Snpgrdxz and the Discount Offer

Purchase Snpgrdxz for just 99 cents today.

The modern novel is about two things: action and emotion. Action moves the story along so that you can’t put it down because of the nonstop forward motion. Emotion is about laughter, joy, excitement. It’s about anger, fear and angst. It’s about the exhilaration of needing to know what will happen next. Above all, it’s about falling in love with one person in one place, and with one book, one author. For love conquers everything including the monsters who’d love to kill us, eat us, or transform us into something unspeakable in the world of Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters.

What if one night that teenage girl you have a crush on appears at the foot of your bed, pistol in hand, and threatens to shoot you? But your best friend and a terrorist burst into your bedroom and kill her in the nick of time? But the next night this same girl shows up in your bed again? This time she’s ready for love. When did your dead crush become your girlfriend? Wild dreams? Since when did your nightmares leave actual bullet holes and blood stains behind?

Join the crazy journey of Bryan Ganarski, Jennifer Hawkins, Gilbert Armstrong, and of course, Snpgrdxz, the teenaged space alien shape shifter who can be either a boy or girl depending on his or her mood. Hormones fly, earther and other, in this madcap misadventure.

Is Bryan totally insane or is there a part of him that can still fall in love with one of the many versions of his time-traveling girlfriend? And will Bryan work up the gumption to kiss Jennifer in front of the whole sophomore class like she asked him to? She did ask him, didn’t she?

This love-crazed tale of time travel features a group of friends who become stuck between the wrong time on earth and a troll world filled with monsters far worse than those pesky tiny bridge trolls and the really tall, hairy mountain trolls. An evil daemon, werewolves, nosferatu, and a few ghosts are among the many monsters waiting for you in Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters. It’s the first novel in my new sci-fi/fantasy horror series.

Enjoying a great read begins with action and emotion. Act now to purchase Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters on Kindle today for only $0.99 US. Save $2 US and pay less than a buck. Such a deal! Don’t miss out on it. Click here now.

You can get all emotional later as you read Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters.

In case you missed it, here’s the link to my new novel on Amazon: Click here.

The Girl with the Killer Kiss

You have to be realistic. Like all other organizations, whether for profit or not for profit, the idea is to promote your services in the most attractive way. For example, would you voluntarily kiss a monster in a floor-length hoodie? Or allow the same monster to kiss you full on the lips?

When it comes to applying the kiss of death, wouldn’t the victim be more likely to respond to the advances of an attractive young person?

What we have here is the basis for my short story, Little Miss Forgotten, a tale about a death angel who takes her vacation in the real world where you and I live. The story is set during the Vietnam War era when death angels were especially busy and their vacations well-earned. What happens when a vacationing death angel meets a regular guy in search of love?

Find out by reading Little Miss Forgotten. It’s available today free on Amazon. Download your free copy by clicking here.

Today’s Nostalgia Post: Mosquitoes. The season isn’t over yet, so let’s take a quick look at mosquito prevention humor from August 2009. Click here.

Death Takes a Vacation

We often think of death as an angel sent to take away your soul to judgment, leaving your body as an empty shell for the fire pit or burial ground. But the world is so overrun by people that one angel simply can’t snatch all the souls fast enough, especially in a war zone. So what’s Death to do?

It turns out the Death Department operates a whole cadre of death angels, each assigned to its own territory and given a quota to  meet. Death angels, known in the Vatican archives as Deathabus, circle about their area of responsibility to snag those souls ready for the great beyond.

On occasion, the Deathabus is authorized to take a vacation. Now, you may be picturing the agent of Death as this mysterious skeletal creature wrapped inside a floor length hoodie, but nothing could be farther from the truth. The angels of death, all of them, are either handsome young men in appearance or attractive, well-figured females. The one who kisses you depends on your preference. Death knows your secret desires to be sure.

Learn more about the deathly kiss of greeting by reading Little Miss Forgotten. It’s available today free on Amazon. Download your free copy by clicking here.

Today’s nostalgia post: Day 1 describes the first day of a road trip taken by my adult son Joseph and me back in 2009. In this post, I channel Robert M. Pirsig despite my then desire to wax Hemingway-esque. Click here to read.

Little Miss Forgotten

My writing style has evolved over time as has reader tastes. Novels I write today begin with a strong hook. For example, my new novel Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters, begins with this line:

From where she stood at the foot of my bed, fifteen-year-old Jennifer Hawkins couldn’t miss, but would this sweet girl shoot me?

The idea of the opening hook is to entice you into wanting to know what happens next. Will Jennifer Hawkins pull the trigger? There was a time when a story about a teenage girl and a gun would end up with the girl not firing. But this is a 21st century girl who has been raised in an era of high violence, often meaningless, involving teen-on-teen crime.

So does Jennifer pull the trigger? The odds are very high that she does, but I’ll let you find out for yourself when you read the free portion by clicking the book cover on Amazon. Click here to visit Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters on Amazon. BTW, Snpgrdxz is pronounced as if spelled Snip-grid-ix. It’s all explained in the novel.

This brings us back to Little Miss Forgotten, a strong female character who appears in my short story of the same name. This is an older story of mine, and it features a more languid opening style of stories written decades ago when readers preferred a little more setup before the action blazed hot.

Here is the opening:

"Do you wanna dance?" Okay, it was the name of a top ten hit, and today's kids would sneer if they heard me, but in 1967 it worked.

