by David Beem
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GENRE: Comedy Fiction
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s
been said every story must start somewhere. Ours begins with a professional
dork. The kind who fixes computers and lives in his gran’s basement. The kind
tapped by destiny (that saucy minx) to become the world’s first superhero!
And not a moment too soon…
A nano-sized artificial intelligence is on the loose! It got itself dart-gunned into a cow butt by a frog man in a porn store! Two stoners are corrupting it on twitter! And that’s just the first three pages!!
Join our dork of destiny as he channels the collective unconscious—his psychic superpower—in a harrowing tale of high drama, romance, betrayal, revenge, jesus chickens, cocaine, weirdos, magicians, ninjas, nfl spies, and disco ball water torture administered to the tune of rapture, by blondie. My god, man, what does it all mean!?
It means uncorking that next bottle of wine isn’t only a good idea—it’s advisable.
And not a moment too soon…
A nano-sized artificial intelligence is on the loose! It got itself dart-gunned into a cow butt by a frog man in a porn store! Two stoners are corrupting it on twitter! And that’s just the first three pages!!
Join our dork of destiny as he channels the collective unconscious—his psychic superpower—in a harrowing tale of high drama, romance, betrayal, revenge, jesus chickens, cocaine, weirdos, magicians, ninjas, nfl spies, and disco ball water torture administered to the tune of rapture, by blondie. My god, man, what does it all mean!?
It means uncorking that next bottle of wine isn’t only a good idea—it’s advisable.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
I roll onto my side. A bar of honey-golden sunlight is
bisecting a bare and definitely female leg in my bed.
Something like a popped clutch hitches in my chest.
I snatch the blankets and try to yank them up to my neck.
They won’t come, because Mary—beautiful Mary Thomas—is sitting on the edge of
my bed. The blankets are trapped beneath her beautiful butt, which happens to
be wearing my favorite boxers. And the rest of her is in my Notre Dame jersey.
“What’re you—how’re you—what’re you—are you wearing my
clothes?”
“I got to thinking,” she says, standing and sashaying over
to my desk, where she picks up the picture of me and Dad. Her blonde hair is
gleaming in the morning sunlight. Her legs are long, toned, and tan. I bite the
side of my tongue, and my gaze snaps to eye level just in time; she sets down
the picture and faces me.
“I’m going to help you.”
I yank my sheets up to my neck and count to ten. I’ve missed
something. Maybe more than one critical something. Probably an entire chapter
of critical somethings torn from the story of my life while I was sleeping.
I release the sheets and sit up. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the window.”
“I mean—okay. Not to be rude or anything, but…why are you in
my room?”
“I’m glad you asked that, Edger,” she says, like her sitting
at my desk and wearing my boxers and jersey is the most normal freaking thing
in the history of normal freaking things. “I know we just met yesterday, but I
think it’s time we moved in together.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
David Beem enjoys superhero movies, taekwondo, and flossing. He
lives in Djibouti with his family and crippling self-doubt. Help actualize
David’s inner confidence. Visit his website today, and buy all the stuff.
https://twitter.com/davidbeem
Buy
Link:
David Beem will be awarding a $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
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