holy shit. Now I’m positively drowning in perspective. I’ve got perspective coming out of my ass, people. He was so grateful for the human contact from home, I realized that the next time I complain about anything, somebody needs to take me out back and pepper me with buckshot.

SPC Dorroh sent us some pictures of his life over there, and from home, “to show you we are real people.”

“Me and my daughter, the night before I left for deployment, we just had the "Daddy's going away talk."

 

“Our emergency eye wash station out here in Afghanistan...gotta love our ingenuity.”

 

“I took this picture of a CH-47D Chinook from the window of the one I was riding in. Told ya I get to do some cool shit.”




“…a beautiful site in such an ugly place. Reminds me of home.” :( 

 


The big secret is that I write for me and rarely think about the “audience” as I write; I write what I know, I write what moves me, I write what I find entertaining. Sometimes, I write to figure out the world around me. But it is most certainly a selfish undertaking and I love doing it more than almost anything else in the world.

So, hearing from real people who have enjoyed something I’ve written almost makes me feel guilty. I get so much out of the process itself. But, my interactions with a woman dealing with cancer, and a young man serving in the Army will remain a constant reminder to be grateful that I enjoy what I’m doing, and I still get the benefit of these amazing connections I’m making along the way.

Thank you.

A Plea to the Producers of the Amazing Race

It’s no secret that Kat Nove and I would love to get on the show The Amazing Race.

(Let me clarify: It’s no secret that Kat would love to get on the Amazing Race. She assumes that I feel the same. But I have no interest in rushing around a country with a producer filming my every stumble and wheeze - culling the most embarrassing bits for public viewing, only after getting a bunch of painful inoculations in order to visit a country I probably couldn’t find on a map. I only grudgingly acquiesced when she suggested I compile a video plea, because she is my best friend and that’s what best friends do. Damn. It.)

Okay, so if I’m to get on this bandwagon, there are some things I’d like to suggest to the producers of The Amazing Race, having watched snippets of a few seasons, again grudgingly, to please Kat. She assumes I need to bone up on Reality TV 101 and, you know… how the race actually plays out. I don’t much care because there’s not a snowballs chance in the arse-crack of Rush Limbaugh that the two of us could complete that entire race.

We are not in the fittest of fit condition. We’ve got charisma, confidence and personality in spades - but all of our combined upper body strength is in our mouths. You won’t find a six pack, eating disorder or head of blonde hair between us. (Unless an anorexic, bleach blonde aerobics instructor happens to be standing between us.)

Neither of us are apt to win a sprint unless we’re paired up against Newt & Callista Gingrich - and even then, I’m assuming those two play dirty. Newt could easily trip Kat with one of his big ‘ole feet, which would cause her to fall on top of me, allowing Callista to climb over the already sweaty pile of Decker & Nove and make it to the finish line, dragging her chubby hubby behind her.

But, here’s my question: Where are all the Reality TV worthy oddballs? People we can really sink our teeth into? Here’s my dream cast for the next Amazing Race:

A pair of nuns

Two gay guys who argue like an old married couple

An Italian grandmother/granddaughter team who have to be ‘bleeped’ every fifteen minutes because they have naughty mouths.

A magician and his dimwitted apprentice

A sheep farmer and his wife

Brothers who own & operate a sex toy manufacturing business in New Jersey.

An old nudist couple who have trouble keeping their clothes on.

An alcoholic biker couple on the verge of divorce.

Two politically incorrect humor writers (hint, hint)

A pair of karaoke rappers who have gained moderate celebrity in their Podunk town.


KAT: Wait, why do YOU get to pick the cast, Jeni? Here’s my dream cast:


Two old white male politicians who have been voted out of Congress by their constituents. America and the other contestants always need someone to hate while watching the Race.

Two paroled convicts, who between the two of them have more tattoos than brains.

Two disgruntled NRA members who can’t believe they can’t carry automatic weapons across Europe.

Two sisters, one a former Miss America contestant and the other bitter and resentful.

Two pet therapists. Imagine the hilarity if any of the challenges involves pigs or goats.

A former Vegas showgirl and a third-rate standup comic who have been married, divorced, married again, divorced again, and who are now dating.

A mother and her middle-aged “mommy’s boy” son.

An octogenarian and his twenty-five year old wife.

Two politically incorrect humor writers (my friend Jeni and I could cover that base)

A drill sergeant and his Goth son.


JENI: Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way… Below are a sampling of the questions and our answers from the application. I’ll let you decide if we sound like a pair of contestants you’d tune in to see fumble their way through a leg or two of the race before being carted off on a stretcher following a mid-air heart attack after being forced to bungee jump from the Eiffel Tower.