She hesitated. She frowned. She stared for what seemed an eternity, (about three seconds). "Sure, why not?"

I don't remember the song. The band was on break, and the young kids who worked as house deejays were playing records. It was a fast one. You just didn't ask a girl to dance a slow one the first time. You had to dance a couple of fast ones first. At a nice suburban Catholic church hall like Holy Cross, a girl accepting a slow dance was giving you an invitation to climb all over her.

We danced that first one, and then a few more fast dances. They were the usual Mashed Potato, Watusi and Stomp. Then a slow one came on, my all-time favorite: "Angel Baby" by Rosie and the Originals. (High falsetto, andante: "It's just like heav-en, be-ing here with yo-oo, 'cause you're like an an-gel, too good to be true-oo, but after-ah-all, I love you, I do-oo, An-gel Ba-by, my An-gel Ba-by," etc.) These lyrics won’t mean much to you unless you already know the song, but trust me, the tune was great for slow dancing.

***

Set during the Vietnam war era, the rest of this short horror fiction is yours free for your Kindle by clicking here today. Beware the kiss of death and as always, stay away from those pretty little blondes.

Okay, you don’t have to avoid the blondes, but you still have to watch out for that one kiss from Little Miss Forgotten that will change your life forever. Click here for the free download.

Today’s nostalgia blog post is from May 22, 2009. Click here for a sweet yarn on yet another strong young lady and my take on wisdom.

Where is Snpgrdxz?

My new novel was supposed to be launched the other day, but one of my characters hi-jacked my blog when I wasn’t looking. Claiming to be my nephew, which he’s not, this young character told you more than you should know about Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters and most of it may or may not have been true.

By focusing on his own adventures, Bryan Ganarski neglected to introduce you to Snpgrdxz, the space alien teenage space shifter. Bryan pretty much does this in my novel also. He’s supposed to be Boswell to Snpgrdxz’s Samuel Johnson. But instead he spends way too much time telling you about Jennifer Hawkins, the sophomore he has this huge crush on.

With Bryan you learn more about Jennifer than you want to know, like the location of that birthmark she’d prefer to keep to herself and the multiple versions of herself. That was supposed to be kept secret. Wait until the NSA hears about that one. They don’t believe in time travel in Washington. If they did, they’d figure out how to balance the budget, but that’s another story.

According to my outline, Snpgrdxz is supposed to be the story of an alien shape shifter stuck on earth for decades. His big problem is the U.S. government which wants to capture him so they can slice, dice and dissect him. Bryan Ganarski is supposed to run away with Snpgrdxz and record his adventures while narrowly escaping the men in black.

But that’s not what happened.

Teenagers.

Who knew there was a time portal hidden under Lincoln High School in downtown Wheaton, Illinois? Well, actually the trolls knew about it.

And Maria Gonzalez obviously when the trolls kidnapped her.

And Mr. Romano, the art teacher, must have known about it because he’s the one who led the gang to the Wheaton When Portal in the first place. But none of this has anything to do with running away from those pesky guys in the black suits.

Oh well. That’s what you get when you leave a kid in charge of your story.

Go ahead and read this sci/fi time journey adventure romance thing. I have to admit the love story is romantic, except for the parts where people get shot at… and hit by real bullets. And attacked by monsters. But hey… no wait. You know too much already.

Just read the darn thing and you can let me know how you liked it later. Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can do to bring back that part about the feds chasing Snpgrdxz in a future novel in this series.

Click here.

Snpgrdxz Has Landed

Jennifer Hawkins crept into my room last night and plopped on my bed. We talked after midnight on a school night. In her jammies. Bare legs hanging out. That Jennifer Hawkins. The one with the long, straight brunette hair and fat ruby lips and high cheek bones. A bit on the skinny side but tall. Principal Hawkins’ daughter. Old Mrs. Hawkins, the choir director at First Pres’s, daughter.

I know this stuff is hard to believe, but I swear I'm not making it up. My name is Bryan Ganarski, BTW, and I don't make stuff up unless my old man asks me a question.

You’re reading this because my Uncle Paul said I could use his blog account. There’s no way I’d post this where Jennifer Hawkins could see it. Or her mom or dad. Or any of her girlfriends. Or the guys. Well, I guess it's okay if the guys know.

I don’t even know why I’m telling you my story except Uncle Paul said everybody would figure it was just part of that new novel he wrote.

Right.

Like you can write a novel on a blog.

So there I was with Jennifer Hawkins, the prettiest sophomore at Lincoln High, getting mighty friendly at one-thirty in the morning. She grabbed my face in her hands and made me look up into her big, brown bedroom eyes. That’s what Uncle Paul calls girls with big eyes. Bedroom eyes. Especially if they’re all drooping and wet like you better hurry up and kiss me or something lame like that.

Uncles.

Anyway, Jennifer stared me eyeball-to-eyeball as I melted. “Hi, Bryan. Guess you’re wondering what I’m doing in your bedroom in the middle of the night, huh?”

“Kinda.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I like you.”

If you’re expecting a major make out session, you’d be right except this was all a freaking dream. The real story began when I opened my eyes, like I said in the middle of the night, except Jennifer Hawkins wasn’t making kissy face with me. 

In the real world, the teenage girl you have a crush on wakes you up late at night because she wants to blow your head off with the Glock she’s pointing your way.

Welcome to my world.

