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Friday, June 22, 2018

PROMO: Dangerous


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Erotic MC Romance
Date Published: 5/21/18

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Jace is a nomad.
An outlaw biker who likes to work alone.
Fierce. Dangerous.
A killer when he needs to be.
He calls no place home, and no woman owns his heart.
Until her.
Luna.





 Excerpt



"You don't belong here." There was no fucking way I was going to watch a repeat performance of her getting off on Puck's leg.

"What?" she half-laughed, half-gasped.

"You heard me," I growled. "You don't know what you're doing, messing around with these men. They aren't known for saying no to something they want."

She huffed out a laugh. "What are you talking about?" Her tone revealed that she really had no idea. "We were only going to dance."

Her innocence only made me angrier. "Yeah, I saw your first fucking dance with Puck. You think a man gives you an orgasm and he's not looking to get inside your pussy?"

She gasped sharply. "I don’t know, Jace. You tell me. I watched you give that woman an orgasm, is her pussy next?"

It wasn't often someone dared to use my own words against me. I had to give Luna credit for not backing down and acting like the proverbial damsel in distress. She was standing her ground, and she wasn’t afraid to say it like it was. It was dark, but thanks to the dim light over the door, I could make out her expression, which was growing angrier by the second. It almost made me smile.

"You forget I got off, too," I said crudely.

Silence followed, and I wondered what she was thinking. It didn't take her long to find her voice.

"Right. Then I'd better go back inside and take care of Puck." She went to grab for the door knob.

"The hell you will," I snarled, reaching for her. I pulled her away from the door, gripping her roughly around her upper arm.

She pulled away with a cry of anger. "What is your problem, Jace? Why should it bother you what I do with another man? It didn't bother me while you and that woman were humping each other's brains out."

I thought about the telling look she’d had on her face when she'd been watching me with CC, the disappointment and the hurt I’d seen. I'd got off a lot of times letting a woman grind against my dick, but that moment tonight hadn't been my proudest, because I'd done it with something else in mind. I'd purposely set out to hurt Luna and teach her a lesson, that attraction for men like me meant one thing and one thing only. I called her bullshit.

"Liar!" I whispered sharply down into her face. For a minute we just stood staring at each other in the darkness, listening to the sound of each other's breaths. I swear I saw the glistening of tears fill her eyes. "We're not good men, Luna. You come on to one of these men, let him expect something more, and he'll take it, whether you want to give it up or not. That's their fucking world. Luckily Puck's a little more understanding than most. But if that had been me you were rubbing up on, I would have taken you out back and fucked you up against the wall." It was true. Fuck, I wanted to do it now and take care of the itch I'd had for her since I’d looked into her warm, honey eyes on that very first day. My dick was hard as a rock right fucking now, proving it.

"So, what, this is a warning, Jace? You're the good guy looking out for the innocent, unsuspecting woman?"

"No, baby, I'm not a good guy. I'm worse than any man in there, and you'd do well to stay the fuck away from me."

She yanked her arm away from me and crossed her arms. "I'm twenty-eight years old, Jace, old enough to make my own decisions, and mistakes, if I want to. That's how most people learn," she threw at me in a single breath. "So what makes you think I can't take care of myself?"

I backed her up against the side of the building...

No cliffhangers!
(Jace was first introduced in His Possession. He also appeared in Ruthless, book 1)
          



About the Author

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Tory Richards is a fun-loving grandma who writes smut with a plot. Born in 1955 in the small town of Milo, Maine, she's lived most of her life in Florida, where she went to school, married, and raised her daughter. For many years life got in the way of her dreams.

Penning stories by hand at ten, and then on manual typewriter at the age of thirteen, Tory was a closet writer until the encouragement of her family prompted her into submitting to a publisher. She's been published since 2005, and has since retired from Disney to focus on family, friends, travel and writing.


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Thursday, June 21, 2018

Blog Tour: The Flames of Florence






Historical Thriller
Date Published: May 8, 2018
Publisher: Diversion Books

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"A glittering Renaissance gem of a novel. Donna Russo Morin, a master of her craft, has penned an intricate story full of lush historical detail with a plot that will leave you breathless." —Tasha Alexander, New York Times bestselling author of Death in St. Petersburg

In her final standalone novel featuring Da Vinci's Disciples, Donna Russo Morin delivers a thrilling story of the secret female artists of Florence, under the tutelage of Leonardo Da Vinci, and their heroic, potentially deadly efforts to save great works of art from the infamous Bonfire of the Vanities.

