Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

I'm starting this review with an apology to . A couple days ago, when I was knee deep in this bizarro story of a monk who falls in love with a dinosaur, the very creatures he has dedicated his life to destroying, I saw a commercial for some BluRay thing or another and the movie shown in the ad was Avatar.

Try as I might, the visual of Avatar would not leave my head as I read this action-packed tale of a human (the monk) who falls in love with a blue creature (a trachodon). It didn't help that in many ways the basic storyline was quite similar. Those similarities end there, however. What has that Avatar does not is dinosaurs who tote weapons like machine guns, samurai swords and rifles that fire massive rotating saw blades, and also superhuman monks who can lose more than 50% of their bodies and continue to fight on. So suck it, James Cameron.

The thing I liked the best about this story were the little touches, like the monks' guns, which rendered dinos into hulks of smoking plastic shells. This made me think of the plastic dinosaur my son got from the Field Museum in Chicago this summer from one of those plastic dinosaur making vending machines. Like I said, nice, clever touches like that.

I will admit that Avatar was a fairly entertaining flick, but it would have vaulted into the awesome stratosphere if it had anything half as cool as a machine-gun carrying, grenade-lobbing Tyrannosaurus. So despite the similarities, Kirsten Alene wins this comparison with a heartfelt story that oozes the awesome. And the fact that the heros of the book, creatures formed by a union of the monks' meditative thoughts and badgers from the forest, are named The Steve, well, that was just the icing on top.

There has to be a first time for everything, right? Think about the first time you learned about sex, or told a dirty joke, or maybe the first time you fell in love. (Maybe, that all happened at once, like it did for us.) Or the first time you heard of horse dildos. Oh, you haven't heard of those before? Don't worry, because now you have. And you have James Steele to thank for that, courtesy of the 2-Minute Drill.

The 2-Minute Drill is 5 quick questions and 5 quick answers from someone you probably haven't heard of, but should hear from. This isn't some rambling, long-winded author interview here. We dispense with the pleasantries and get down to brass tacks. We ask the tough questions and get the tough answers that you need to know. And if not, we'll just make them up.

Right, so horse dildos. They are apparently just what they sound like. But they can be so much more. Like a magical weapon that will save mankind. This you will learn when you read James Steele's book . And who is ? Let's try to find out right now.

Man with a toaster head - NOT a horse dildo

2-MD: This interview simply can't go forward until you answer this question first � horse dildo? We didn't even know these things existed until we learned about your book. How did you come to the point where you thought, 'A horse dildo will be a perfect centerpiece for my next story!'?

JS: What?? You didn't know they existed until I came along?? And I thought I'd been living under a rock my whole life� Well, ok, there was a time when I was ignorant, too, but then I found out through various web links that these things exist. I think they're funny. Among people who know of them, the Thor is the butt of a dozen jokes. It's a byword for "ridiculously large" (even though there are way bigger ones out there). Then I actually met a guy who owns one. He said it's not a very good toy, so that got me thinking if it's unusable for sex, it must have some other use. I figured the only logical reason to own a piece of gel that big would be to use it as a weapon! (2-MD: Try as we might, we can't really argue with that logic.)

2-MD: We had the pleasure of meeting you at BizarroCon in Portland this year. While everyone else arrived with luggage and bags and such, you strolled off the plane with a small, square shoulder bag that could not have held much at all (especially not a horse dildo). So since you're clearly a superhero who rips away his clothing to reveal his superhero costume underneath, how do you feel about the disappearance of phone booths due to the rise of celluar telephone technology? And are you comfortable now with disrobing in front of people, or do you slink off to a public restroom somewhere?

James Steele - also NOT a horse dildo.