Yes, she pulls the trigger, but I’m not about to tell you anymore here because I’ve already used up my allotment of words for this blog post so you’ll just have to read it for yourself.

Who knows? Maybe Jennifer will love me tomorrow night.

Snpgrdxz.

And the Time Monsters.

Click here.

Cover Reveal -- Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters

It's time to unveil the cover or my new novel,  Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters. It's the first book in my new Snpgrdxz Series. The first three books in the series will be available in Kindle format right away with the paperback version available by next week. Here's a brief description of Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters...

From where she stood at the foot of my bed, fifteen-year-old Jennifer Hawkins couldn’t miss, but would this sweet girl shoot me?

What if one night that teenage girl you have a crush on appears at the foot of your bed, pistol in hand, and threatens to shoot you? But your best friend and a terrorist burst into your bedroom and kill her in the nick of time? But the next night this same girl shows up in your bed again? This time she’s ready for love. When did your dead crush become your girlfriend? Wild dreams? Since when did your nightmares leave actual bullet holes, dead bodies and blood stains behind?

Join the crazy journey of Bryan Ganarski, Jennifer Hawkins, Gilbert Armstrong, and of course, Snpgrdxz, the teenaged space alien shape shifter who can be either a boy or girl depending on his or her mood. Hormones fly, earther and other, in this madcap misadventure. Is Bryan totally insane or is there a part of him that can still fall in love with one of the many versions of his time-traveling girlfriend? And will Bryan work up the gumption to kiss Jennifer in front of the whole sophomore class like she asked him to? She did ask him, didn’t she?

This love-crazed tale of time travel features a group of friends who become stuck between the wrong time on earth and a troll world filled with monsters far worse than those pesky tiny bridge trolls and the really tall, hairy mountain trolls. An evil daemon, werewolves, nosferatu, and a few ghosts are among the many monsters waiting for you in Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters.


My new novel should be ready for purchase by the time you read this. Visit my author's page on Amazon to buy it. UPDATE: YOU MAY PURCHASE SNPGRDXZ AND THE TIME MONSTERS BY CLICKING HERE.

In the meantime, here's the cover:

How Young is Too Young for a Teenage Relationship?

Teen couples experience emotions at the extremes. They call lust love while having little understanding of the commitment love requires. If they learn the lessons of love, the lust will give way to a loving, committed relationship. If not, they eventually tire of each other and move on to new objects of desire. The extremes of love and lust among teen couples are fun to write about and a pleasure to read. There is no need to delve into the pornographic details of a backseat romance, but teens have an awkwardness and innocence that is both a joy to see and a cause of breakups.

As a writer, I consider age important to whether my characters will have a successful loving relationship. In my stories, teens of the same age have a chance, but it will be tough for them. The maturity level of the boy and girl are important to their success as a couple. Because girls mature earlier than boys, successful relationships happen when the girl dates one or two years up. Boys succeed when they date one or two years down.

A big age gap creates its own problems. For example an age difference of three years is too much because it tends to be abusive. It’s difficult to have an equal status when one of the teens is that much older.

An example of a couple with a three-year age gap can be found in my new novel Steel Pennies. Penny Durkin loves Tommy McConnell, but Penny is 17 and Tommy is 13. The story is a thriller that requires Tommy to protect Penny from a serial killer. That’s a big burden to place on a 13 year old boy’s shoulders. The love story weaves as a thread throughout the novel as Tommy and friends attempt to solve the case. At first, Penny plays with Tommy’s affections because she knows he has a crush on her. As the story progresses, watch how this playful teasing evolves into a classical romance between two star-crossed lovers. The ending is a shocker so I’ll let you read the story and enjoy it without giving away any of the secrets of this full length novel.

Check out Steel Pennies on Amazon by clicking here.

I’m a Were What?

Doctor Blutmeister said, “Roger, it only took ninety stitches to close your wound. And you arrived at the ER a good thirty or forty seconds before you would have bled out.”

 Janice Bingbuster stayed with me. Some Saturday night date that was.

When Janice bit me earlier that evening, she apologized profusely. At the time, I thought her apology over the top until I placed my hand on my wound and felt the blood gushing. And yes, she was definitely chewing as she drove my car to the emergency room.

I planned to have her drive me home after the ER visit and my overnight hospital room hangout. But when I awoke around noon, my pal Vernon stared me in the face. He volunteered to drive me home.

Vernon had that far away, thoughtful look he gets right before his Cousin Janice visits. “There’s something I have to tell you, Roger.”

“No need to apologize. Your cousin already covered that with profuse sorrow and lots of kissing while chewing.”

“That reminds me. Do you have any toothpicks?” Vernon glanced my way.

“In my car?”

“Never mind. I have something I have to tell you, and it can’t wait.” Vernon gazed back at the road.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You know me as Vernon Bingbuster, and I trust you consider me a friend.”

“I do. You’re the best, but this is old news.” I adjusted the bandage around my neck.

“And you like Cousin Janice despite her propensity for deep nibbling?”

“This may surprise you considering the depth of my wound, but yes, I like your cousin very much. What’s not to like? She’s beautiful. She’s kind. And she’s smart. So what if she clamps down a little hard during a make out session. We’re young. We’ll both get better with experience.”

Vernon took his eyes off the road to stare at me. “The problem, Roger, is you know both of us.”

I glared at the pickup stopped in front of us. “How’s that a problem?”