"Illicit plots, mysterious paintings, and Leonardo da Vinci all have their part to play in this delicious, heart-pounding work." —Kate Quinn, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of The Alice Network

Lorenzo de Medici is dead, and his son Piero has brought war and famine upon the city of Florence. Yet, the glory that is Renaissance artistry grows more magnificent, as does the work of the women known as Da Vinci's Disciples. Now they face their most dangerous challenge, one shrouded in the cloak of a monk.

From the ashes of war, Friar Girolamo Savonarola rises. Some call him a savior and a prophet, a man willing to overthrow tyrannical rulers and corrupt clergy, the Borgia Pope among them. Fra Girolamo is determined to remold Florence from an avaricious, secular culture to a paragon of Christian virtues.

Many call Savonarola a delusional heretic, incapable of anything but self-serving fanaticism. When he sets out to destroy all secular art forms, Da Vinci's Disciples call him an enemy … but not all of them.

"Like a glorious Italian fresco-richly textured and vividly portrayed … Highly recommended for lovers of history, art, and courageous women." —Anna Lee Huber, bestselling author of the Lady Darby Mysteries

"Donna Russo Morin renders one of the most tumultuous periods in Florence's history in bright colors and with vivid descriptions. This tale of a group of determined women standing up for what they believe in … will absolutely resonate with modern readers." —Alyssa Palombo, author of The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence



Excerpt

Chapter One
“The world is never still;
It moves forward whether we wish it to or not.”
Their faces had changed. Time had marched across some, leaving its tracks. New faces had sprouted like the first crocuses of spring. Yet whatever form they took, they stood by each other as life spun its web

around them.
They stood in the sun now, free of the shadows, with its warmth fluttering down upon their shoulders. She had been one of the first, one of the founders, a tender, delicate bloom of wisdom. She had been with them at the other funeral, that of the man whose life had made the transformation in theirs possible. The man who had changed all of Florence, planting seeds of it, reveling in their blossoms, and sharing their glory with the world. He had known the importance of art, had tended to it the way it needed to flourish, as they had flourished.
Together, they had survived as Florence had survived: barely. The Medicis, doomed since the death of Lorenzo “Il Magnifico” de’ Medici, had been ousted. War had weakened Florence’s trunk as well as her branches. And strangeness had descended upon them in the form of a tonsured, cloaked figure, a shadow whose length grew ever longer, all encompassing.
Hope born on audacity and raised on bravery had changed them. As they watched their dearest friend lowered into the ground where her ashes would live forever, they knew they too would remain eternal; they would be, now and forever…Da Vinci’s Disciples.
Isabetta and Gianetta walked to the mercato as they did most days. Both understood the depth of kindness Andreano and Mattea had shown them, taking them in as they had done. For Gianetta, her cousin’s kindness went far deeper, for he accepted his role as her guardian without hesitation. They returned such kindness, though in a small manner, by making for the markets early each morning, to buy the freshest fruit and vegetables the farmers delivered to the city. As a widow, Isabetta walked about as she pleased, no chaperone necessary, nor a veil upon her head. Gianetta, a young unmarried woman, could never be seen out of doors without her veil, not a terrible hardship with its embroidered lace sprinkledminutely by small jewels.
“I hope there is some fresh lamb,” Gianetta chirped. “We havenot been able to find any in quite some time.”
“That would be nice,” Isabetta agreed.
Both women struggled to speak of inconsequential things. Life had been far too full of serious conversations; at times, the mind needed the triviality of life for it to feel real.
“And perhaps—ahia!” Gianetta’s scream pierced the still morning air.
Isabetta spun, seeing the three boys—all robed in white—rushing away from them, one holding Gianetta’s veil in her hand—strands and roots of her hair still within the teeth of itsc omb—having yanked it from her head. With swiftness of foot, Isabetta caught up to them, ran before them, and stopped.
“May we help you, signora?” the oldest of the three, perhaps as old as twelve or thirteen, asked of her.
Her lip curled as she fell on them hard.
“How dare you!” she spat at them.
The boys looked the very portrait of innocent incomprehension.
“We do nothing more than our job.”
“Your job?” Isabetta’s head rocked back and forth as she scoffed at them. “It is your job to accost young women?”
“No, signora,” another replied, a golden haired child no more than ten. “We are to remove all…all…” his eyes rolled up in hishead as he searched for the words, “…all vain glories from the
streets of Florence.”
“Vain glories? What nonsense is this?”
“As I said, signora,” the first spoke again, taking a step toward her. If he hoped it would make her take a step back, he was disappointed.
“We do our job. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“And this is what your master tells you to do?”
The boy puffed up his chest. “Sì, signora.”
Isabetta longed to slap the smirk from his face. Instead, she leaned over and leaned down, her head only inches from the oldest.
“Tell your master, Isabetta Fioravanti believes he is deranged and dangerous.”
The boy twitched beneath his pristine robe, his agitation and anger longing for release. His hands fisted by his side as his eyes narrowed to slits.
“Go on, boy,” Isabetta goaded, “if you dare. Look in my eye and ask yourself if I could not slap you raw.” She held up a hand. “No, not could I, but would I?”
Their gazes locked together in battle, neither giving way.
“Come,” the smallest of the boys pulled upon his cohort.
    Come, Alberto.”
Alberto, as he was, began to step away, stepping backward from them.
“Grazie, signora,” he bowed to Isabetta, “for the gift of your name.”
He need not say more, nor did she.
Only when they were out of sight did Isabetta return to
Gianetta’s side, examining her head, finding pinpricks of blood on her scalp.
“Do you feel well enough for the mercato?” Isabetta asked of her.
Gianetta nodded her stinging head, covered it as best she could with her small lace handkerchief retrieved from her waist purse, and they began to walk once more.
“You act rashly,” Gianetta chastised her.
“That man is a rash,” Isabetta responded, “and I believe we have just caught it.”
Gianetta grabbed her arm. “You and I?”
Isabetta shook her head. “No. Florence.”