JS: I was raised as an Army brat, so I learned to pack light. Everything I needed for the trip was in that bag, and I even had room left over for a bunch of books to take home! I don't keep my sacred weapon in my bag; I always keep that on my person in case I need to whip it out in an emergency. I miss phone booths. It's such an inconvenience to carry a bulky cell phone everywhere I go. I hope someone wises up and realizes people don't want to be burdened with these hefty devices, bugged by ringing and texting day and night. We were much better off as a society when we *couldn't* be reached 24/7. But I ain't modest anymore; I'll disrobe anywhere I please.

2-MD: Good God, that was a long-winded question. Let's make this one quick: Paper or plastic? (be sure to explain your answer or you will lose points)

JS: Neither! Disposable shopping bags are wasteful, so i've been using the same two reusable canvas bags for three years. I have to. Captain Planet will kick my ass if I don't.

2-MD: What's your favorite horse? And do you ride? (how's that for a loaded question??)

JS: I don't have a favorite, but I like animals of all kinds. I can't ride a horse, but it's on my to-do list. Right up there with swimming, piano and interdimensional travel.

2-MD: What are the top three equine sexual encounters in history? (please note that all Internet links provided will NOT be clicked on�)

JS: Am I really allowed to answer that? I mean, I'm trying to establish myself as an intelligent, professional writer and I can't go around answering questions about illegal encounters with� Ok, the cops stopped listening. For numbers three and two, all you gotta do is type "Mister Hands" into any search engine. The internet is full of life-changing information, isn't it? The number one encounter occurs in my book! Everyone else's sexual encounter has the same, predictable, happy ending. Mine results in the retrieval of a sacred weapon! Didn't see that comin' did ya? (2-MD: We're seriously considering calling you 'Mister Hands' from now on�)

2-MD: James 'Mister Hands' Steele, you are a hard man to crack. (Get it? Hard? Steele? Oh, man� we should be getting paid for this stuff) Thank you for enduring the firey forge of the Drill. If you have any last words, please use them in a way that disparagaes the rest of the New Bizarro Author Series.

JS: I'm trying to build a reputation as professional author. I want people to take me seriously. It's really hard to do that with a book like this! I mean, why couldn't one of my fantasy books have been my first published?? Why not one of my serious stories that has something profound to say about life, the universe and everything?!

But the more I think about it, this fits in with my goal in life. I want to be the Mike Oldfield of authors: not known for just one kind of story, but known for having done everything. (2-MD: Well, he's got "write a story about a magical horse dildo" crossed off the done-everything list already�) That appeals to me most. So fine, I'll start off with a wacko novel. It's all in good fun!

There's still time to order from Amazon and get your purchase before Christmas. With that in mind, I have a Special Offer for this weekend only. Buy a copy of either one of my books, MUSCLE MEMORY or WOLVES DRESSED AS MEN, and I'll send you a ¹ó°ù±ð±ðÌýprint copy of the title you didn't purchase. There are only three free copies of each title available, and this offer is only good until Monday, Dec. 20th.

So, if you snag a copy of MUSCLE MEMORY (buy here: )  I'll send you a copy of WOLVES. � Or, buy WOLVES (right here: )  and I'll mail you MUSCLE MEMORY.

All you need to do is email a copy of your Amazon purchase confirmation to lowe435 [at] gmail.com. No need to worry � your Amazon confirmation contains no personal information besides your mailing address, which I'll need anyway to ship you your free book. Again, there are only 3 free copies of each title up for grabs, and this offer only lasts until Monday Dec. 2oth or until I send out all the freebies, whichever comes first.

Also, I'm still making personalized bookmarks for anyone who buys in Dec. and Jan. so you'll have one of those coming to you as well.

THE DRILL IS BACK! It's been awhile, but we have returned with a super-special ALL-CAPS edition. We're hitting all the authors in the , beginning with .

The 2-Minute Drill is 5 quick questions and 5 quick answers from someone you probably haven't heard of, but should hear from. This isn't some rambling, long-winded author interview here. We dispense with the pleasantries and get down to brass tacks. We ask the tough questions and get the tough answers that you need to know. And if not, we'll just make them up.