“Haven’t you wondered why you only see Cousin Janice once a month?” Vernon faced forward and slammed on the brakes.

“That’s because she only visits you and your mom once a month. She lives like four states away, right?”

“That’s my cover story.” Vernon waited for the pickup to move on before continuing. 

“It is?” The aroma of blood from my wound filled my nostrils along with an unhealthy amount of stone cold fear.

Vernon pulled the car to the curb and stopped. “I’m only telling you this because of the accident, the bite. Most of the time I’m your friend Vernon Bingbuster, but during the full moon, I’m Cousin Janice.”

“What?” I backed against the passenger door. “I’m on painkillers so I’m not sure I heard you right or even why I would want to hear what I just heard.”

Vernon shifted in his seat so that he faced me on the passenger side. “I’m a werewoman, Roger.”

“What is that exactly, a female wolf?” My head spun from Vicodin and weird news.

“Roger, don’t you get it? I’m a guy who turns into a sexy girl whenever the moon is full. I bit you so guess what?”

“I might get rabbis?” I cranked my head to one side trying to think, but I must have stretched the stitches because a sharp pain shot through my wound.

“You’re now a werewoman, too.”

“I’m a what? Vicodin doesn’t affect hearing, does it?”

After Vernon walked me to my door, I attributed the conversation to the painkillers from Doctor Blutmeister and any lingering drug abuse on the part of the blood donors who provided for my several transfusions. If Vernon was telling the truth, that meant I kissed a guy. I went upstairs and threw up.

As the weeks passed, I worried more about my future and less about boy lips. What would happen to me during the next full moon? I watched the evening sky, but most nights were cloudy in our neighborhood. I tried talking to Vernon Bingbuster about his Cousin Janice, but he claimed he didn’t know what I was talking about.

In case something were to happen on the next full moon, I spread the word on Twitter that my cousin Rhoda was coming to town. Vernon tweeted me that he thought my cousin might make a great friend for Cousin Janice the next time she was in town. Now, I’m the only guy I know, besides Vernon, who has to worry about a monthly visit from his “friend.”

THE END

Quotable
"Wickedness attracted and scared us at the same time"
Paul R. Lloyd
Steel Pennies

Steel Pennies

My new novel – STEEL PENNIES – is ready for purchase on Amazon for your Kindle reader. The paperback version will be ready in a few days. 

Set in 1960 in a working class neighborhood of West Chester, a small Pennsylvania town, Steel Pennies is racially-charged murder, mayhem and mischief wrapped around a teen romance gone wild. When teenagers Tommy McConnell and Bob Durkin discover the body of a long missing neighborhood girl, a series of killings ensues. As the body count mounts, will Tommy and his friends learn the identity of the killer before his girlfriend becomes the next victim?  

Steel Pennies explores racial tension and forbidden love during the early days of the civil rights movement. It examines the mystery of coming of age in a love story that turns Romeo and Juliet on its head. Laugh, cry and remember the struggles that brought America together as one people as you read my new novel – Steel Pennies.

What People Are Saying About Steel Pennies
“Machine-gun sentences.  Fast.  Intense.  Mickey Spillane-style.  No way around it.  Paul R. Lloyd is a top-notch noir writer.  Top-notch.”
Thomas Phillips author of Molech Prophecy—describing Steel Pennies by Paul R. Lloyd…

“I predict it will win awards and become assigned reading in high school, with the benefit that it will be a book that students will want to read. I loved this.”
Judge’s written comment on Steel Pennies in The Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense Unpublished Division.

BTW, PLEASE DON’T REVEAL THE BLOCKBUSTER ENDING!

You can read a chunk of Steel Pennies on Amazon by clicking here.

Return on Monday to read my new short fiction.

Hags: Kindle Free Today Until Friday

Hags is my horror novel set in Naperville, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago. For the next five days you can download a free copy for your Amazon Kindle. And if you don’t have a Kindle, you can download the Kindle Reader software free for your computer, smart phone or tablet. If you prefer the paperback version, it’s available for purchase on Amazon.

As one of my Amazon critics wrote:
“For a story dealing with such dark topics, Hags surprised me with its genuine humor. Once all the pieces are on the table, the story has a very distinctive and clever personality that flows quickly…. you'll find Hags a delightful read that may have something to say about fear, lust, greed, brokenness and most importantly, redemption.”

If you read a chunk of Hags on my blog the past several weeks, you know that Micah Probert is an ex-con who wants to clear his name after 15 years in prison for a rape he insists he didn’t commit. For this reason, Micah returns to his hometown of Naperville, Illinois, where he starts his first day by discovering a human-sized faerie flitting about in his backyard, a dead body in the parking lot behind his house, a pioneer ghost in his kitchen, and a local coffee shop that serves the darkest brew this side of Hades. Mix in a few black secrets, a couple of serial killers, a hot romance or two, and this novel takes you deep into the heart of horror in the suburbs.

I’m happy to offer this five-day free download of Hags. Here’s how we can make your Hags experience a win-win for both of us:

1. Click here to download your free copy of Hags from Amazon. Act by Friday, March 15, 2013, the last day of this free offer.
2. Read Hags and enjoy.

When you are finished reading Hags, please do the following:

1. Recommend it to your friends
2. Give it a five-star review on Amazon. This is important because five-star reviews help to sell books.

Read Hags for Free Now
Download Hags for free this week only from Amazon for your Kindle reader by clicking here.