About the Author

Donna Russo Morin’s passion for the written word began when she was a child, took on a feminist edge as she grew through the sixties, and blossomed into a distinctive style of action-filled historical fiction at a defining moment in her life. As a second-generation American of full Italian descent, Donna combined her historical research with her genealogical studies, finding that her birth name (Russo) and her family roots are traceable to ninth century Florence…the very city in which the Da Vinci’s Disciples trilogy is set.

Donna Russo (Morin) is the internationally published author of six multi-award-winning historical novels including PORTRAIT OF A CONSPIRACY: Da Vinci’s Disciples Book One (a finalist in Foreword Reviews BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR), and THE COMPETITION: Da Vinci’s Disciples Book Two (EDITOR’S CHOICE, Historical Novel Society Review). The final book in her Da Vinci’s Disciples trilogy, THE FLAMES OF FLORENCE, releases May 8, 2018. Also this summer, my novel, inspired by our own home state, GILDED SUMMERS: A Novel of Newport’s Gilded Age will also release this summer. Her other titles include The King’s Agent, recipient of a starred review in Publishers Weekly, The Courtier’s Secret, The Secret of the Glass, and To Serve a King.

A 25-year professional editor/story consultant, her work spans more than 40 manuscripts.  She holds a BA in Communications and an A.A. in English Literature.  Donna teaches writing courses at her state’s most prestigious adult learning center, online for Writer’s Digest University, and has presented at national and academic conferences for over ten years.  In addition to her writing, Donna has worked as a model and an actor with appearances in Showtime’s Brotherhood and Martin Scorsese’s The Departed. Currently under contract to a consortium of international producers, Donna has added screenwriting to her professional acumen.

Her sons—Devon, an opera singer; and Dylan, a chef—are still, and always will be, her greatest works.



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Twitter: @DonnaRussoMorin
Instagram @donnarm.telleroftales


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Wednesday, June 20, 2018

PROMO: You Only Live Once


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Humorous Thriller
Date Published: March 21, 2018
Publisher: Imajin Books

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On sale for .99 from June 15-30th


Synopsis: James Flynn is an expert shot, a black belt in karate, and irresistible to women. He’s also a heavily medicated patient in a Los Angeles psychiatric hospital. Flynn believes his locked ward is the headquarters of Her Majesty’s Secret Service and that he is a secret agent with a license to kill.

When the hospital is acquired by a new HMO, Flynn is convinced that the Secret Service has been infiltrated by the enemy. He escapes to save the day, and in the process, Flynn kidnaps a young Hispanic orderly named Sancho.