Kirk Jones is the author of , a story of a man made from his own tears who is trained to teach carnival inanimals � couches, desks, chairs � to copulate. That is, to get it on. (Read a review here). It is a bizarro story through and through, and makes us dream of the plush cushions of the couches of our misspent youth. We delve into that subject here, as well as manscaping, carnies and an answer to the debate of who is awesomer. Read on and learn�

Kirk Jones, pornographic POV

2-MD: So, do you bother to put the plastic covers on your furniture whenever company comes over, or do you like to watch their faces as they wonder what bodily fluids they're currently sitting in?

KJ: No plastic covers on the furniture for me. The couch was originally an ex convict's before we got our hands on it, and there's an unsightly stain on one corner from where his dog used to sleep. Despite the content of my book, people are generally more concerned with sitting on my parents' furniture than mine. My dad has lived on the couch for so long that it has bed sores, and it is riddled with cigarette burns. Dad is protected by a mesh of chest and back hair, but that couch . . . that poor couch.

2-MD: Mmmm� bedsores� Well, now that we're on the subject of man hair (and what good interview doesn't eventually lead to the subject of man hair?) the world needs to know, Kirk Jones, do you manscape? And part 2 of that question, an old favorite here on the Drill, what does your beard smell like right now?

KJ: I do indeed! I use a thin strip of wax between my eyebrows lately and picked up a kick-ass electric razor this summer with multiple setting so I can manscape up a storm. By the time I'm done it looks like the toilet seat and sink have grown beards.

As for part two . . . I volunteer that information to my wife every day, but she doesn't appreciate it much. The hair below my lower lip probably smells like cheese. I must drool in my sleep. No other interesting smells. I'd say couch labia, but that really doesn't have a smell so . . .

2-MD: CHANGE OF PACE! Now is der time on der Drill ven ve dance! Please, Kirk Jones, tell us your most accomplished dance move and then demonstrate it with a single word.

KJ: Holy shit! I guess I could do a mean two step or something . . . wee!  (2-MD: Really?, That's all you got? Bristol Palin did better than that�)

2-MD: Your book is about a bizarro Carnival where chairs hump and the audience applauds with vomit. In real life, carnivals see their share of disturbing sexual activity and vomit. If you got a job at a real-life carnival, what job would that be? (And by if, we mean when�)

KJ: I'd like to collect money for the freak shows. The prospect of being a drunken ride operator sounds fun too. We met a few of those at the local fair this summer. They smell like beer and cigarettes and always let the rides go too long because they're dazed and drunk.

2-MD: Just so you know, this interview is being forwarded to the Anti-Carnie Defamation League. Expect a letter from the ACDL's lawyers any day now� FINAL QUESTION � Can you please list your favorite bizarro authors in order of height, from tallest to shortest?

KJ: Shit, I can't remember how tall they are. I like Jeff Burk, Kevin Donihe, Garrett Cook, Bradley Sands, Carlton Mellick III. I don't think there are any taller than him. I've enjoyed all of the NBAS books I've read so far this year as well, but arranging them by height is too difficult, and we only have that Magnificent 7 picture to go by . . . (2-MD: Actually, you got them backwards. The only person shorter than Jeff Burk is� Well, no one is shorter than Jeff Burk.)

2-MD: That picture is Magnificent, isn't it? BONUS SUPER ABSOLUTE FINAL ADDITIONAL EXTRA CREDIT QUESTION!!!! � Please finish this sentence: Steve Lowe is way awesomer than Caris O'Malley because he ____________ !

KJ: � is sturdier, but NEVER takes bottom.

2-MD: Excellent, thank you Kirk Jones. We practice catch-and-release with all the bizarros we hook here (mainly because they taste AWFUL), so we return you now to the stream so that you may continue to birth strange new books into existence. Just watch out for carnival workers and bears. And carnival bears. Especially them.