What is your current occupation? Please describe in 2 words.

JENI: Homemaker, writer

KAT: Bookseller, writer.


In two sentences, please describe what you do.

JENI: Mine the house for shit-pebbles hidden behind the furniture by my toilet-challenged ten year old autistic son while fielding obsessively compulsive questions from my fifteen year old (also autistic) son. Then, I write about it. Also, I do laundry and cook dinner, neither very well, according to my husband.

KAT: I wait on the type of people who suggest I should join a 12-step program when they don’t like my polite and honest answers to direct questions.  I write stories so funny sometimes I pee my own pants.


How will these skills help you to win the Race?

JENI: I am a multi-tasker; I have dealt with enough bodily fluids that I don’t get queasy easily, and I have a good handle on my gag reflex and temper, respectively. Also, I’m prone to forgetting to flip on that internal “edit” button most people have that keep them from discussing their hemorrhoids in public. Let’s be clear, producers. This question isn’t about any skills I have that might help me win the race - it’s about any qualities I might have to drive up ratings. Also, I’m thinking with me on board, you’ll have at least one sponsor clamoring to buy time during your show. (Preparation-H™)

KAT: I can forever erase the image of the Ugly American by always being polite to even the rudest of cab drivers.  At strategic moments in the game, I can cause my competitors to waste time changing their panties/boxers, thereby giving my team the edge.


How did you meet?

JENI: I’ll let Kat take this one… I need a bathroom break.

KAT: We originally met on a writer’s workshop online.  We instantly recognized each other as literary soul mates (Jeni will try to claim she coined that term…don’t believe her.  As a writer, she’s a gifted liar.  Of course, she would NEVER lie on this application.) We had never met in person before April Fools’ Day of this year. We both traveled to Vegas and it was if we’d known each other since kindergarten.


What do you hope to gain from participating in The Amazing Race with your partner (besides winning)?

JENI: Getting out of the house. Did you not suss that out from the mention of the two autistic kids?

KAT: I’ve always dreamed of traveling.  Taking an entire day to get across Texas is not what I had in mind.


What communication issues do you have with your partner that you would want to address while on the Race?

JENI: Kat (like my kids) has toileting issues. Apparently I’d be required to be at least 50 feet from the bathroom door at any time she needed to pee and 50 miles away should the need to evacuate arise. I would address this by regularly tormenting her in this regard, since the idea of going to the bathroom anywhere out of her comfort zone (the bathroom at her house) is most certainly a mental health issue for her. I already see a sub-plot forming. (I hope I get paid extra for all this technical support I’m providing the production staff.)

KAT: Jeni and I agree on everything other than bathroom etiquette. I see no reason to post photos on the Internet of me sitting on the toilet, while she wouldn’t be averse to filming an entire documentary discussing bodily functions in graphic detail… while sitting on the toilet with her panties around her ankles.


What is the biggest disappointment you have experienced from your teammate?

JENI: She has steadfastly refused to videotape herself belly dancing so I can post it on YouTube. We’re working through it.

KAT: A script she wrote and entered in a contest. It lost to one that had the word boner in the title. I wish she would have asked my advice. I write great titles and it’s obvious all movie titles should contain the word boner to guarantee ticket sales to the male teen demographic.  Her title is Far from Happy and she would have won if her title had been Far from Happy Because I Can’t Get a Boner.


How did you resolve it?

JENI: I Photoshopped her head onto the body of an overweight Belly Dancer and sent it, via-email, to sixty of our closest friends and all of her co-workers. Because, that's how we roll.

KAT: Too late to resolve it now, but in the future I think you might see titles of her upcoming books changed to:  The Peacock Mirror Reflects My Boner – I Rather Be  Engulfed in Flames Than Have to Deal With Your Boner – Waiting for Karl Rove to Give Me a Boner:  That Will Never Happen Because I’m a Woman, Stupid.


What famous person reminds you of yourself?

JENI: Bette Davis

KAT: Jon Stewart, when he had the goatee.


What famous person reminds you of your teammate?

JENI: Truman Capote

KAT: Will Ferrell whenever he’s topless.


What is your biggest pet peeve about your partner?

JENI: The above mentioned toileting issues and her inability to discuss said issues. I’ve suggested therapy. She’s suggested I mind my fu*%^ng business.

KAT: She won’t come live with me. Something about her autistic kids and the great school they go to up in Michigan. I tell her there are schools here. Texas is ranked 51st in the nation in education!  Woo-hoo! We’re #51! (Think District of Columbia in case you’re assuming we also suck at math.)


How are you and your teammate most alike?

JENI: We have the same sense of humor as well as a great love of coffee, chocolate and cigarettes.

KAT: Our writing styles are a bit different, but due to our near-identical twisted senses of humor, we’re a perfect fit.


How are you and your teammate most different?

JENI: On paper, I’m the balls of this operation. In real life, while Kat has no problem approaching strangers with odd and often disconcerting requests, I prefer not to bother my fellow man with such trifles. That’s me: ballsy on paper, a big ‘ole puss in real life. Kat is the exact opposite. She won’t even jump into a randy forum thread if it looks like it could get ugly. But ask her to eat leftover food off someone else’s table at a restaurant and she’s your gal.

KAT: Jeni’s voice sounds like a chipmunk in heat and mine makes me sound like a middle-aged, three-pack-a-day transvestite.


What is your opinion of foreigners?

JENI: Foreigners are people too. I’m very foreigner friendly. In fact, I would probably enjoy foreigners more than most of my immediate family.

KAT: I once married a foreigner and am open to marrying another if the price is right.  Sort of a reverse Russian bride thing.  I have foreign relatives from Mexico & Vietnam and favorite foreign customers from Great Britain & New Zealand.  I can only hope foreigners are as receptive to Texans as I am to them.


Are there any locations in the world to which you absolutely will not travel? If so, identify where and explain why.

JENI: I’d rather not spend the night at Karl Rove’s house, though I would if it was one of the stops on The Amazing Race itinerary. I’d do it, but I wouldn’t like it. Also, he’d better lock up his unmentionables, because I’m a wanderer and won’t stick to the designated areas.

KAT: While I’d be interested in scoping out Dick Cheney’s hidden bunker, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be allowed to leave. So that’s out. Other than that, I’m open to anyplace. CBS does take out kidnapping insurance, right?


Do you speak or read any foreign languages? If so, which one(s)?

JENI: My husband is Puerto Rican, so I speak a little Spanish, but only the vulgar words. Basically, enough to get me laid… or arrested. Also, the nuns taught us the Hail Mary and Our Father in German, French and Spanish, but I don’t remember any of it now - though if I’m required to do anything involving heights, I’m sure it will all come flooding back.

KAT: I can read any foreign language written in English – understanding it is another thing.  I understand a little bit of Spanish, a little bit less of French, German and Italian, and almost no Danish.  My one Danish word is Dansk.


If given the choice, would you rather compete with 10 other people for $1,000,000 or split the million and give everyone $100,000 each? Why?

JENI: What? I don’t understand the question. I’ve never been good at math.

KAT: Really, being nominated is the important thing. Wait! That’s my practice speech for my upcoming Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay. To be honest, it would be cool if every team got to split $100,000.  (Jeni’s legs are pretty damn short and I’d hate to lose at the last minute because I have to piggy-back her to the finish line.)


Do you have any phobias?

JENI: I don’t like the sound of that question…

KAT: I have the weirdest phobia on the entire planet, a phobia which should guarantee high ratings.  I can see viewers having Amazing Race parties for the sole purposes of hoping I’ll be exposed to someone …hey, wait a minute! I’m not letting millions of people know my phobia. That’s just asking for trouble. Producers, I can control it. Really. I mean it. Nothing for you to worry about.

JENI: I will absolutely reveal Kat’s ridiculously funny phobia if it gets me out of doing anything I’m scared of doing.


~*~

For the comments portion of the questionnaire, I (Jeni) proceeded to pitch them a better reality show concept, based on The Amazing Race model:

Amazing Race: Chunky Edition

All contestants must be at least 20 lbs. overweight and longtime smokers. Contestants will be given a strict diet they must adhere to during the entire race, which contains no sugar, saturated fat or carbs. Any contestant found cheating with regard to food or smokes (on first offense*) will be subjected to a loss of 4 hours of race time, and public humiliation in the form of mud-wrestling a native of whatever country we’re visiting, while wearing a bikini (applies for women AND men).

*Second offense - Immediate expulsion from the show with a parting gift of two King Size Nestle Chunky™ bars to comfort them on their humiliating trip home.

(NOTE TO PRODUCERS: That’s one more sponsor! You really should hire me.)


Finally, (in desperation) here’s our video plea:

Vegas!

Kat Nove and I managed to return from our whirlwind trip to Las Vegas without getting arrested, tasered, or contracting any sort of communicable diseases.

We received a bunch of great dares and performed some of them (mostly Kat) but chose to skip some because of lack of time, patience or inclination. There were plenty of “Put a Little Rudd In It” moments, which you can see on the video below, as well as Kat snagging leftover food from abandoned restaurant tables. (Thanks, Kay!)

Below is a list of Scavenger Hunt dares submitted by Twitter friend Diane, as well as our “excuses” for why we might not have attempted some:


1. Down a shot (or have anything alcoholic) at each of the following locations!

KAT: Taking shots at every place on the scavenger hunt was just asking for the early release of Hangover 3, starring Miss Calculate and Boozy McBoobs. I did have a beer in every casino where I could get one for free. (Memo to Casinos: Hire more cocktail waitresses!) Jeni was a total puss and drank club soda all weekend.

JENI: I was dehydrated!



2. Don’t want you wasting away.  Better go get re-hydrated and don’t forget the salt!

KAT: Not sure, but we think you wanted us to go to Tacos and Tequila at the Luxor. That’s a long walk from the Mirage. I lost a shit-load of money at the Luxor while it was under construction and I'm still pissed about it. Screw the Pharaohs!

JENI: I only eat tacos prepared by myself. You have no idea what they put in those things. No idea!


3. “Gambling Portion”:  Take a spin and hope you get 1000, otherwise you could always ask to buy a vowel.

KAT: We lost approximately the same amount of money playing Wheel of Fortune that Vanna White spends on facelifts.

JENI: We may have lost gobs of money, but I got all tingly down there every time I hit SPIN and the canned audience applause commenced.


4. You won’t have to worry about Gladiators anymore, but on occasion you may hear the Titanic, Marilyn or Maggie playing.

KAT: We spent some time speaking Italian to some statue’s penis at Caesar’s Palace. We believe that fulfills this portion of the scavenger hunt.

JENI: Said penis conversation will be posted soon and will double as our plea to the producers of The Amazing Race. Kat insists we get on the show - probably so that millions of viewers can see how out of shape I am - right before I keel over and die, garnering huge ratings.

KAT: Quit your whining! Premature death sells books!


5. Don’t expect to get your youth back or meet the cast of Ocean’s Eleven here.

KAT: We made it to the Bellagio, we stayed at the Mirage, but once again, the MGM Grand was a bit far to walk. Let’s blame Jeni.

JENI: I told you MY ANKLE HURT!


6. A tropical rainforest with waterfalls, lush vegetation and indigenous creatures in Vegas.

KAT: We saw three indigenous roaches at the Mirage. Okay, so we’re lying. The Mirage was a nice place to stay. We backed out of the habitat because it was $17.50 for hotel guests and that money was better spent on gambling!

JENI: I have the National Geographic channel at home. That’s as close as I need to get to indigenous creatures of any variety.


7. They are one-half and two-thirds the sizes of the originals.  Be sure to get a “Sugar” fix while you’re there. 

KAT: We spent just enough time in The Paris for Jeni to get video of the restroom. The chocolate was cheaper at Walgreens, but we did take our picture at The Sugar Factory.

JENI: I really appreciated the dares that involved us taking a quick snapshot in front of a sign before moving the fuck on to the slot machines.

8. George Clooney (ahhhhhh yes), Whoopi Goldberg, Jerry Springer…”grab hold” of your favorite star and try not to get arrested in the process.

KAT: At Madam Tussaud’s Wax Museum, Jeni placed her hand on Elvis Presley’s ass, which I thought was creepy.

JENI: I may be the only person in the free world who would rather touch Elvis’ wax ass over his real one.


 8. If you “Believe” that “Carrots” can improve your vision and lessen your “hot flashes” …have I got a Pyramid scheme for you?

KAT: What’s up with this challenger and the Luxor? Too far to walk... I saw Carrot Top at my last disastrous visit and kept pulling my bra out about six inches because of stabbing pain. Chris Angel’s Believe is there, but at least one of us has no idea who the hell he is. (Me.)

JENI: Have any of you noticed that Kat is passive-aggressively blaming me for all the places we couldn’t hike to? I hurt my ankle on day two! I think I did a magnificent job of pushing through the pain, even with her calling me a pussy seventy-five times a day.



9. The “Dare” portion:  Steak & Eggs for under $10 between midnight and 6 am.

KAT: We didn’t do this, but we did spend $29.99 for a FUCKING buffet our first night at the Mirage. After that, who had ten bucks for steak and eggs?

JENI: I would have eaten Chex Mix all week if it meant having more money to gamble with.

~*~

Our other winner, Kay, had a few dare suggestions:

I'm going to need one/both of you to ride someone's pet. Bonus points awarded for service animals. If you are unable to do that, I'm going to need you to ride someone's (mobility assistance) ride. With or without the owner also using the device.

KAT: I looked everywhere for a yapping poodle to squash, but had no luck. I finally sat on the lap of the most adorable old man who had broken his hip. The overexcitement caused him to have a heart attack. We rode in a cab with his adorable old wife to the emergency room, but he was dead on arrival. We consoled her and promised to be at the funeral, but that was a bullshit lie. We didn’t even call to check on her like we promised. You know how you lose track of time in Vegas when you’re having fun.

JENI: Yeah… what she said.


Might there be any interest in eating something found in a food truck/cart's trash bin? Or something left on a discarded table in a restaurant?

KAT: The challenge to eat food off someone else’s plate was no challenge at all. If I don’t have to pay for it, it’s a win/win for me.

JENI: The entire vacation was a win/win for me because Kat did most of the dares. I’ll gladly let her call me a pussy all week if it means she’s the one that has to endure the public humiliation. (See her complete the dare in the video below.)

~*~





Random people signing the copies of Waiting for Karl Rove:

Hot cops!

Tourists from Brazil:

Drunk Winnie the Pooh:

Sign-board boys advertising the local Drag Show:

Kat riding the zip-line! (Again, I pussed out.)

Sgt. Sexy feeling Kat up:

If you’d like to give her a little Twitter love, you can follow @Sgtsexxxy (pictured on the left)

Finally, for those of you who haven’t seen it, here’s the book trailer for Waiting for Karl Rove.




We'll get our Amazing Race Plea up ASAP, as well as a montage of bathrooms where the signed copies of Waiting for Karl Rove spent a little quality time.

Thanks to all who participated in our Vegas Truth or Dare Challenge. We had a fantastic time!

Vegas Truth or Dare Challenge

Kat Nove & Jeni Decker will meet for the first time (in person) in Las Vegas on April 1st. (The day of fools, how appropriate!)

To celebrate us taking Sin City by tit-storm, we’re announcing the “Vegas Truth or Dare Challenge.” Your job, should you choose to accept it: send us your questions and/or dares. We will live tweet the answers from Vegas, as well as proof of each accomplished dare, in the form of pictures and video.

What would you like to see us doing in Vegas?

Here are the rules:

1. No nudity. (Nobody needs to see that.)

2. Nothing illegal. (Actually, we’re willing to work with you on this one. Misdemeanors will be considered, felonies will not.)

3. Jeni will not eat any form of bug. (Kat can be talked into eating anything - but it’ll cost you.)

4. Nothing that requires Jeni to run. Jeni does not run.

5. Nothing that includes feces or any type of bodily fluid. (What, are you an idiot?)

When we return (hopefully with all of our teeth and no tattoos) we’ll be doing a book giveaway. Two lucky winners will each receive a copy of Waiting for Karl Rove, which will most certainly become COLLECTOR’S ITEMS.

Why, you ask?

Because the books will fly with us to Vegas, and when the winners receive them, will have the actual signatures of some of the characters from the book - including but not limited to:

Black Elvis
Two old ladies playing slot machines
A happy couple getting hitched at The Little White Chapel
… and any celebrities and/or politicians we run into (accost) while there.

So, let ‘er rip - and be creative, for Jehovah’s sake. Submit your questions and/or dares as comments below, or to us on Twitter: @Jeni_Decker @katnove @WaitingforKRove . Don’t forget to leave us your Twitter handle or some means of contact should you be the winner!

NOTE: We will also be taking video comprised of scenes from Waiting for Karl Rove as well as our upcoming sequel, Waiting for a Plot: or What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas, Especially If Someone Slips You Some Roofies. So stay tuned for updates because we’ve already arranged for the use of a dead body for Karl Rove’s room!

Fool: A Novel by Christopher Moore: Hit that shit.

I don’t normally review well established authors because, frankly, what’s the point? They already have a mass of followers who get all juicy down there over every witty turn of phrase and well placed adjective, all sufficiently lubricated and happy to spread the good word.

That being said, after reading Fool: A Novel by Christopher Moore I felt the need to proffer a review for the sake of my fellow readers and writers who have not yet partaken. Yes, I know I’m late getting to this gang bang - in fact so many of my author friends recommended it, knowing it was right up my alley, given my propensity to adore all things irreverent and funny - particularly that of a cheeky nature.

Their collective suggestions had become a nattering mantra in my head to which I’d reply, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll GET TO IT !” My “to read” list is a long and winding road paved with good intentions, not enough hours in the day, and two autistic kids who are sucking the life out of me as we speak.

Only after reading something online regarding its sexual content did I add Fool to my Kindle, under the guise of “research.” My work-in-progress has a great deal of sexual content and is written in first person from the male POV, so I’ve spent months reading all kinds of books with similar content in order to see how other authors handled it. I should also note, I’m a 43 year old woman sidling up to menopause with all the grace of a cat having been launched down a Slip-n-Slide with a shuffleboard stick.* But the truly disturbing and unexpected side effect resulting from the onset of the shriveling of my uterine walls (and girlhood dreams) has to be my naughty bits resonating like a tuning fork. Yes, sir, my bunny cunny* is, all too often these days, hopped up on Red Bull and ready to rumble.

Reading this glut of coital literature probably isn’t helping matters any, but I do want to mention that I don’t think the sex in Fool is even close to being over the top. Bawdy, perhaps, but certainly not vulgar or titillating. At least by my standards. But I just finished reading Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer and all three installments of The Rosy Crucifixion (Sexus/Plexus/Nexus) so having plumbed the depths and debauch of all that is Mr. Miller, perhaps my not-so-delicate sensibilities have just been numbed to the point of delirium by all the cunt he described, revered, manhandled, masticated, sautéed, flambéed… yeah, that guy liked him some va-jay-jay.

But who among us…

Wait, where was I? Oh yes, Fool - a re-telling of Shakespeare’s King Lear, narrated by Pocket, the court jester or “fool.” Along with his amusing but slightly daft sidekick Drool, there are a myriad of other characters, including the king’s daughters, plenty of buxom laundry women, a full court of hangers-on, and a ghost… because, apparently, there’s always a fucking ghost.

Let me just say that while I can appreciate The Bard as much as the next gal, while his works are often funny, more often than not, getting through Shakespeare’s offerings is as laborious as trekking through a shallow river of molasses - against the current, wearing a snow parka and cement Timberlands.

That said, Moore’s retelling is extremely accessible, with laugh-out-loud lines aplenty. My first hearty guffaw came with the opening of chapter two. I laughed so hard, so long, and so loudly while sitting outside Thing One’s middle school, awaiting the final bell, that a group of football players lifting weights congregated on the lawn, directed a collection of looks at me that would have been more appropriate had I pulled down my pants and shat upon their school mascot while humming Clair de la lune.

“I found Drool in the laundry resolving a wank, spouting great gouts of git-seed across the laundry walls, floors, and ceiling, giggling, as young Shanker Mary wagged her tits at him over a steaming cauldron of the king’s shirts.”

I think this line perfectly illustrates the tone and tenor of the sexual content, so if this offends you, Fool probably won't be your cuppa tea. Also I assume you’ll be voting for Rick Santorum, so you and your moral superiority can kindly skip away from this review now, and keep your ten inch vaginal wand away from my who-ha, thank you very much.

The thing that stands out about the writing is Moore’s seemingly endless self-assurance within his craft. That, or he’s as good at faking it as a hooker who’s already been paid and is now yelping with wild abandon in the hopes of getting a big tip.

This being the first of Moore’s work I’ve had the pleasure of reading, I plan to go back and sample more, in an effort to find out if this confident writing style is something he’s always had, or something he’s nurtured over the years. Either way, no matter. He creates an atmosphere so the reader can feel certain he’s got the reins well in hand and we’re free to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Moore’s firm grasp of how humor should play out on the page is no more evident than when he parsimoniously peppers the “thirteenth-century speak” with modern day phrases that deliver a one-two punch with glaring accuracy and delectable wit.

My only question is why Hollywood hasn’t pulled her head out of her fat ass and turned this gem into a movie, already. If dialogue is king, Moore’s already done all the heavy lifting. It seems a no-brainer. Think a Merchant/Ivory production meets Mel Brooks - if they met somewhere in the middle, the result would be brilliant.

VERDICT: Hilarious, unparalleled one-liners aplenty, and lots of naughtiness. A classic example for writers to study with regard to hitting the comedic beats.

There are few humor writers who are able to sustain the laughs, as well as my attention, from cover to cover. For me, his book falls into that category, along with A Confederacy of Dunces, and all of David Sedaris’ work. This isn’t because I’m some humor elitist, but because humor is my reading preference of choice, whatever the genre, and I hold its writers to a higher standard, however unfair that might be. To me, humor is that important.

A writer friend, author Greg Crites, said this to me recently: “Make someone laugh and you’ve earned your oxygen for the day.” God, but that’s the truth. There is no more universal language than laughter. We might not all agree on what’s funny, but I think we can all agree how important it is to laugh - to find the humor in the absurdities of life.

To be the person who makes someone else laugh is as much a privilege as it is to be the one doing the laughing. So, good on you, Mr. Moore. You’ve earned your oxygen for the day - and then some.

Friends, if you haven’t already read it, hit that shit. Hit it!











* Blatantly swiped from Fool.

* Have I used this line in a blog post before? I can’t remember, thanks to the memory loss that accompanies the hot flashes and heart palpitations.

Pulp Fiction: Meet The Hack

Don’t let the Pulp Fiction-esque covers fool you.

What you need to know about Greg Crites is that he can write a mean story. And by mean, I mean escapist fiction for the masses that includes bigger-than-life antiheros and satirical and/or pop culture related “villains” - who may or may not be a metaphor for all that is wrong (or right) with the world. His writing is a heady feast of linguistic endowment rarely found in commercial fiction today.

Greg Crites is to words what Paula Deen is to butter. But, while both artistes create insanely appetizing fare, the former won’t necessitate a prescription for Victoza - the diabetes medicine for which America’s chubby culinary connoisseur is now the paid spokesperson.

He’d probably never admit this but... methinks Mr. Crites actually has something to say. His work, while entertaining as hell, not only speaks to the pulp zeitgeist and the simple, ironic absurdities of life, but also to universal truths. Thing is, you’re so busy laughing, you don’t pick up on things like exploration of social themes and mores until long after you’ve finished the book.

As an author, I can tell you that’s a good thing.

When asked about the key to his success as a self-published author (by Jeanne Bannon, author of Invisible… read the full article on her blog ) Crites said:

“My stuff is always first draft... I do things the way the Pulp masters did. The guys who wrote Doc Savage, The Shadow, Tarzan, Conan. They got paid by the word and they churned out some words. I don’t do litrachur, which I’m unqualified for. I aim to entertain and I never lose sight of that goal. I keep a steady stream of stories underway. You have to produce. You have to imagine you are a writer for ‘Lost’ and you had better get some words typed or start looking for a real job.”

By his own admission, audio books make up the largest part of his sales, and having benefited personally from his oratory offerings, I can testify to the fact that he’s got a set of pipes Deity-made for narration.

So, without further ado, strap yourselves in and let’s chat with the author, himself. He’s sitting in a comfy chair with a drink at the ready and, now… me in his lap - which is how we’ll proceed with the rest of this interview.

Greg, (may I call you Greg?) I recently read Crusade. Tell the folks out there what it’s about, then kindly explain to us what you have against God and organized religion.

Crusade is my tribute to Hunter S. Thompson. It is my inferior version of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Thompson took a cynical look at America during a period when America really needed someone to take a cynical look at it. Not that it did any good. Or changed any minds. Or elevated anyone to at least try and do better.

I started with outright theft of his premise, two crazed journalists on assignment, and went from there. (Or, it could be based on my actual adventures as a reporter, but the statute of limitations has not yet expired on some of the crap we did.)

This will disappoint the thousands who’ve read Crusade, but I actually have nothing against either religion, or God. It is organized religion that I took to task in Crusade. As individuals, being religious has little impact on civilization, and, is actually a positive phenomena. But, when folks get together and start attempting to legislate or force others to adhere to their beliefs, it’s a negative thing and they should be hunted down and killed. In much the same manner organized religions have done throughout the history of humankind.

As in every human endeavor, greed sooner or later takes over, the greedy realize they need fanatics—and they find them. Contrary to new-age, liberal, progressive, hipster delusions, some folks are just smart enough to become dangerous but not smart enough to contribute anything to civilization. Hence, there always exists a ready pool of borderline imbeciles to whip into a frenzy of fanaticism. All that said, I am a spiritual person in that, I take comfort in the knowledge that there is no way my species sits at the top of the food chain.

I see. Well you put a lot of thought into that answer. I’m impressed. Now, you seem like a guy who would take great pleasure in screwing the man - metaphorically, of course. Any suggestions for the sheeple reading this interview? How can they make a difference in the world around them while simultaneously pissing off the establishment?

Stop electing lawyers. Plain and simple. They complicate everything until it becomes unworkable, thus guaranteeing they always have work. Think for yourself. Analyze, don’t just swallow the popular line. Stop giving money to those whom you know are douchebags. Hit ‘em in the wallet. Works every time. Finally, love your friends, plot to kill your enemies.


You seem a little… stressed. On a scale of 1 to 10, how happy are you?

I’m sober now, so I’m at a negative 2 or 3. Later, after a few drinks I’ll hover around the ten mark.

Are you comfortable? Here… let me scoot this way a bit. Don’t want your legs to fall asleep. There. Now, tell me about the worst boss you ever had.

Myself. Way too lenient on the worthless fucker I see in the mirror. I could write a book a month if I weren’t a worthless, undisciplined, lazy bastard.


Pretend I’m interviewing you for your dream job (bartender, professional taste tester - anything to do with a bar, alcohol, and/or sardine packaging plant). What are your three best qualities? What should I watch out for, other than theft and imbibing on the job?

Any bar that would hire me is far too dangerous a place to work. That said, for some reason, I feel it crucial that I actually do the best job I can if someone is paying me. I have no idea why. Some kind of genetic flaw. If you pay me to do something, I’ll figure some way to get it done—even if it requires me admitting defeat and suggesting you find someone else to do it.

I enjoy taking broken/non-functioning things apart to try and fix them. Usually I do, and that shit feels good.

I like to wander around and drink beer directly out of the pitcher.

Let’s talk politics. If you could pick - er, scratch that. I don’t have time for all the railing against the machine I assume your answer would include. How about this: Tom or Jerry? Why?

Foghorn Leghorn! Because I love that voice and ain’t that all that counts? In this society don’t we all worship the strong delivery of platitudes and vagaries full of sound and fury yet signifying nothing.

Why are you so drawn to me? And, feel free to make use of your mental thesaurus for adjectives and adverbs.

I’ve always been fascinated by Scientology adherents and Kat told me you’re like a twelfth degree moonbat soon to be elevated to Exalted Unicornucopia of Abundance. A level which is rumored to be the highest attainable short of metamorphosing into an immortal butterfly.

As an amateur scientist with no credentials, no formal training, no qualifications, and no slavish need to adhere to long-accepted scientific best-practices, my empirical observations of others always yields verifiably funny lines.

If my feminine instincts are correct - coupled with the full sixty-two seconds it took you to come up with that answer - I believe you may have been trying to decide between a moment of intimacy, and humor. You chose humor. That’s fine. I’ll let it slide… for now. Next question: If you were invited to give the commencement speech at Harvard’s graduation ceremony this year, what advice would you have for the nubile minds about to embark upon the rest of their lives?

Young scholars, we beg thee, hie your numerous skills to another country and elevate them to the next level in civilization. You’ve done enough to us, and collectively, we can’t thank you properly.


To follow up on the last question: What would the hospitality rider in your contract for said speaking engagement look like? (Dietary restrictions, requested items, etc.)

Two bottles of Sailor Jerry rum on ice, an eight-ball, and a fully-charged cattle prod.

I assume the cattle prod will be used when your heartbeat goes on hiatus. I feel you squirming… don’t worry, just a few more questions. How would you design a spice rack for a blind person?

Hanging Scratch ‘N Sniff cards. BAM!


What’s in your refrigerator right now?

Sliced jalapenos, beer, salsa, cheese, bacon, and a long-forgotten science experiment.


Based on your answers to the last few questions, you may not be long for this world, so I've decided that you and I should write something together before you break on thru to the other side. So, what do you think? Fictional tell-all, tele-novella script, collection of poems, manifesto… whatever. If you can curb your enthusiasm for the drink enough to add another project to your list, and I can curb my enthusiasm for Twitter, what do you think we should write?

Bring Kat in and we’ll write some porn. That shit always sells.

Done! But I’m gonna need that in writing, so I’ll have my people forward your people a contract immediately. One last question: What is the meaning of life?

An opportunity to experience long periods of mind-numbing boredom, punctuated by ass-clenching instants of stark terror, sprinkled bouts of abject misery, and priceless moments of pure, unadulterated joy.

Unadulterated joy, indeed. You have been a pleasure, sir. Let me hop off your lap so you can regain feeling in your lower extremities.


I recommend working your way through his massive oeuvre slowly and with great diligence.

On that note, you can get the first of his vampire series, Dunkin the Vampire Slayer: Something Porcine This Way Comes for FREE on Kindle right now.

IN THE INTEREST OF FULL DISCLOSURE: While preparing for this hard-hitting interview, I came across this ridiculous website and shamelessly appropriated a few of the questions. I thought the one about the spice rack was brilliant.