This crazy day trip turns into a very real adventure when Flynn is mistaken for an actual secret agent. Paranoid delusions have suddenly become reality, and now it’s up to a mental patient and a terrified orderly to bring down an insecure, evil genius bent on world domination.


About the Author

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Haris Orkin is a novelist, playwright, screenwriter, and game writer. His play, Dada was produced at The American Stage and the La Jolla Playhouse. Sex, Impotence, and International Terrorism was chosen as a critic’s choice by the L.A. Weekly and sold as a film script to MGM/UA. His original screenplay, A Saintly Switch, was directed by Peter Bogdanovich and starred David Alan Grier and Vivica Fox. He is a WGA Award and BAFTA Award nominated game writer and narrative designer known for Command and Conquer: Red Alert 3, Call of Juarez: Gunslinger, Tom Clancy’s The Division, Mafia 3, and Dying Light, which to date has sold over 7.5 million copies.



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Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Blog Tour: Trazer: Kids of a Stolen Tomorrow



Young Adult Sci-fi
Date Published: 10/18/17
Publisher: YorubaBoy Books

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It's the year 93 O.O., and Dara Adeleye is a student with a bright future and her life figured out. That is, until a chance encounter with a mysterious child changes everything.

Dara lives in a world shaped by the Miracle of Elegua, an intervention by the gods in the fate of an Earth on the brink of collapse decades before she was born. Exceptionally gifted as an artist, her day-to-day attentions are on excelling in school in order to rise above her lower-class upbringing and raise her friends and family out of the dreaded red vanes. But Earth is headed towards the brink again and it may just be the gift she doesn't know she has that can save it . . .

Kristano Arvelo is a trazer--the term used for the graffiti writers of Dara's time, a once-slang that originated in her home town of Todirb Wall. The aimless leader of a local group of trazers, he may hold a key to unlocking Dara's hidden gifts. But it will come at the cost of the destiny she believed was hers.


About the Author



JOSEPH OLUMIDE ADEGBOYEGA-EDUN was born in Lagos, the then-capital city of Nigeria.  A great-grandson of  the First-Secretary of the Egba United Government, he was brought to the United States at age two when his parents came to study. Increasing corruption in the Nigerian government followed by the return of military rule thwarted their plans to move back and America became home. They set roots in Brooklyn, New York, a vibrant environment colored with graffiti and steeped in elements of hip-hop that left an indelible mark on the future author's consciousness. 


The cultural influences and experiences of his homeland and the city of his early youth have been a strong source of creative inspiration for the author. Trazer: Kids of Stolen Tomorrow is his debut novel, and the first entry in the Trazer Series. When not writing, Joe enjoys working on other projects with his creative partners  LenStorm, 7Woundz and Soundz, and exploring the breathtaking wilderness of the Chesapeake.


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Sunday, June 17, 2018

PROMO: Reclaimed


Contemporary Romance
Date Published: May 30, 2018

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Beyond all else, Samira Foster wanted one thing: Elliot Dowling. He was her passion, her need. They were just kids but she knew it was real. The way he kissed her; the way he held her. Yet he’s the one thing that was denied her. The scion of a powerful and wealthy family, she’s now the head of Foster Acquisitions. But she doesn’t have it all. The pressure, the demands, the wolves. And she’s all alone. She needs someone. She needs him. And she’ll have him … even if it destroys her.



 Excerpt


Elliot slowly began to realize that, despite the adrenaline flooding his system, nothing had truly changed since he had walked away years ago. He had to fight not to reminisce of the days they spent together, whether it was at the park, the lake or hiking the trails while the world waited back in the city. She was still the perfect girl, and now woman, that every man dreamed of, and he knew that she had no business slumming it with the likes of him. Samira’s eyes started to glow in the same way they used to when she looked at him. She could see deep into his soul, all of his feelings, and right now he wondered if she knew the truth.

“I almost gave up hope trying to find you,” she said. “It’s been years since you disappeared. I was beginning to think I would never see you again. Then the name Dowling Holdings came across my desk and I heard you’d returned. Why didn’t you reach out to me?”

“I thought about it, but there’s things…”

“I know.” Samira nodded. Her smile faded slightly, but she suppressed the frustration that Elliot knew she must’ve been feeling. “I had my investigators do a complete work up on Dowling Holdings. The only thing they can’t tell me is why you left. Was it because of what your father did?”

Elliot shook his head, he was certain there were things no one could know, and truthfully said, “My father’s actions might have held something over me at one point, but that doesn’t shadow my decisions anymore.”