Kirk Jones - the Yul Brynner of the NBAS

Who wants a free, custom bookmark?

Buy a copy of MUSCLE MEMORY () with the original cover art and I'll send you a bookmark with the new cover art on the front (see the pic to the right) and a personalized message on the back � anything you want! A poorly-drawn picture of Kirk Cameron making out with Dudley Moore? Sure! My recipe for homemade spaghetti sauce from fresh tomatoes? No problem! A photo of my morbidly obese Beagle? Uh, if you want�

Customize the back with anything you want! (Well, almost anything you perverts...)

Remember, , so get yours while they last.

Cover art is a huge deal when it comes to selling books. The fact is, people really do abide by that old cliche and judge a book by its cover. Insufficient cover art can kill a book's sales, despite the content found therein. And so with that in mind, a change is in order.

Since the publisher for MUSCLE MEMORY never was enamored with the art I originally acquired for the book, I was encouraged to keep looking for something different. Something better. A piece of art that will jump off the cover and draw the eye, that will demand a longer look and suck in the reader. I think I found just such a piece of art. This image entitled 'Vapor' by was the only piece I found that matched the book I wrote. I am proud to unveil this new artwork and can't wait until new editions of MUSCLE MEMORY come out with this art adorning the cover.

Of course, that means that the original version will soon disappear. It's still in stock and ready to ship from Amazon.com, but not for much longer. When those last copies of the first version are gone, that's it.  If you like the cover art you see in the picture to the right of this post, then you'll want to . You could be one of a very select group who got their hands on the original version before it went out of print. It could be worth some money one day when I become rich and famous, like those fancy rich assholes Matthew Revert and William Pauely III.

Can you afford to miss out on such a chance? Of course you can't.

If you're like me, you want someone to convince you. I want to be convinced that a product or service is worth my time and investment. My money. It takes some effort to separate me from my money. With that in mind, I thought I would share an excerpt from my novella MUSCLE MEMORY (). You should get a pretty good idea whether this story is your cup of tea from the following portion, which is basically the first 6 pages.

* * *

PART ONE

The Ol' Switcheroo

I SHOULDA KNOWN something was up when the dog meowed at me.

He's standing next to the bed. Don't quite understand what he's trying to tell me, what with the skittish little mews slipping out of his drooling muzzle. It shoulda been downright disconcerting to hear that coming from an English Mastiff named Demolisher.

But I'm in that in between. Halfway into wakefulness, but still halfway down in the deepest sleep I can remember. I'm standing at the toilet, trying to fish my hog out before I piss all over the place. It takes me a minute to realize my nightgown ain't got a dickhole in it. So I do what any red-blooded man does when he's a little wobbly in the morning and is wearing a nightgown without a dickhole.

I drop my panties around my ankles and sit down to pee.

You do it, too, so don't even play that bullshit with me. You pop a squat when it's handy to do so. Only problem is, getting up outta the warm bed, everything's relaxed and hanging low, you usually have to hike up the travelers so they don't go for an early morning dip. Am I right?

So here I am, fishing between my legs for my balls and not having much success. Little Rico starts crying and my tits instantly start to ache and the front of my nightgown soaks through. Nipples hard as rocks and ringing with the vibrations from his hungry little cry.

Right there, I realize I'm reaching between my legs for nothing. Grabbing air where the boys should be swinging. My hog, he ain't down there either.

You know those What the Fuck moments you get from time to time, when shit is so backwards and out of whack, all you can do is step back and go, What the Fuck? Yeah, that's what this is.