Don’t have a Kindle reader? Download the free version for your computer or smart phone from Amazon by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
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The Vampire’s Wife’s Rant

So you think it’s cool to be a vampire? You’d like this living forever thing? Let me tell you, vampire is not so hot. I mean it’s cold if you want to know the truth. Always cold. Think about it. The man sucked my blood out. All of it. Blood is what keeps you warm. I’m cold. Even in summer I’m freezing my tush. I’d go out in the hot sun, but what would happen? I'd disintegrate, that’s what. And tan lines? Forget tan lines and nice complexion. A ghost has more color than a vampire.

And don’t even get me started on hair. You ever have a bad hair day? We’re talking Night of the Living Dead Hair day here. I’m dead, you know what I mean? The vampire sucked my blood out 723 years ago this coming July. Couldn’t even wait for school to start. No, he has to kill me in the middle of summer break. At the shore. In my medieval bikini. Yeah, we had bikinis back then. The kind with the special locks so you know you couldn’t mess around so much. But hey, we made out okay until that vampire hit town. Geez, I’m telling you.

Speaking of hair and complexion, think about checking yourself in the mirror. I mean, give me a freaking break. A girl’s gotta look, but what does she see? Nothing. Nada. No image. Not even your old dead face or a skeleton nor nothing.

So why does he make a girl a vampire? He wants a wife, he says. Someone he can love forever. You want to live forever? Join a church. Look, he sucks my blood out and then expects me to look good. You ever see a blonde with no blood? Not a pretty site, let me tell you. Dead looks gray and ashen. Your eyes don’t look so good rolled back in your head. Your boobies don’t have any lift. They just kinda lay there.

Dead. I’m dead. Every day I’m dead. I haven’t seen the sun for 723 years I’m so dead. So at night I come to life. Life? Give me a break. We’re talking undead here. Live forever? Walk around maybe, but alive? Alive means you can feel. You ever try to feel with dead fingers? You know what it’s like to have a long dead cold probe stuck in your you-know-where from an undead guy who thinks he’s hot but all he is is long dead? Cold dead. Dead, dead, dead. The only way he fills the thing up with blood is to go suck it out of somebody else. Now he’s doing me with someone else’s blood holding him up. You call that manhood? Give me a break. By the time he gets it going, it’s long cold and dead. Like screwing a bolt. Okay, a big bolt, but still a cold steel bolt.

Okay, I got off track there for a minute, but give me a break. How do you love a guy who sucked your blood out so he could get it on with somebody else? Anyway, I’m dead. He’s dead. And we’re stuck here. You think he murdered me for my looks? He says he did, but my looks aren’t so hot, you may have noticed. A little makeup maybe I’m not so so bad. I go from the look of a morgue babe to OD’d hooker with a little makeup but that’s as good as it gets. But he likes it. Okay, a lot of makeup. And it would be nice to check the old makeup job once in a while with a mirror. But no. Mirrors don’t work. I mentioned that, right?

He only took me because he wanted my body. Now, I’m his love slave. Hate slave is more like it. I mean, really. He never tries to carry on an intelligent conversation. It’s all about blood and sucking. It’s all he ever is interested in. Like I’m dead. Doesn’t he get it? I’m not exactly interested in messing around with him. Rigor mortis, despite everything you read about it, doesn’t make you horny.

To him, I’m just a love object. He just wants my body. Why he wanted it so cold is beyond me. But what do I  know? To him, I’m just another brainless zombie vampire wife. But I’m not a zombie. I’m a vampire who wishes someone would stake out her heart. I mean a little rest would be nice at night, you know what I mean? Every night it’s making with the bouncing springs and then the blood lust. Geez, if I never suck another person dry again, I’d be a happy camper. I mean, look at me. Do I appear like the kind of girl you’d ask out on a date? I mean, maybe like 700 years ago, but today? Take a gander at my teeth for crying out loud. Check out these ugly fangs. Can’t hardly talk straight with these things hanging out.

And no mirrors. Did I mentions the mirrors? And when you’re dead 700 years, don’t try to run a brush through your hair. I mean come on. If I find one more fly larvae in my hair, I’m going to scream. But let me tell you about mirrors…

…Will you shut up down there already.

Sorry, dear. Didn’t know you could hear. I was just talking to my supper.

You are staying for dinner, aren’t you?

For your reading consideration

My novels 
Have you ever run into evil incarnate in your local coffee shop? Or combine latte with lust? It happens to Micah Probert in Hags.

Did you ever wonder what Satan was up to while God was going about the business of sending Jesus to save the world? Find out in Fulfillment.

My Short Stories
Love may be just a  kiss away, but what if the kiss is packed with... well, Little Miss Forgotten is a short story so I better let you find out for yourself. Sorry Rick and Ilsa, but the fundamental rules don't always apply as time goes by.

You've known people who just fly off at the smallest things, right? Find out what set Egbert loose in this short story. What lurks in the darkness of Lower Wacker Drive?

Angel Thorns is a short story about a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
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A Cheerleader Miscalculation

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.

The pipe bombs and bullets fired in the direction of the factory workers started having an effect as they changed their tune from “Zom… zom… zom…” to “Moz… moz… moz” and retreated back into the helmet factory.

The cheerleaders made short work of the football players, using their hammers to cause the football players' batteries to malfunction.

“That was close,” said Mrs. Brombach.

“What is going on here?” asked Chief Martin.

“It’s the Zombot Approximation,” said Albert Bringlebaum. "They’re not exactly zombies and it’s not the apocalypse, but it’s not good either.”

Harry Wagfoot, the high school quarterback, removed his dysfunctional dystopian football helmet. “What happened?”

“You put on the wrong helmet,” I said. “Now we have to shut down the helmet factory.”

“Any ideas on how to do that?” asked Marylou.

Albert Bringlebaum waved a pipe bomb. “I’d crash the factory with the pickup filled with pipe bombs. I’ll time one to blow at about the time the pickup makes its way through that open truck entrance next to the main office. When the pipe bomb blows, it’ll make the rest of the bombs explode with it. Bye-bye factory.”

“And it’ll kill all the zombots inside?” Mrs. Brombach asked.

“Most of them. The rest we can either shut off with a hard smack to the helmet battery or simply shoot them. I’ve got enough guns and ammo in the pickup.” Albert Bringlebaum distributed the weapons while Chief Martin called for backup.

The explosion flattened the building. Turned out there were some highly inflammable chemical compounds used in the manufacture of helmets.

Later that evening, Mrs. Brombach cooked dinner while Marylou and I made out in the parlor. Albert Bringlbaum and Betsey Olson necked along side of us. We heard a loud truck noise outside on the street. Since Marylou and her mom lived on a quiet sidestreet, the four of us took a gander out the window.

We saw one of those eighteen wheelers rolling by. The side of the trailer was emblazoned with the helmet factory logo and a giant football player wearing a helmet. The driver looked a lot like Uncle Rantly.

"Daddy!" Betsey cried while hinting at another story best left unspoken considering Uncle Rantly's bachelor ways and Mrs. Olson's second husband Oliver who worked night shift at what used to be the helmet factory and my own tendency to write long sentences like this one.

The End… for now.

Zom… zom… zom

You have completed Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It was the product of my morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you enjoyed reading this series, try my full-length novel Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
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Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl standing alone at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

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The Square Root of Slow

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“Cake?” I answered when Chief Martin asked Albert Bringlebaum and me what was in the back of Mrs. Brambach’s pickup.

“And some pipe bombs,” said Albert whose human relations skills wouldn’t register on a Cool Meter let alone a Nerdometer.

“What kind of cake?” asked Chief Martin who owned shares in the local donut shop.

“Not my truck,” I said.

“And we have about half of my dad’s gun collection which should come in handy right about now.”

“Why now?” Chief Martin asked.

“The Zombot Football team for one and those cheerleaders headed this way with a crowd of helmet-manufacturing zombots in hot pursuit,” said Albert.

Chief Martin pointed his glock at the cheerleaders which could have had serious repercussions in a different kind of story. As the cheerleaders approached, we spotted Mrs. Brambach huffing behind them.

“Start the engine,” she yelled.

“What did she say?” asked Chief Martin.

“Something about stuttering penguins,” said Albert.

I jumped into the cab of the pickup, but the keys weren’t in it. “No keys,” I yelled.

“Use the pipe bombs, the cheerleaders miscalculated, called Mrs. Brambach.

“Hurry, the square root of slow is equal to the mass of digital helmet minus our brains,” yelled Betsey Olson.

As the cheerleaders reached the truck, Chief Martin opened fire while Albert Bringlebaum tossed pipe bombs at the helmet factory workers.

Meanwhile, the high school football team reached the back of the pickup truck while continuing the battle hymn of the zombots, “Zom… zom… zom.”

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You are reading Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It's the product of my  morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you're enjoying this series, try Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl standing alone at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

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Betsey Olson Seeks Daddy

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We piled into the pickup with the girls up front. Albert Bringlebaum and I rode in the truck bed with the pipe bombs and Albert’s stash of weapons.

We arrived at the helmet factory in about ten minutes. Someone had left it in an industrial park in Naperville.

Albert jumped off the truck with his rifle at the ready. “Stay behind me. I’ll do the shooting. Jude, you bring the pipe bombs.

I placed a hand on Albert’s shoulder from behind. He jumped about three feet off the ground.

“Dude, don’t do that!” Albert said.

“Sorry, but before you open fire, maybe we should ask Betsey to check things out. Her dad works here.”

Mrs. Brambach, Marylou and Betsey caught up with us.  They each carried a hammer.

“This is woman’s work,” Betsey Olson said. “You boys wait here while we calculate the best way to shut down the factory.”

Betsey placed a finger to her temple while scrunching up her pretty face. This lasted about ten seconds. “Piece of cake,” she said. “Follow me.”

“Wait, I’ve got cake in one of the bomb boxes,” said Albert.

“Won’t be necessary,” I said. “Let’s hang out here and let the ladies do their thing. We can always blow the factory up later.”

We waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Albert is not the kind of person you can hold a conversation with. I asked him how he thought the Cubs would do this year and he replied, “Yeah.”

While that may have been an accurate portrayal of the Cubs chances at winning a division title, it didn’t do anything to extend the conversation in the way a comment about the team’s first basemen may have.

I heard a car on the street. When I checked it out, I spotted Chief Martin in his patrol car. He pulled up to the pickup truck and climbed out.

A commotion down the street caught our attention. The high school football team marched towards us singing their new fight song, “Zom… zom… zom….”

Chief Martin said, “Weird way to practice football.” The chief poked about the boxes in the back of Mrs. Brambach’s pickup truck. “So what do you boys have here?”

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You are reading Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It's the product of my  morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you're enjoying this series, try Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl standing alone at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
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In Search of the Lost Cheerleader Solution

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We would have learned the location of the helmet factory from Betsey Olson except for Albert Bringlebaum and his father’s stash of semi-automatic weapons. After popping off a thirty-round clip of NATO rounds, he had everyone’s attention. Even the kid serving as disk jockey stopped the music.

The silence lasted about ten seconds before Albert said, “Does anybody know where the helmet factory is located?”

Betsey Olson raised her hand, “Oh, I know this one. It’s where Daddy works.”

“Where exactly is that?” Who knew that Albert had such leadership qualities. Give one point to the National Rifle Association for turning deeply disturbed juvenile delinquents into leaders. Who would have guessed that all you need is a few guns and a couple thousand rounds of ammunition to qualify as a trailblazer? Albert now had that much ammunition strapped to his body in the form of about a half dozen leather ammo belts.

Betsey said, “Oh, but it’s kind of hard to find. I’m not sure you’re bright enough to follow complex directions.”

After emptying another thirty round clip into the ceiling, Albert, our fearless leader, said, “Come with us.”

Betsey gave one of those rare quizzical looks that suggested she just heard a marriage proposal from an alien slug creature armed with neutron bombs, which is another story that we don’t have time to go into what with Albert’s trigger finger as itchy as an NRA lobbyist at a Republican Congressional Caucus meeting. Betsey must have reached a decision because she leaned her head to one side, straightened up and said, “Good idea, let’s go.”

That’s when  Albert let loose with another thirty-round blast.

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You are reading Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It's the product of my  morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you're enjoying this series, try Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl standing alone at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
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The Cheerleader Solution

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We loaded thee large wooden crates of pipe bombs onto Mrs. Brambach’s pickup truck.

Albert rode on back to keep an eye on the pipe bombs. I was concerned that he might want to drop a few on passing vehicles as we headed for the helmet factory. On the other hand, they might come in handy if we ran into the high school football team.

“Let’s roll,” I said to Mrs. Brambach once I climbed into the front seat.

“Now, one moment, young man,” said Mrs Brambach. “Where exactly is this helmet factory of yours?”

“It’s… well… it must be somewhere close by. A place where they could make helmets. I don’t know? I’ll ask Albert.

When Albert said he didn’t know, I knew what was coming next.

I dreaded the answer, but Mrs. Brambach asked it anyway. “Let’s ask the cheerleaders, maybe they’ll know.”

Back inside the Bringlebaum house, a crowd of teenage boys whooped around hollering to loud music. Mrs. Bringlebaum, obviously delighted that her son had finally made some friends, was serving Rice Krsispie and marshmellow squares. A pitcher of Kool-Aid sat on a coffee table with a stack of paper cups nearby.

The cheerleaders sat around the dining room table discussing something that sounded like quantum physics and teleportation and, well, other stuff that went over my head. Maybe asking the cheerleaders wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The party was loud even around the cheerleader table where high school kids too nerdy or too out of shape for high school football tried to pick up the cheerleaders. Unfortunately, either the boys were too weak or the girls too heavy, although most appeared to be just right, if you ask me.

I started to ask Betsey Olson where the helmet factory was located, but she blew me off with a quick recitation of the quadratic equation. Seeing the problem, especially with all the other guys hitting on the cheerleaders, I asked Marylou to ask Betsey about the helmet factory, but before she could respond, a series of shots rang out which stopped everyone cold.

Click here to continue...

You are reading Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It's the product of my  morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you're enjoying this series, try Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl standing alone at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
Enjoy this blog post? Please share it with your friends by clicking the social media buttons below.

What in Dignation?

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Mrs. Brambach floored the pickup. Three cheerleaders fell off the back from the sudden lurch.

“You’re going to get a ticket,” said Marylou.

“I don’t think a ticket is valid when all it says on it is zom… zom… zom…” Mrs. Brambach replied. She screeched the pickup to a full stop so the fallen cheerleaders could climb back aboard. Meanwhile, I passed the first aid kit from the glove box back to the girls so they could repair their scraped knees.

“We have to put a stop to this nonsense,” I said, feeling my own invitation to be in Dignant, Nebreska.

“How do you propose we do that?” Mrs. Brambach started slower this time, but soon roared back down the four lane Rt. 59 heading south towards Naperville. She swerved around a crashed tractor trailer and three empty sedans but didn’t lose any of the precious cargo in back.

I jammed one hand against the ceiling of the truck cab and the other on Marylou Brambach’s right thigh. “The zombots can’t convert you to zombottary unless they have one of Uncle Rantly’s special helmets. We have to find out where they’re producing them.”

“And then what,” Marylou smiled at me.

“We blow it up.” I replied.

Mrs Brambach snuck a peek in my direction with a face that said, “What, are you nuts?” That’s when she said, “What, are you nuts?”

“No, I’m people,” I replied but it went over her head.

“We need Albert Bringlebaum,” said Marylou.

“Of course, Albert Bringlebaum,” I repeated. It must have been the beans we had for lunch.

“Mrs. Brambach, turn left on Butterfield. I’ll show you the way.” I pointed left, but apparently Mrs. Brambach had already figured out what direction left was.

We pulled into the driveway of a brick bungalow in the old part of Warrenville. Warrenville had two parts. The old part consisted of the houses built in the mid-nineteenth century before the railroad decided to go to Wheaton and West Chicago to the north and to Naperville and Aurora to the south, leaving Warrenville with no railroad. Since the towns in our area developed around the railroad lines, no more development occurred in Warrenville until about the nineteen seventies. Thus, the town had an area of old houses and one consisting of a number of now aging “newer” sub-divisions and town houses. Maybe I should have said, "All Warrenville is divided into two parts, the old part of town and the even older part of town, but you got the idea, right?"

The cheerleaders ran into the house without so much as ringing the bell. Albert Bringlebaum came running out of the house.

“What’s going on?” he asked, which goes to show what kind of guy he was. Anyone else would be inside entertaining the cheerleaders. A guy shouldn’t question a gift like that.

“We have to blow up the helmet factory,” I said.

“I’ve got a load of pipe bombs in the garage,” Albert said, again confirming the kind of person he was. To make matters worse, his father was an avid gun collector. Why is it that the gun collector dads are the ones with the destructive teenage sons?

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You are reading Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It's the product of my  morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you're enjoying this series, try Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl who seemed to be by herself at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
Enjoy this blog post? Please share it with your friends by clicking the social media buttons below.

F-Wording the Zombots

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.

“Forget about it, Mom,” said Marylou Brambach in response to her mother’s inquiry concerning her make out habits with me.

“Why should I forget about it?” Mrs. Brambach asked.

“Because that cop is pulling you over,” Marylou exclaimed without an exclamation mark at the end of her sentence which was sure to upset Mrs. Appleburger, the sophomore English teacher. She didn’t really teach the sophomore English class. She taught the junior class, but she was a sophomore at Northern Illinois University, which is, as they say, another story.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Brambach pulled over for the police officer. The officer stepped out of his patrol car. He wore a black uniform with a large Glock on a black leather belt as his most noticeable accessory, except for the shiny badge on his shirt and the big white helmet on top of his head. About fifty feet behind the police car marched a gaggle of high school football players singing the zom… zom… zom… fight song.

“May I help you, officer?” Mrs. Brambach sounded indignant. You’d be in Dignant too if you lived there, but that’s not the point, is it? Well, it would be the point if you were looking at a large map of the state of Nebraska where you might find a point or dot next to the name Dignant.

The police officer stared admirably, if a bit cold, during the entire paragraph above, obviously waiting for a break in the conversation. When one appeared, he said, “Zom… zom… zom…” He even got all the little dots in the right place as he reached for his gun.

Click here to continue...

By the way, if you're enjoying this series, try Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl who seemed to be by herself at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
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The Zombots Strike Back

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The giggle girl cheerleaders weren’t gone more than five minutes when the doorbell rang at Marylou Brambach’s house.

“You answer it,” Marylou ordered.

“I’m not answering the door,” I replied.

“Jude Nerdworthy, you answer that door this instant or there will be no more make out sessions with me,” Marylou said before she remembered her mother was in the room with us.

“Marylou!” Mrs. Brambach said.

“Ding-dong,” said the doorbell right before it flung open and the high school football player zombots marched in.

Their chant was deeper and richer in tone than the rather tinny and shrill cheerleader chant, but the words were the same: “zom… zom… zom…” What the three little dots were for after every  “zom…” I’ll never know, but there they were.

My first impression of the word “zom” as spoken by the high school football team zombots was that it roughly translated into “skedaddle.” Some may argue that it really meant “Seattle,” but those people I knew who made that argument, like George Howbert and Iorg Baring from my English class, were now zombots.

To me and to Marylou Brambach and even to Mrs. Brambach, “zom…” meant “Hit the road, Jack,” whether you included the three little dots or not. And of course, “Hit the road, Jack,” was just another way of saying “skedaddle.”

The three of us escaped out the backdoor, into the garage and into Mrs. Brambach’s pickup truck. It didn’t start at first, but once Mrs. Brambach screwed the oil pan back on and filled the engine with fresh oil using the cheap stuff from the local convenience store rather than the good stuff from the auto supply, we hustled away.

We caught up with the cheerleaders and offered them a ride. At first they declined, thinking we were strangers. But when they saw the high school football team closing in on us, Betsey Olson said something along the lines of “the square root of 14 plus or minus the delta of sigma equals…”

I’m not sure what Betsey had in mind, but the other cheerleaders took it to mean get your sweet little buns on board the pickup and hope it goes faster than a charging tailback.

One of the cheerleaders, Gloria Beeswax, opted to forgo the pickup ride. Instead, she calculated that one cheerleader plus one high school football team added up to a good time was had by all. She charged the team. Well, she tried to charge the team, but they weren’t buying in their hyper mind state. Instead, they absorbed Gloria back into the zombot cause. The last we heard of Gloria Beeswax was “zom… zom… zom…”

Meanwhile, the light at Rt 59 and Batavia turned green and Mrs. Brambach floored it. As we headed south towards the semi-permanent construction at Butterfield, Mrs. Brambach took a quick peek at her daughter. “What do you mean making out with this boy?”

Guys say the stupidest things at moments like this, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I prayed concerning the soul, spirit, mind and heart of Marylou Brambach, “Please, please don’t use the F word.”

She did.

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Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl who seemed to be by herself at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
Enjoy this blog post? Please share it with your friends by clicking the social media buttons below.