Samira looked confused, then sad for a split second. “Was it me? Did you not reach out because of something that I did?”

Elliot once again shook his head. “God no, Sam, you’re amazing!”

He watched something click in her head, and even though he had never told her what happened that night, she figured it out.

“It was my dad then,” she said. “He never approved of us; even if he never told me, I knew that he hated the thought of us together. Did he threaten you? Forbid you from seeing me?”

Elliot could not look at her. Samira’s face flushed with anger as she continued, “Two and a half billion dollars in profit last year from a holding company that you built yourself. If you can’t see how impressive that is, I would be shocked! That was your hard work and determination! If my dad was even alive, he would not have a leg to stand on to keep us apart.”

“Sam, I wanted everything to be just right, or at least, cleaned up…”

Samira stood up. “No, Elliot. I don’t believe you. Everything you’ve gone through, everything you’ve built, doesn’t matter. You’ve let him stand between us for all these years. He was my father, and no matter what he said, I was never afraid of him or let him run my life. You could have everything you want now, but instead you just keep trying to prove yourself to a dead man.”

Samira got up, clearly upset, and headed for the door.

Every part of him wanted to run after her, and take her into his arms again, but where would they go from here? He saw now how crazy it was to bring her back into his dark world again.




About the Author

Marcella Swann has been putting words on paper for as long as she can remember. After working for years in the hard-edged world of journalism, she now devotes her time to writing contemporary romance stories of strong-willed women who win the men of their desires.

As passionate about love as the beauty of a story well told, Marcella is a complete romantic and believes everyone desires their happily ever after.

A small-town girl from Louisiana, Marcella now lives in New York City and starts each day walking her Yorkie in the park. She also swings a mean kettle bell at the gym and loves Karaoke nights with her friends.


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Saturday, June 16, 2018

PROMO: Snafu Fubar: Nothing Heroic


Adult Humor
Date Published: Oct 2016

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*****WARNING*****
If you are easily offended, then this is NOT the book for you. Please put it down and back away slowly. However, if you have a warped sense of humor, please read on.

In the town of Lost Hope, Florida reside two heroes unlike any others. These champions of justice go by the names of Snafu Fubar and General Nuisance. Nightly they patrol their fine city to protect it from evil's grasp. And by 'patrol' we mean they sit on a porch, appropriately nicknamed 'The Fucking Nuisance Cave', drinking beers, smoking cigars, and talking about sex.


Excerpt


   Meanwhile, across the street from the trailer park, in a convenience store that General Nuisance and Snafu Fubar frequented, a robber had just entered, brandishing a pistol.  He pointed it at the clerk behind the counter, a young boy who had not yet reached legal drinking age and who still had a zit party in full swing on his chubby face. “Put your hands in the air and give me the money!” The clerk looked confused for a moment and then shrugged.

    “I can’t do both.”

    “Huh...what?”

   The clerk rolled his eyes. “I can’t put my hands in the air and give you the money.”

    “Fine. Put one hand in the air and hand me the money with the other one.” The robber gestured with the gun.

   “OK, which hand?”

    “Right…no, wait a minute. Left.”

    “Left hand up or left hand get the money?”

     The robber banged his head against the counter three times and glared at the clerk. “Left hand get the money.”

    Ding Ding.

      The robber and clerk both looked toward the store's door, through which a female customer had just entered. She was blond, with a great body and nice rack, but her face was ugly as sin. “Can I get twenty on pump five?”

    The robber stepped towards her, motioning with the gun. “Lie down on the floor now!”

   “What? Really? Have you seen this floor? I’d probably have a higher chance of survival if you just shoot me. I think I’ll take my chances!”

    The robber glanced down at the floor. “OK. Point taken. Just sit on the floor.”

    “Really wish I hadn’t picked today to wear stilettos and this damn mini skirt with no panties,” griped the customer. “I mean, if I’m going to catch an STD, I really wanted to do it the fun way.” She looked about as graceful as a giraffe on roller skates as she tried several maneuvers to get down on the floor without giving the clerk and the robber their own private peep show.



    General Nuisance met Snafu in the parking lot of the convenience store. They did the handshake, the fist bump, the high five, the gang sign, the chest bump and the butt slap — to which they both said in unison, “NO GO HOMO!” This, of course, made it perfectly acceptable for two grown men to slap each other on the ass.

    “Do you see what I see?” General Nuisance pointed into the convenience store that held his beloved beer.

    “Yeah, some idiot sitting on a disease ridden floor.  Hope she knows there are more enjoyable ways to catch an STD.”

    “I agree, but I wasn’t talking about her. Look again…a robber!”

     “Cool! You wanna hand out some Bronze Age justice?”

       General Nuisance poked his friend in the arm. “I got one better...Iron Age justice, huh, huh?”

    “Oh, that’s just stupid! What did the Iron Age have that the Bronze Age didn’t?”

    “Really? Asia was smelting tin and brass by then…you can’t top that. What was your Bronze Age doing? Cave men were still circle jerking on dinosaurs' corpses.”

     “That’s the Stone Age, you idiot.” Snafu shook his head. “You can be so dumb at times.”

      While Snafu Fubar and General Nuisance debated over the kind of justice they were going to hand out, things inside the store took a bizarre turn.

     “Man, my drawer is gonna be off. I’m gonna have to overcharge all my customers tonight,” the clerk whined as he looked down at his till.

     “Shut up! Just get the money,” screamed the robber.

   “I don’t feel so well,” said the female customer, whose face was now a sickly shade of green. She burped once then farted. A moment later, she puked all over the floor and shit herself.

     “Crap! Now I’m going to have to mop the floor and man, I was really hoping to leave that for the morning shift. I mean I could kind of push everything under the candy counter. There’s a good chance no one would notice and I could just place a wet floor sign where she is at. Yeah…the more I think about it, I’m pretty sure that would work.”

      “Oh my God! Why are you taking so long?” The robber pointed the gun at the clerk again.

     The store's door swung open. Loud rock music blared as Snafu and General Nuisance entered the store. “I’m here to kick some ass and hand out –“, Snafu sighed, “Industrial Revolution era justice!”

     “See?!? Was that so hard?” General Nuisance asked with a smile.

      The robber grabbed the clerk by his shirt collar. “This is why you should have moved faster. Both of you get down on the ground now…or the clerk dies.”

       General Nuisance and Snafu both looked down at the female customer who was now shaking and in the midst of some kind of convulsion. “Yeah, that’s just not going to happen,” Snafu said.

    “Son, put the gun down.” General Nuisance spoke as calmly as a man being threatened with sitting on a disease-ridden floor could speak.

    “How about I shoot you?!” screamed the frustrated robber as he pointed the gun first at General Nuisance then at Snafu.

     “Yeah, shoot those costumed freaks!” chimed in the clerk.

      “You stay out of this!” the robber yelled at the clerk.

     “Why are you rooting for the robber?” asked Snafu.

     “I don’t know…just seemed like we were connecting…I don’t get a lot of social interaction here.”

     The robber looked back and forth between the costumed vigilantes and the clerk. “Shit! I don’t know who to shoot first!”

     “Please God, let it be me! Bleck!” said the customer on the floor as she puked again.

     “Well, while you decide that, I’m going to grab a Slushee,” Snafu said as he strolled toward the back of the store.

     “Yeah. Me too. Let’s grab the beer and some beef jerky while we’re at it,” General Nuisance said as he patted the robber on the shoulder and walked past him.

     The robber snatched the money from the clerk's hand and ran out of the store. “Ya’ll are fuckin’ crazy!”

     The clerk, looking as though he'd just lost his best friend or a beloved pet, leaned over the edge of the counter.

     “Call me...I mean if you want to hang out or something,” the clerk yelled as the robber made his escape. When he didn’t get a response, the clerk slumped back against his stool.

     “They never call.”



About the Author


Bob Dixon is a two-time Guinness World Record holder for the World's Longest Cartoon Strip. He is the author and creator of a number of comic book titles for Pocket Change Comics, including Assassinette: The Mind Stalker, Psyco Duck, Jester's Dead, The Holy Knight, Riplash, Shadow Slasher, and Warzone 3719. Bob has written two children books, Rooty the Tree Troll and Holiday Bunny; two young adult books, Mouch and Company: The Dream Psychic and Rags and Ruins; An adult humor book Snafu Fubar : Nothing Heroic; and is the co-author of Will Jones' biography A Tough Call. Bob is also the Writer/Director of the movie Dr. Prozak's Office. Additionally, he is a certified special education teacher who works with children who have autism and intellectual delays.


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Twitter: @authorbobdixon



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