Let's just kinda skip over this next part, 'cause really it's just me running around and shrieking and freaking out over the sound of my shrieking and then realizing that I'm still in bed, but not really 'cause here I am standing in front of a two hundred-pound meowing horse of a dog, and not really understanding any of it until I look in the mirror and see Tina in the reflection, only it's me, and I think I may have lost my dick in the toilet and my tits hurt and my nightgown is soaked around the nipples with cold milk 'cause Rico is raising a fuss, but all the while I see me, see myself just lying there in the bed not moving, which is usually the thing I do when Little Rico starts to cry, just pretend that I'm asleep so I don't have to go get him. I mean what's the point when Tina's got to feed him anyways? I mean it's not like I have tits of my own, except this morning, when all of a sudden I seem to have tits of my own.

Right.

So I'm sitting at the kitchen table. Or, Tina's sitting at the table, but I see what she sees. I am Tina. Sort of. And I got Little Rico and I'm trying to feed him and I have the hardest damn time figuring out how the hell to get a tit out of this nightgown without hiking it all the way up over my head. I have to pull my arm through the strap and damn near take the thing half off. And man, that little sucker clamps down on that nipple like nobody's business.

Tucker comes stumbling over from next door and he's standing in my kitchen. The screen door whips shut and whacks him in the ass, only it's not Tucker's ass, it's his wife Julia's ass. But I know it's Tucker in there 'cause he's got this look on her face just like what I got on mine. Or I mean on Tina's.

I say, "Dude, you too?" and then I actually look over my shoulder for Tina. I'm not quite used to her voice coming out when I talk.

"What� The� Fuck� Is this?" Yep, that's Tucker.

So we're both sitting here at my kitchen table, and we're trying our damndest to figure this out. I mean, it's Julia sitting across from me, her voice and everything, but it's Tucker on the inside. He's (er, she's) drinking a beer while I try to nurse Rico. The little bastard is chewing the fuck outta my nipples, and the whole time Tucker/Julia is staring at my tits.

"Dude, do you mind? Not only are you eyeballing my tits…my wife's tits, but you're doing it while I'm trying to feed a goddamn baby."

"Sorry dude."

"So where is Julia? She is you now, right?"

"I don't rightly know. Last I seen her, she was screamin' my head off and runnin' around. Then she snatched up the car keys and went tear-assin' down the road."

Princess Diamond Roses snuggles up to Tucker's leg (which is really Julia's leg—you probably get the idea now, right?). He reaches down and strokes the cat behind its ears. Princess looks up at him and barks.

"Whoa."

"Yeah, no shit, whoa."

"So this is like one of them Twilight Zone things, right? Or maybe it's more like a Dark Matters or something."

"Tales From the Dark Side."

"Yeah. That was the black and white one with the dude in the suit who kinda talked like Captain Kirk before Captain Kirk was on."

"No, that was Twilight Zone. That was Rod Serling. Tales From the Dark Side came after."

"Oh. Yeah."

He's staring at my tits again and guzzling his beer. It's starting to piss me off. That's when Julia, who's really Tucker now, comes in through the screen door. It bangs shut and whacks her (or him, I guess) in the ass.

"What the hell is this?" Julia's words coming out in Tucker's low, gravelly voice.

"Dude," says Tucker. "I know, right? What the hell, right?"

"Tucker, it's six in the morning and you're drinking a beer?"

"Fucks yeah I am."

"Do you not remember what beer does to me? It makes me bloated and gives me diarrhea. Hell-oooo?"

"Well, sucks to be you." He gives me one of them shit-eatin' grins, but then it hits him and he sits there looking at the bottle. "Oh. Yeah. Shit."

Julia takes a couple big, awkward, clomping steps over to the table and straddles a chair. "Jesus, Tuck, how the hell do you walk around with this thing between your legs?"

Tucker grins and nods his head. "That's what she said."

"Um, Tucker?" Julia's looking down at the crotch of her gym shorts. It's poking through the slats of the chair. "What the hell is this all about? You're getting a boner."

The other strap of my nightgown keeps slipping down and Tucker's looking at my tits again and his wife has a boner. And Little Rico bites my nipple so hard I shriek. "Fuck, Rico, take it easy on the software, dude!"

"You know, there's a flap on the front of your nightgown. For feeding the baby."

I guess I'm just staring at Julia kinda blank like, 'cause she rolls her eyes and walks around behind me. She helps me with my shoulder strap and reaches under my arm to undo the button. Her hands are big and rough and a little scratchy and she fumbles with it for a second. Then my tit flops out right there for Little Rico and he nuzzles up and keeps on eating. Julia's boner pokes me in the back of my neck.

"Oops. Shit. Sorry." She shoots a pissed look at Tucker, but he's rubbing his own nipples. Or rather, he's feeling up Julia's nipples. She says, "Stop that, dummy. You'll make 'em chafe."

"This is so trippy, dude." He takes another swig of beer and belches.

Julia shakes her head at him and says to me, "So how come Tina's not awake?"

That's a damn good question. I don't have an answer so I say, "That's a damn good question."

Rico's back to sleep now. The little parasite's done chewing me to shreds. I put him back in his crib and the three of us go into my bedroom and stand next to the bed and stare at my body. Nothing happening, at all. Mouth hanging half open, eyes still closed up tight. Tucker flicks my nose and says, "Yo! Billy! Wake up dude."

"Would you shut the fuck up? I just got Little Rico back to sleep. And besides, I'm fucking Billy. That's Tina now. Remember dumbass?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

I put a hand on my chest, er Tina's chest. Nothing. Julia puts two fingers alongside Tina's neck and looks at the ceiling for about a minute. Her eyes are all wide. "Oh my God. She's dead."

"She is?" I'm having a hard enough time getting this thing right in my brain, but now it's all a jumble again. "No, wait. She ain't dead. I'm dead. Right?"

The three of us just stand there catching flies for I don't know how long. Tucker's got this look on his face like he gets when somebody asks him for directions or if he has to do math. Then he's ticking things off on his fingers and mumbling.

"So, wait," he says. "You're dead, but you didn't die because now you're her. You're Tina. And Tina is you, so now Tina's dead. Because you died."

Julia turns without a word and heads out the room. Her boner brushes against my thigh. "Sorry," she says. "Goddammit Tucker, how do you turn this thing off?"

"Dude, go through last night for me. What happened before you went to bed? Do you remember feeling sick or anything?"

"Not really. I mean, I had a few beers and stuff, so you know how that goes. Me and Tina been fightin' a lot lately, but last night was OK. She was real nice and stuff."

"Billy, you should come out here." Julia's out in the kitchen. She's looking at the sink, at the empties littered in and around it. She's pointing at a yellow container on the counter.

Tucker grabs it up and reads the label. "Dude, how come you keep your antifreeze in the kitchen?"

You know that What the Fuck moment we talked about earlier? Well, this here is another one. Julia sniffs an empty beer bottle and dumps the little dribbles into the sink. Faint neon backwash drips out. She sets the bottle down and flips through the cabinets above the sink. "Where do you keep your medications?"

I guess I point to the cabinet at the end of the counter 'cause she goes down there and starts shuffling around the pill bottles. I can't stop looking at that glowing juice in the sink. Tucker's right there with me, both of us leaning over staring at it.

"Oh my God, dude. Did your wife try to kill you?"

"Uh. I guess so."

"But she didn't kill you. I mean, she did, but you weren't you when you died."

"Uh. Yeah, guess so."

"So, does that make it a murder and a suicide?"

"Billy� Billy!" Julia's got pill bottles sticking out of her Tucker man-hands and she shakes them at me. "Was Tina taking these?"

"Uh." I ain't the most reliable source for information right now.

"Haldol? Wellbutrin?"

"I don't know."

"Did she have post partum depression?"

Shit. I don't know. That should be something I would know, but I don't know. I just kinda look at Julia.

She tosses the pill bottles on the counter and hustles off to Little Rico's room. When I get in there, she's peeling back his eyelids and feeling his forehead. "Has he been acting normal?"

"Yeah, I guess. Geez, you don't think she poisoned the baby, too, do you?"

"No. She just killed you was all."

Well, that's a relief.

Tucker stands in the doorway holding his gut and says, "Oof. I think that beer just hit me." He runs off to the bathroom.

Julia leans out the door and shouts after him, "Make sure you wipe front to back! And don't go fiddling around down there! That don't belong to you, got it?"

* * *

To read on, . Thank you.

Couple links to share today�

First, my good friend AJ Brown had me back at his blog for a second interview yesterday. He has this impression that I'm a Leprechaun (which I am). It must be the red beard (which is slowly morphing into white). I'm having trouble with my link insertion so here's the big, long sucker to click on:

Also, WOLVES DRESSED AS MEN is now available in print. If you'd prefer a copy of the book that can accompany you into the bathroom and actually act as a backup plan (if you catch my drift), then now is the time to buy.

And for anyone who wants to get a tiny little taste of what BizarroCon was like last week in Portland, here's a video of Jeff Burk's Super Giant Monster Time game show performance:

I got this book at BizarroCon last weekend. I randomly selected it out of the six books that I had purchased and began reading it in the Portland airport. I continued to chew through it during my Denver layover, but intended to stop so I could get some sleep on my flight to Chicago. I had a 90 minute drive still awaiting me after I got to Chicago, and I really needed the rest.

It didn't happen that way. I wasn't able to sleep because of this damn EGG. Every time I lay my head against the side of the airplane and closed my eyes, they would pop open again moments later, and this damn book would be in my hands once more. Only when I got to the end, which really isn't the end for the main character Manny, nor will ever be the end for him, was I able to sleep. cost me almost two hours of rest and put me in danger of nodding off on I-94 before I finally got home at 1 AM. He should consider himself lucky I survived.

And you should consider yourself warned: if you begin this book, you too will find it difficult, dare I say impossible, to put it down. THE EGG SAID NOTHING is addicitve, romantic, violent, and both paternal and maternal in equal measure. It is a time-traveling, head-spinning, gender role-challenging, and thought-provoking story that I simply had to finish once I started. In a way, it reminded me of the Michael Keaton movie MULTIPLICITY, except O'Malley's EGG has an intelligent plot, believeable and interesting characters, and actual entertainment value. Unlike his EGG, Mr. O'Malley does have something to say. It would be worth your time to discover exactly what that is. Just cancel your afternoon plans first.

Click me, buy me, get another book free!

Do you like free books? Do you enjoy vareity in your reading materials? Would you like to learn how to fight like a ninja and love like a porn star? If so, you've come to the right place.

As anyone who has visited this site before knows by now, I've had two novellas published within the last couple weeks. To celebrate these two releases, I thought I would do a giveaway. The first 10 people who and contact me with a proof of purchase will get a FREE PDF copy of my other book, .

All I need from you is an email sent to [lowe435-at-gmail-dot-com] or a with the subject line "Gimme Free Shit!" and I'll give you the details of how to claim your free eBook. It's really quite easy, and I'll only require the life of your first born child in exchange (or your email address of where to send you the free eBook, whichever is more palatable).

Get me free! Yay free!

Now for the variety part. Muscle Memory is a bizarro comedy about body-switching rednecks and is the kind of story you would get if Rod Serling re-made Kirk Cameron's seminal film into a Twilight Zone episode. Lots of goofball hijinks, and even a tender moment or two.

Wolves Dressed as Men is just about the polar opposite - a gritty, atmospheric werewolf thriller with few laughs and lots of darkness. If you like shootouts and chases and men lovin' up women and changing into great big dogs, this is the book for you. If you enjoy the lighter fare better, I would recommend reading this one first, then follow it with a Muscle Memory chaser to pull yourself out of the grips of depression.

As for the ninja fighting lessons and porn star love tips, please direct all inquiries here: