Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

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Laugh, smile, snigger, snicker, snort and giggle with Gerry Burke’s humorous short stories!

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Dogmatic:

Featuring Dusty Rhodes, the K9 Kid & the Doberman Who Didn’t Like Doughnuts

by Gerry Burke

Genre: Humorous Short Stories

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Every morning I take my constitutional along the beach path in the suburb where I live. The early risers are already there with their dogs, every conceivable breed.


All of the canines have a story to tell, so I thought I might like to speak out on their behalf. You will be surprised with the extent and nature of their adventures. In fact, these humorous dog tales are unbelievable.


We already laud our heroes in the form of Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, and Snoopy. I hope these captivating stories will now shine a light on the likes of Baloo, Atticus, and William, the Wet Nose Wonder. In the meantime, give your dog a bone.

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Citizen Vain:

Stories From Down Under and All Over

by Gerry Burke

Genre: Humorous Short Stories

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Stories from Down Under and all over! Humility is not a common virtue among the rich and famous. The protagonists in these narratives come from all parts of the globe, and have experienced the dizzy heights of fame and fortune. These are people who have let vanity overcome wisdom. Tall poppies need to be cut down to size, and plotting their downfall has been my pleasure.

The Bonfire of the Vanities was hot. These yarns are hotter.” Lucifer Beelzebub

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My Book of Revelations:

Stories that Burst the Bubble of Believability

by Gerry Burke

Genre: Humorous Short Stories

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History, heroes, horror, and Hollywood! Every story with a sting in the tail. Lady Godiva; The Charge of the Light Brigade; The Borgias; and Tales from the Old West: stories that never happened, but should have. Plus the heroes of today; crime-fighters, patriots, and protagonists of purpose. No wonder the villains never win. Of course, you can’t blame them for trying.

Laugh, smile, snigger, snicker, snort and giggle! The author’s revelations will be hard to believe, and harder to forget. There’s always a bubble to burst.

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A SMALL TOWN

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Dave Rhodes was the kind of husband who gave his wife a vacuum cleaner for her birthday. The kids didn’t do surprises and knew what they wanted. Gifts could be found scattered all over the house, including game devices, Barbie dolls, and enough anti-alien laser guns to repel Darth Vadar and a million Stormtroopers. After a pre-Christmas think-tank meeting, the three children decided they deserved a dog. Realising their father might want to resist the opportunity to expand the family in this way, the boys charged Chloe, five, with the job of bringing him around to their way of thinking. Another mouth to feed might stretch the budget, but the youngsters would be prepared to give up their portions of spinach and other green edibles if it would help.

It has to be said that Chloe was the Mata Hari of five-year-olds. Using all her feminine charms, she possessed the ability to turn her father into a compliant servant within minutes of locking her arms around his neck. With the commitment confirmed, the eldest son, Rory, stepped in to declare that he had prize-picked a potential candidate for the yet-to-be-purchased kennel. The father of his best mate at school, a grazier, owned a spread the envy of most folks in the area. The litter of pups would be there for the taking, and it would cost Dave nothing. Nevertheless, he did question the need for this breed.

“A sheepdog! I know we live on a farm, but we only have one sheep. Are you sure?”

Shawn may have been a single entity but he was no ordinary sheep. He possessed half a brain and a dynamic personality, and interacted well with the children. Mrs Rhodes, less keen, considered buying her husband a lawn mower for Christmas. In this way, they might get to enjoy roast lamb instead of the usual boring ham.

The family lived on a rural property, but don’t paint Dave as a farmer. The fellow sold farm machinery. His wife, Annie, supplemented their income with her various cottage industries, which included door sales of eggs (chicken and duck), fruit, and feather-down quilts.

Did she think the backyard would become more chaotic with ducks, chooks, a sheep, and now a dog? Yes, she did, but young Chloe could be persuasive.

The puppy arrived in a basket with a bow tied around his neck, with the sound of departing sleigh bells in the distance. Rory took charge and introduced the little fella to every member of the family. The young girl provided similar introductions to each of her dolls. Dusty licked them all and then retreated to the fireplace, where he discovered a large bone wrapped in Christmas tinsel. The children believed it would be best to initiate the tyke into the joys of the yuletide season, so he might enjoy it as much as they did.

Over the ensuing months, the pup kept close to his three protectors as he felt vulnerable outside, at the mercy of loud and inconsiderate farm animals. Protecting one’s patch is quite the thing with creatures, often wary of any new arrival. Of course, adventures could be encountered beyond the perimeter of the property, but all in good time.

The puppy didn’t have a lot to do with Mr and Mrs Rhodes, although he must have wondered why the woman continually followed him with a green plastic bag. This would all change when he became older and wiser. Two years down the track and Annie wouldn’t go to town without her faithful companion by her side. On these occasions, the dog would get to meet the townspeople, and they all loved him.

On her shopping excursions, the country housewife couldn’t take the pet into the supermarket, so she tied him up on the footpath. The shopkeeper next door didn’t like this much because he thought the dishlicker deterred customers, so he always untied the barking beast. The liberated animal then proceeded to freewheel down High Street on a voyage of discovery, which included the butcher shop, the bakery, and Fat Al’s burger joint.

In this way, new friends would be made, some of them possessing a welcoming nature and a generosity of spirit. Often, a slice of salami would come sailing out of the window of Mother Petrocelli’s Deli just as Dusty passed by. It is a credit to the woofer that he always arrived back at the supermarket in time to greet his mistress with her shopping. She never noticed (or cared) that her escort was no longer tied up.

As time went by, Annie didn’t bother with the pretence of tying him up, and he roamed free every Tuesday for one hour. During that time, the inquisitive dog performed many civic services, some above and beyond community expectations. For example, he always patrolled the school toilets, looking for those misfits keen to wag class. Who can forget the day the canine caught Sammy Stuyvesant and Delia Davidoff smoking? When the principal appeared on the scene, he discovered them doing more than that. Very embarrassing!

The day he saved Bernadette Brody’s baby proved to be another bookmark of bravado. Mum only let go of the pram for an instant, but it started to roll down Harlequin Hill, picking up speed with every wheel rotation. The two Rhodes scholars, Rory and Jake, saw what was happening from the schoolyard but expected Superman to intervene. Yes, they also believed in the Easter bunny.

On the back of “kiss and go,” man’s best friend prepared to join Annie in the family vehicle when he observed the pram careering down the road and went after it.

You may have heard the stories, some of them embellished. Dusty couldn’t run faster than a speeding bullet, but he did stretch out and caught up with the baby carriage before it smashed into the water faucet at the end of the road. The dog couldn’t stop the impetus of the four-wheeler, but he jumped aboard and sunk his teeth into the swaddling clothes around the baby’s neck. The fearless one broke free with the child with seconds to spare and then delivered the crying infant back to her mother. What a hero!

Annie couldn’t have been prouder of the sheepdog, but the explanation to her husband didn’t come out right.

“What are you talking about, sweetheart? Dusty delivered a baby?”

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The Four Paw Society existed because of the number of dog owners in town and out. They represented every political persuasion, so agreement on anything proved difficult. In matters of respect, no disagreement existed as to who was their star. However, the suggestion from Kimberly Carruthers came from left field.

“Ladies, gentlemen, fellow members, I would like to recommend that we endorse Dusty Rhodes as our candidate in the forthcoming council election.”

Nice one, Kimberly.

Mmmm, quite interesting. The incumbent in their ward, Bruce Pickles, was the mayor but on the nose for all kinds of reasons. Few people thought he would be able to retain his position, but could he be beaten by a dog?

Some years ago in Australia, the politician Bill Hayden declared that “a drover’s dog could lead the Labor Party to victory.” The Four Paw representative might admit to being more Liberal than Labor, but there’s a precedent, if you need one. At the Rhodes property, the working dog only droved one sheep, so he had time on his hands.

The vulnerability of Bruce Pickles needs to be explained. Three years earlier, the out-of-favour mayor presented as a shining light, elected in a landslide. At the time, nobody knew him to be a paedophile with a criminal record for fraud and aggravated assault. To avoid such issues, one often chooses to relocate, and this is what Bruce and his wife did. Yes, all hail the forgiving wife, every bit as gullible as he might have hoped.

The accountant’s job at Sullivan and Sons appealed, as did the sons, Dan and Tim, earmarked for managerial roles in about fifteen years. Sullivan’s, the best (and only) furniture store in town, was expensive, but nobody questioned the quality of their merchandise. The pencil pusher should have been concealed in the back office, but he harboured this desire to strut about the premises and bond with the customers. Rather than describe the fellow, let me quote from My Fair Lady.

“Oozing charm from every pore, he oiled his way around the floor.”

Some of these people he recognised from the Valley Church of Praise, where he held the position of honorary treasurer and lead vocalist. To them, Bruce wasn’t the sleaze that many people thought, and he did have a fine tenor voice. The parishioners were more than happy to support his push at politics and would only find out about his crimes after election day.

The death of Mrs Pickles came as a shock and must be described as a sad affair, with most people believing the husband to be responsible. Of course he was responsible. You should never point a gun at anybody, even if you only intended to clean it. What was this guy doing with a gun, you ask?

It would have been nice if the police asked the same question, but they didn’t. The station chief played golf with the suspect and declared him to be a rum fellow, so they exonerated him. The pastor at the Church of Praise also confirmed this characterisation when funds went missing from the weekly collection. The guy was having a dream run, but would the fickle finger of fate soon dial M for mayor? The odds were not in his favour.

You rarely meet people with delusions of grandeur in a small regional town because country folks have a way of cutting you down to size. Somehow, Bruce slipped through the cracks. I cite the general disharmony in chambers when he exchanged his chair for a throne. You can do that if you’re in the furniture business.

What about the junket to Japan to investigate the possibility of starting up a Wasabi plantation where the sewerage treatment plant used to be? Lucinda Quinlan, the token Greenie on the council, should have been the one to undertake this investigative journey.

You guessed it. Mayor Pickles intervened, upgraded the only ticket to first class, and frolicked among the apple blossoms, before eating his way around the various sushi trains in Kyoto and Tokyo. With little time allocated for due diligence, the sad truth emerged. Wasabi requires a warm, humid climate to thrive. Some people would describe the sewage location as all of that, but it was not appropriate for this part of Victoria. The disappointed traveller retreated to his favourite Onsen and sat in a bath until the flying kangaroo (Qantas) arrived to return him home.

He would also be in hot water when he arrived back in chambers to discover a revolt amongst his constituents after someone leaked details of his previous history. With elections on the horizon, the mayor became a liability to himself and his prospects. The question on everybody’s lips— “Who would oppose him?”

The most popular person in town was Basil Green, proprietor of the fashionable franchise “Murder by Chocolate.” Situated on top of Harlequin Hill, the shop of enchantment delighted many. If you survived the climb, a reward seemed appropriate, and Basil and his wife were never short of customers. Notwithstanding his popularity, Rosemary refused to allow her husband to be involved in politicking of any kind, as politics polarised the community and could mean a loss of trade.

When the election flyers for the nominee were distributed, no one questioned the picture of a dog, front and centre, because the candidate had been endorsed by the Four Paws Society. Most people remembered Mr Rhodes but forgot his name was Dave, not Dusty. Dave’s appearance at the polling booths didn’t lessen the confusion in any way.

So, it came to pass that Dusty was elected, but you don’t become top dog just because you defeated the former office-bearer. The reluctant politician became mayor because the other councillors couldn’t agree on a suitable person for the position; the popular pooch became the compromise candidate. On entering chambers, the animal made a beeline for the throne and refused to be moved. Could anyone want a more defining endorsement?

Looking back at his first hundred days, one could be impressed by some of the initiatives passed by these servants of the shire, not the least being their campaign to clean up the streets. “Prevent Peeing in Public,” a program directed at various loose bladder delinquents in the town, proved popular, and the councillors named and shamed the most blatant offenders, such as Mrs Coates’ goats and Georgia Klingner’s cats, who roamed around the streets as if they owned the place. Getting Dusty to pee by example would be another thing, putting Kimberly Carruthers and the Four Paw Society under pressure.

For council meetings scheduled outside of school hours, the mayor’s carers would be one of the siblings. Otherwise, Annie would be the lady with the lead. Being a wise head, she could contribute when difficult decisions were required to be made. One of these challenging resolutions involved a judgement as to whether the town would celebrate 14 February in the usual manner. The owner of the flower shop thought they should, and over at Sullivan and Sons, one man looked forward to the special day: the anniversary of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.

Bruce, the wife-killer, only possessed one gun, which he cleaned regularly. Would he like to line up all the councillors against the wall and shoot them? Not that he should hold them responsible for his recent defeat. Insanity is a disease that precludes rational thought, so anyone would be fair game in his quest for retribution. There would be one primary target about to experience the full force of his vengeance, but Dusty was fast asleep on his throne, unaware of his predecessor’s desire for satisfaction. It would be no consolation for the madman to learn that most people thought the current councillors were doing well.

“Give a dog a bone,” another council initiative, found favour with the community, and they responded. So much so that one of the staff declared:

“There aren’t this many bones in the graveyard.”

This is when the health people stepped forward and decided that all bone donations that came to the Town Hall should be checked for salmonella. The one sent over from Sullivan and Sons should have been checked for nitro-glycerine. The bloody thing exploded when tossed into the corner pile behind the statue of Sir Henry Parkes, the Father of Federation in Australia.

The Town Hall lost the statue, plus two windows, one wall, and three mock Grecian columns, all covered by insurance. With no one killed, you might say they dodged a bullet, but nerves were on edge. At a hastily-called meeting, a resolution was passed to hire two sniffer dogs from H.M. Customs. The mayor somehow indicated that he would prefer the recruits to be female.

The investigation at the furniture store came to nothing, although information came to light that their accountant started his working career as a chemical engineer, but he never worked in an abattoir or a cemetery. How would he know about bones?

Cringing in his back office, the creepy accountant stewed in his reflections of regret. How could he have stuffed up such a foolproof plan? What a waste of St. Valentine’s Day. Bring on the Ides of March.

You have to wonder about someone who can compare Julius Caesar standing tall in the Senate and Dusty the dog standing small in the Town Hall. The difference was that everyone was out to get Caesar; one man sought to murder the mayor. That man might prove to be just as brutal as Brutus.

In Roman times, the Ides of March didn’t have a daylight-saving component attached to it, so Mr Pickles waited for the moon to go down. He realised that any self-respecting, knife-wielding assassin, should sneak up on the target in the dead of night and be wearing Hush-Puppies. Approaching the Rhodes farm on foot, he sensed the chickens were restless. Shawn the sheep pranced about nervously, and the ducks headed for the pond. Then there was the recent addition to the menagerie, Patricia, the python, a young, inexperienced, but fun-loving reptile who liked to hang out on the porch posts. The intruder would be rapt to meet her. Or not!

In his kennel on the front verandah, the designated security operative opened one eye and twitched his nose. The sensitivity of a dog’s nose is thousands of times more powerful than a human’s, and Bruce’s body odour gave him away. Not that there seemed to be any urgency about the pooch’s call to action. Slowly, he found his four feet and rose to his most formidable height. The commotion came from around the corner of the return verandah, so he padded his way to the spot where he discovered the former lord mayor grappling with Patricia, the python.

To be quite frank, Dusty and Patricia didn’t get on. Before her arrival, he had been the go-to guy for food disposal and the play-time preference for Chloe and the kids. Admittedly, committee meetings kept him away from home more often, but one knows when a luminary loses his lustre. Is this the reason the dog went for the snake instead of the prowler?

Patricia had never felt pain before, and those dog bites hurt. The reptile forgot about her game with the stranger and focused her attention on the canine. She considered him the grumpiest member of the family, but he rarely resorted to violence. Perhaps if she gave him a hug, all would be well. In the end, the humans ended the fight, and the trespasser scarpered.

With all the house lights on, the family members turned up in their pyjamas and surveyed the scene. Rory discovered the shiv in the bushes, and Patricia received all the accolades (and some soothing balm for her wounds). The yard guard just retreated to his kennel, feeling unloved and unappreciated.

I know what you’re thinking. Bruce, back in the safety of his abode, would be planning something further for 9/11 or 7 December (Pearl Harbour). This is how his mind worked.

This is not how my mind works. The intervention of the surly sheepdog could be a precursor to reconciliation involving the two lord mayors. After all, Dusty saved the guy from the playful python, a serpent who didn’t know the difference between a cuddle and crushed vertebrae. The two political animals would meet again at the Harlequin Hill Hoedown, sponsored by the Valley Church of Praise.

The church was situated in the valley, at the bottom of the steep incline, just beyond the faucet with the pram wrapped around it. Halfway up the rise, the organisers erected a stage for the performers, with interest at an all-time high. The out-of-towners always book early because accommodation is limited. This year, several celebrated gospel singers entered the music competition, and Dolly Parton sent a message of support. In the “Thank God it’s Sunday” category, the terrific tenor would lead the church choir with their rendition of “Nativity in Nashville.” Dusty would be one of the judges, along with Keith Suburban and Emmylou Paris.

You can probably see the case for replacing retribution with bribery or intimidation, Pickles being capable of both. On top of that, the pastor of this church had Italian friends. Naturally, any financial corruption would have to be financed from the poor box, but the treasurer had access to the key.

The good news for Bruce was that the late Leonard Cohen would not be back with “Hallelujah,” and no Elvis representative would sing “Amazing Graceland.” While the choir practised for their tilt at the title, the kids in town readied themselves for their character-defining event—the billy cart charge down Harlequin Hill, sponsored by Basil Green’s chocolate shop. The first prize was a mouth-watering assortment of sweets that any red-blooded adolescent would die for, and might. If comparisons could be made, I would nominate the chariot race in Spartacus.

At the Rhodes farm, Rory and Jake tried to insert spikes into the wheels of their vehicle, but Dusty would have none of it. His persistent whining brought Dave into the shed, who insisted that the boys fight fair. Their father would never tell them this, but he was impressed by their competitive spirit.

Poor Dave! Every year, the Hoedown has-beens set themselves for another beating, and every year, he ran the gauntlet between Annie and her creations and the lads and their billy carts. Now, Chloe added to the confusion, having entered Patricia in the “Cuddly Creatures” competition. Her mother was doing decorative duck eggs and didn’t have time to attend to her normal responsibilities (e.g., meals, bed-making, washing, and ironing). Such is life.

These festivals inject much-needed dollars into the economy of a country town, and Dusty started it all by breaking the tape at the showgrounds to get the sheepdog trials underway. His relatives competed, which is why he couldn’t be a judge for those events. Needless to say, he hung around as a keen observer of the “Best in Show” parade. Mimi, the sniffer dog from H.M. Customs, looked well-groomed and a beauty among beasts. The horny hound was a bit of a beast himself.

It wasn’t necessary for security to patrol the main street, but the controlling canine liked to be sure all was going well. He would have been happy to see most shops doing brisk business, and the visitors lined up to meet him, having heard about the mongrel mayor. The dapper dandy didn’t disappoint. With limited time available, Annie had run up a green waistcoat for him to wear, with a fancy M embossed on the side of the jacket.

You couldn’t expect the little fella to run up and down the street all morning, so he picked a spot on the pavement outside Fat Al’s and curled up for a kip, which didn’t please the seagulls from Lake Disappointment, there for the French fries.

Lake Disappointment lapped languidly at the bottom of Harlequin Hill, near the Church of Praise, where baptisms used to take place at regular intervals. Sadly, the over-enthusiastic pastor drowned three babies during these ceremonies, and business was lost to the Roman Catholics, who maintained a depth limit on their baptismal font.

Over the school year, most of the youngsters in town attended the swimming academy on the lake, and this was fortuitous. Half the contestants in the billy cart race failed to handle Water Faucet Corner and plunged into the icy depths. All starters in the event were obliged to wear life vests.

The qualifying races continued throughout the afternoon, with a background noise of splashing and splintering as the choirmaster took his people through their last rehearsal in preparation for their evening performance. They sounded primed, pitch-perfect, and pleasing to the ear. The choirmaster exuded confidence, as did the vicar’s wife, having placed a lobster ($20) on the boys and girls to bring home the bacon. At eight to one, this might have been an excellent bet but foolish and inadvisable. The previous Sunday, her husband rebuked those in his congregation who would even consider gambling.

The Church of Praise choir, scheduled to be the penultimate act, assembled by the side of the stage, dressed colourfully in their yellow and red smocks. Megan Proudfoot was in the throes of completing her performance, playing the Harp of Erin with her feet. In the judge’s box, Dusty, with his head on Emmylou’s lap, moaned quietly. The lady’s magnified whisper defied the laws of unobtrusive discretion.

“Danny Boy must be turning over in his grave.”

Everyone’s a critic, aren’t they? Diverse opinions give everybody a chance, exemplified by the raucous applause for Megan from Declan Murphy, who emerged from the pub, the worse for wear. Most of the church folks arrived to root for Bruce, with the expectation that he would lead the choir to a magnificent victory. The paedophile would have every opportunity to redeem himself in the eyes of the community. Many people thought “Nativity in Nashville” might win over these particular judges.

Those from other faiths were aware that the Church of Praise promoted a different interpretation of biblical history than conventional theology. The idea of the baby Jesus being born in Nashville received little support elsewhere; but, with a decent riff and a melodic chorus, hope springs eternal. The eight to one offered by the bookmakers was snapped up by those optimists with a sense of humour.

The optimists proved to be off the mark, although the COP choristers put on a brave show. New compositions are always up against it in competitions like this, whereas bastardisation seems to reign. “How Great Our Art,” performed by first nation rock artists, won the contest, with the band members commended for being inclusive and non-confrontational. “A Ride with Me” was also commended, and school bus driver Melanie McGregor didn’t seem offended by the false praise of Emmylou Paris.

“Very nice, Melanie, but don’t give up your day job.”

There would be no hard feelings between Bruce and Dusty. The animal’s outstretched paw was accepted, and the former mayor acknowledged condolences from Keith and Emmylou. In retrospect, Mr Suburban may not have been as country as hoped.

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Gerry Burke received a Jesuit-inspired education at Xavier College in Melbourne, Australia, where he still lives. Before commencing his long career in advertising, the author was employed by an international mining company, which included a three-year stint in New Guinea. He also dabbled in the horse-racing industry, as an owner and breeder, with some success. Being a former accountant and advertising creative, no one expected Gerry to become a published author, but he embraced this initiative to stave off dementia.

He has since penned six novels, seven volumes of short stories, and two offerings of commentary and opinion relating to politics, entertainment, sport and travel. The PEST pseudonym was subjected to a sea change with the introduction of popular discount detective Paddy Pest to booklovers everywhere.

Most people see the garrulous gumshoe from Down Under as a cross between James Bond and Maxwell Smart, and he has been the protagonist in a number of the author’s humour-laden publications. In recent times, there have been diversions into Science Fiction and absolute fiction, all of which have won enthusiastic acclaim.

Mr. Burke’s credentials have been well established, with twelve of his books featuring as a winner or finalist in a variety of international literary competitions. Three volumes have received multiple citations.

Gerry is single and lives with photographs of his best racehorses.

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for The Accidental Detective Series organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Kris Bock will be awarding Ebook copies of the first four books in the Accidental Detective Series – Something Shady at Sunshine Haven and Something Deadly on Desert Drive (out now), plus early copies of books 3 and 4, Someone Cruel in Coyote Creek (not available publicly until September 29, 2022) and Someone Missing from Malapais Mountain (not available publicly until February 28, 2023) – to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The Accidental Detective #1

Something Shady at Sunshine Haven

by Kris Bock

Genre: Humorous Mystery

Synopsis

Injured in a bombing, Kate returns to her hometown in Arizona with new scars, a limp, and pain meds that give her brain fog. For the first time in her life, she’s starting to feel her age (49), even though she’s living like a teenager again: staying with her father, trying to understand why her sister resents her so much, and running into old friends who still think of her as Kitty.

Seeing her mother in an Alzheimer’s unit is the hardest part – until an old friend asks her to investigate suspicious deaths at that nursing home. Is a self-appointed “Angel of Mercy” killing patients to end their suffering? Are family members hastening their inheritance? Is an employee extorting money and killing the witnesses? Kate uses her journalism skills to track clues, but the puzzle pieces simply won’t fit. If Kate can’t uncover the truth, her mother could be next on the killer’s list.

Kate has followed the most dangerous news stories around the world. But can she survive going home?

The Accidental Detective #2

Something Deadly On Desert Drive

by Kris Bock

Genre: Humorous Mystery

Synopsis

Starting over at fifty might be hard, but it shouldn’t be deadly…

Still recovering from an injury that might have permanently derailed her career as an international war correspondent, Kate Tessler is living in her childhood bedroom and pondering her second act when another case lands in her lap. Kate’s father and his coffee group are worried. Their friend Larry married a younger woman who now insists he has dementia and won’t let any of his friends visit. They’re convinced that Larry’s wife and her two adult, dead-beat kids are out to steal his money. Can Kate help?

Soon Kate and her unusual gang of sidekicks are unofficially, officially investigating. But before they can dig out the truth, a murder raises the stakes. Now they need to prove Larry is both mentally competent and not a killer. They’ll have to find the real murderer—without risking their own lives in the process.

Praise for Something Deadly

“I had such a lovely day reading your story. I could barely put it down. I am still in awe of how you manage to wrangle these three generations of sleuths without every going over the top or relying on stereotypes or cliches, and of course watching Kate start to come to terms both with her disability and potential inability to ever fully heal as well as her new life, aging, being back home again and reconnecting with her family—all while solving two crimes—definite multi-tasker! The story was so engaging and quite clever.” – Sinclair Jayne, author

Read an Excerpt from Something Deadly on Desert Drive

“Thanks for taking us seriously,” he said.

“Sure. You really think something is wrong?”

I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a ploy to keep me entertained. I was doing a lot better physically since the bombing that tore a chunk out of my left leg, but I wasn’t ready to return to world travel or tracking down warlords and might never be. Using my journalism skills to ferret out problems close to home kept life interesting, but I didn’t need Dad creating challenges purely for my benefit.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Dad finally said. “But I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to Larry, and I’d ignored the problem. Too often, people dismiss complaints from old folks. It’s easy for a younger person, an adult child, even a lawyer put in charge of someone at a nursing home, to take advantage. If the old person complains, people assume they’re forgetful or paranoid or don’t understand the situation.”

That was a scary thought. Dad’s mind was as sharp as ever, but did people look at him and dismiss him? With my mother’s Alzheimer’s, we had to make decisions on her behalf. She had us looking out for her. But what about someone without that support? My research had turned up one case where lawyers appointed to administer a million-dollar estate blew through the money in under a year, and then the elderly patient had to go into a Medicaid home.

“We’ll find out what’s happening,” I promised.

About Author Kris Bock:

Kris Bock writes novels of mystery, suspense, and romance, many with outdoor adventures and Southwestern landscapes. Get a free Accidental Detective short story and bonus material when you sign up for her newsletter. You’ll also get a free 30-page sweet romance set in the world of the Furrever Friends cat café and a printable copy of the recipes mentioned in the cat café novels

Kris also writes a series with her brother, scriptwriter Douglas J Eboch, who wrote the original screenplay for the movie Sweet Home Alabama. Follow the crazy antics of Melanie, Jake, and their friends a decade before the events of the movie. Sign up for our romantic comedy newsletter and get Felony Melanie Destroys the Moonshiner’s Cabin. Or find the books on Amazon US or All E-book retailers

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Where to buy Something Shady at Sunshine Haven

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Buy links for Something Deadly on Desert Drive

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Rabbit Shine

Jake Eliam ChickenBone Mystery Series Book 1

by Cliff Yeargin

Genre: Southern Fried Humorous Mystery

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RABBIT SHINE A Jake Eliam ChickenBone Mystery

Book # 1 in the Award Winning Southern Fried Mystery Series

Jake Eliam spent a lifetime in baseball, until a chance turn that led him into the Atlanta neighborhood known as ChickenBone, where he ended up a part time private investigator thanks to a timely meeting with the man everybody called Catfish, the owner of the legendary 3 Pigs BBQ. When the top big league prospect for the Atlanta Peaches is killed in a car accident, the city mourns”. But was it an accident? So in between his part time job of making custom baseball bats in his shop in ChickenBone, Eliam is hired to find out the truth. Along the way he runs into a wealthy former member of Congress with a penchant for quoting scriptures, two rednecks named Tater and Booger, an ex-con hired killer who scrapes up dead chickens for a living, a tattooed stripper, a flop eared dog named Chance, and a former sheriff turned moonshiner. And the truth gets lost in a mix of greed, ambition, jealousy, regret, and murder.

˃˃˃ And follow the series in book #2 HOOCHY KOOCHY Awarded The 1st Finalist Silver Medal for GEORGIA AUTHOR OF THE YEAR

Jake goes deep into the world of snake handlers and snake farms of the south to track down a guitar player missing for 20 years

DISCOVER JAKE ELIAM TODAY AND GRAB YOUR COPY

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**On Sale for Only .99 cents!!**

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Hoochy Koochy

Jake Eliam ChickenBone Mystery Series Book 2

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HOOCHY KOOCHY A Jake Eliam ChickenBone Mystery NAMED 1ST FINALIST IN THE 52ND ANNUAL GEORGIA AUTHOR OF THE YEAR AWARDS FOR MYSTERY/DETECTIVE NOVELS After a long season of making baseball bats all Jake Eliam wants to do is relax and watch the World Series. But when his friend Catfish calls with what he says is easy money, his other job as a Private Investigator intervenes. Catfish’s former fraternity brother is looking for his own payday if can reunite all the original players in his “One Hit Wonder”college band and is willing to pay big bucks to track down the one missing member, the lead guitar player. The only lead, his classic Fender that went missing at the same time. The trail meets up with a late night DJ, a beautiful hippie turned wealthy housewife, a stoned drummer with a shaky trigger finger, a mysterious son of the Dixie Mafia and a church where snakes are served up along side apple pie. The search ends up on a snake farm run by a fellow named Sweet Thang who has a penchant for old TV shows and speaking in rhymes. As secrets come crawling out like copperheads, Jake Eliam begins to think he just might end up a “One Hit Wonder” himself.

˃˃˃ AWARD WINNING SOUTHERN FRIED MYSTERY SERIES

Begin your time with Jake Eliam with Book #1 in the series RABBIT SHINE

Reviewers rave about the characters and places in this entertaining new mystery series:

“Every page seems to breathe with life and atmosphere. The inside of Jake’s head is a wonderful place to be.”

DISCOVER JAKE ELIAM TODAY AND GRAB YOUR COPY

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MudCat Moon

Jake Eliam ChickenBone Mystery Series Book 3

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Billy Ray Kincaid is in the catbird seat. He owns a TV Sports Network that showcases Cissy, a sexy young sideline reporter and televises the top college football game each week. But the self proclaimed turnaround artist went cheap and now BTSN is about to go bust. Enter Jake Eliam, a lifetime baseball man, who scrapes by making baseball bats on the edge of a train yard known as ChickenBone. When cash runs low his best friend Catfish, the owner of the 3 PIGS BBQ, steps in with hot pulled pork, cold cash and work as a private investigator. When Alabama faces Georgia in the biggest game of the year, Catfish wrangles Jake to play bodyguard to Cissy who is the subject of an unusual stalker. The easy payday soon turns into a blocked punt of greed and deception. As the trail winds to the old Dixie Dew Pickle Factory in the North Georgia mountains, Jake rounds up his friends and a team of misfits including a drunken former Bulldog they call Dumptruck and a reclusive ex-con named Boobytrap. His ragtag team has time to run one last play on 4th and long or end up permanently benched.
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From the author of HOOCHY KOOCHY The 2016 Georgia Author of the Year Silver Medalist Finalist comes another SOUTHERN FRIED MYSTERY

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**On Sale for Only .99 cents!!**

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BirdDog Boogie

Jake Eliam ChickenBone Mystery Series Book 4

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The latest in the Award Winning ChickenBone Mystery Series

Sammy ‘Shoestring’ Stubbs wasn’t a very good Major League ballplayer, but he was a Hall of Fame thief. During his short time in the big leagues, Shoestring stole every piece of baseball memorabilia from teammates and opponents that he could get his greedy hands on. Back home in Georgia, a nasty poker game turned into a double murder and Shoestring and his loot disappeared. Decades later, the scout who signed him has a lead on where it all might be hidden. Enter Jake Eliam, a former player turned PI, who teams up with an odd cast of characters that would rival any baseball team to track down the treasure. The cast includes his best friend Catfish, a wise worm farmer, a nosy reporter who dresses like a surfer, a bounty hunter named after Jerry Lee Lewis, a strip club owner that resembles the Fat Elvis and a guide famous for burning down a burger joint. Toss in a 150 year old ghost along with deep secrets hidden beneath a mysterious and dangerous shoals and you have got yourself one Southern Fried BirdDog Boogie.

If you’re a Southern guy, the kind that loves MLB, College Football, and food from the Varsity, you’re going to love Yeargin’s books. Think Lewis Grizzard, okay.”

Shelton Stevens, Atlanta, Georgia

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SweetTater Tango

Jake Eliam ChickenBone Mystery Series Book 5

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Catfish Wilson is a football man, Jake Eliam a baseball man. But when the Southern Nights Baseball League needs investors, Catfish switches sports to become part owner of the Tully City TaterHeads. Despite sensing a bad mojo, Jake signs on as Manager for a fat paycheck. The brains behind the league, Billy Bonz, cares more about pig races and ticket gate monkeys than baseball. During the season’s biggest promotion, a legendary car from a famous TV show barrels through the outfield fence and disappears into the night. Jake is forced to form a new team to find the car or everybody goes home broke. The lineup includes Sugar, a Smokey & The Bandit wannabe. BoDilly, an ex-con who hangs out with a beer-drinking hog, and his pals, Polecat and RoadKill. This team of misfits faces some high heat from a mean backwoods clan, a corrupt sheriff, and the Tully City Peanut King. With two out in the ninth, they have one last chance to steal a win or end up on the wrong end of a suicide squeeze.

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**On Sale for Only .99 cents!!**

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The first question I usually get when a reader picks up one of my books is “What exactly is a ChickenBone?” Well, ChickenBone is not a what, it is a where. It is a fictional neighborhood near downtown Atlanta filled with old rundown buildings, a working trainyard and the setting for my series.

 

The books are mysteries, but it’s not your Mamas’ mystery. When the last word in the Sub-Title is MYSTERY, folks immediately think about the ‘traditional’ mystery. You know the kind. Page one, somebody is whacked, a murder, a body and in comes a slick investigator and for the next 300 pages, readers are taken on a wild ride of twist, turns, thrills and clues and then on page 299, you are STUNNED at the surprise twist at the end. Well, if you picked up one of my books expecting this…you have made a serious purchasing error…The ChickenBone Series is more about the JOURNEY. Jake may have a little problem getting the truck started, but once it is rolling down some backwoods dirt road, it will eventually get you to where you’re going, and you will meet some dang interesting and odd folks along the way.

 

You see, if you pick up a ChickenBone book, you’re just picking up a dang good STORY. It’s more like a bunch of friends sitting around a fire and one guy starts telling a tale. He’s Rambling, running off into the ditch, the beer is getting warm and you’re saying to yourself…when the heck is this fool ever going to get around to telling us what happened.

Then an hour, two beers and a few logs later, you are leaning into the fire, hanging on for the ride to the finish. You just have to empty the cooler and burn through a pile of good oak to get there.

 

It’s real simple. The folks that end up reading the entire ChickenBone Series is the same person who would have absolutely no guilt or remorse when it comes to plopping down in a recliner with a bucket of fried chicken and watching a ballgame from start to finish without moving an inch.

 

So, I feel like I need to add a DISCLAIMER of sorts. Everything has got a disclaimer on it these days. Toothpaste has one, eggs have two and whiskey, oh boy, whiskey has a long list in small print to avoid any legal or personal repercussions. So, on the advice of my semi-licensed lawyer, Rufus B Bailey, a proud graduate of The Gilly Gilbert School of Law and Muffler Repair, I am officially posting this disclaimer just in case you grab a ChickenBone Mystery and go looking to

find some CIA guy chasing a Russian spy. That ain’t gonna happen. Disclaimer…Said and done.

All correspondence and complaints should be forwarded to Rufus. If you find him, let me know…he owes me money.

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Cliff Yeargin has spent his life as a ‘Storyteller, traveling the U.S. as a Writer/Producer/Photographer and Editor in Broadcast journalism.

He began his career in the mountains of Western North Carolina where he worked with two college buddies, both who went on to become Sports Broadcasting Legends. Yeargin did not, but he did shoot the only video of the first 3-Point goal in the history of NCAA College Basketball. This is NOT fiction…you can look it up!

His travels as a broadcaster have taken him to dozens of Major League ballparks, World Series, Super Bowls, Final Fours, NASCAR, National Championships and he managed to convince his bosses for many, many years that staying at a Baseball Spring Training camp for two months involved hard work and sacrifice.

He has written stories in more places than you can count. In dugouts with rats under his feet, smelly locker rooms, planes, trains, hotel bars, buses at 4AM outside Detroit. All while submitting a staggering number of falsified expense reports.

He grew up on a rural cattle farm in Georgia, which taught him many valuable life lessons, such as never poke a big bull in the rear with a big stick.

A proud Bulldog graduate of the University of Georgia, he has now returned to his native state and lives in a downtown Atlanta neighborhood.

There is no Atlanta neighborhood known as ChickenBone…but there should be.

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Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

 

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

I am an Amazon Affiliate. Product images are linked.

Dead Man's Hex tour banner

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Welcome to my stop on the blog tour for Dead Man’s Hex by Ani Gonzalez. In Dead Man’s Hex Paranormal investigator Claire Delacourt’s working vacation turns into a cruise ship to hell and it’s up to her and her trusty hellhound Chihuahua, Pookie, to save the ship…and the world.

This blog tour is organized by Lola’s Blog Tours and the tour runs from 25 till 31 October. You can see the tour schedule here.

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Dead Man’s Hex (Drop Dead Witchy #2)
By Ani Gonzalez

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Dead Man's Hex book cover

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Genre: Humorous Urban Fantasy
Age category: Adult
Release Date: 27 October 2021

Synopsis

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It’s a cruise ship to Hell. Literally.

Sun, sand, and ghosts. Sounds like the perfect working vacation, no? The supernatural cruise would be a chance to get a tan, enjoy a variety of cold drinks with colorful umbrellas, and make some money leading ghost tours along the Mid-Atlantic coast…or so I thought. I didn’t count on a seasick hellhound Chihuahua, a stowaway ghost, and a crazy cult cramping my style. Now I’m fighting Octonomicron acolytes, trying to keep myself in one piece, and save humanity at the same time. Oh, and that tan? So not happening.

Links:
Goodreads
Amazon

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First book in the series:

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Hex Marks The Spot book cover
Hex Marks the Spot (Drop Dead Witchy #1)
By Ani Gonzalez

“Going to Hell is easy. Going back home is a different story.”

Links:
Goodreads
Bookbub
Amazon

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About Author Ani Gonzalez:

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Ani Gonzalez author picture

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I’m a USA Today bestselling author of paranormal romantic comedy and cozy mystery (whew, that’s a mouthful!) set in Banshee Creek, Virginia, The Most Haunted Town in the USA. My books feature feisty, irrepressible heroines dealing with a host of paranormal critters (ghosts, cryptids, pagan gods…the sky’s the limit) and mysteries. They find love and laughter (and sometimes corpses) along the way, and readers get to follow them every step of the way.

I love quirky towns with spooky stories, and, thanks to my books, I get to “live” in one year-around. In real life I live in a Virginia suburb (which is sadly lacking in ghosts) with my husband, three children, two cats, and one adorable dog.

Author links:
Website
Newsletter
Facebook
Twitter
Goodreads
Bookbub
Amazon

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Giveaway

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There is a tour wide giveaway for the blog tour of Dead Man’s Hex. These are the prizes you can win:
– a $25 Amazon gift card
– a $15 Amazon gift card
– a $10 Amazon gift card

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Dead Man's Hex tour banner.
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Lola's Blog Tours graphic

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

I am an Amazon Affiliate. Product images are linked.

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Funny And Ironic organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Marco Di Noiawill award a $25 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter at the end of the tour. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour and more chances to win.

Funny and Ironic: Amazing, Happy and Feel Good Stories

by Marco Di Noia

Genre: Short Stories / Humor

Synopsis

Funny short stories, ironic stories, amazing stories, animal stories, incredible stories, unusual stories, comical stories, humorous stories. Happy and feel good stories to create funny conversation, humorous conversation, a great conversation starter.

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Exclusive Excerpt

The Stupid Monkey

Marco was skipping down the street with a song in his ears.

A fat monkey, who had black hair and a double chin (cheeky looking), came swinging from a nearby tree and threw a banana onto the footpath in Marco’s direction.

Someone yelled, “Marco get out the way!” but it was too late, Marco slipped over and broke his ankle.

The monkey laughed stupidly, Marco was fuming and wanted revenge.

The next day Marco shot the monkey with a slug gun.

The monkey packed his bags and moved back to the African jungle.

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Author Marco Di Noia

Hi, my name’s Marco! I live in Sydney, Australia. I began writing stories to relieve boredom. After I wrote a few stories, I realized that they made me laugh. I kept writing and my depression went away. I am happy with the way the stories make me laugh and I hope you enjoy them too.

CONNECT WITH AUTHOR MARCO

Funny And Ironic Stories / Instagram

PURCHASE LINKS : Amazon / BookshopB&N / Book Depository

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What Happens in Denver

by Liz Crowe

Genre: Humorous Contemporary Romance

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Meet Andi Rigby. She and her husband own a famous bar. Andi can mix a cocktail, change a beer keg, soothe ruffled customers, and drink you under the table. Life is good until the day she finds herself divorced and unemployed. After a suitable period of ice-cream and whiskey infused mourning, she heads to a beer conference in Denver on a mission to rediscover her joy and find a new job.

Between fielding gossip, saving a drunk woman from herself, and dodging a hot but ill-advised boozy hookup, the weekend leads to a few surprises. She ends up employed with an unexpected bonus—a new friend. Oh, and the guy she kissed? Turns out her new job includes selling his brewery’s beer. No big deal. Except the bit about him being practically perfect for her at a moment she’s determined to focus on her own success.

A story of new friends, fresh starts, and a side order of romance served up with a nice cold pint.

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While delivering a mental lecture about this being not my business and I needed to get some sleep anyway, I saw his lips move but couldn’t hear a damn thing over the din of the place. When his female companion jumped up and threw her napkin down on the table, she almost plowed backward right into me. She wobbled on her teetering high heels, then lurched away and straight into a waiter, whose tray was loaded with salads heavy on kale and entrees heavy on marrow.

I reached out and caught her arm. She was blotto, that much was clear at this close distance. Little Burke Brother—Michael, I recalled—stayed seated, his expression blank during this whole exercise.

Jerk.

A bizarre surge of protectiveness came over me. I took her arm and guided her down the steps. Once we hit the fresh air, she revived enough to peel away from me, drop to her hands and knees, and puke on the sidewalk.

As I held her hair back like some kind of sorority sister, the substantial foot traffic gave us a wide berth, most of them without comment. It was Craft Beer Convention time in Denver. Puking humans were more common than weed stores, at least for a day or two.

While I waited for her to wrap up her worship at the cement altar, I summoned a ride on my phone app, realizing too late I had no idea where she was staying. She probably had a two-star room with a DNA soaked bed and a lovely view of the dumpster, like me. I got a warm, sisterly feeling about her.

I waited while she spit, then rose to her feet.

“Take those off already,” I said, pointing to the black patent leather heels. She did. Her eyes rolled around in their sockets. Her lollipop of a head didn’t want to stay upright. I plunked us down on a conveniently placed sidewalk bench—gotta love Denver—and waited, not sure which would come first, the ride or the second round of the happy hurls.

Luckily, it was the ride.

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Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville living in Central Illinois. She’s spent her time as a three-continent expat trailing spouse, mom of three, real estate agent, brewery owner and bar manager, and is currently a social media consultant and humane society development director, in addition to being an award-winning author. With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, inside fictional television stations and successful real estate offices, and even in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are compelling and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, at times frustrate, and always linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.

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Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * TikTok * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

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I am an Amazon Affiliate. Product images are linked.

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Vampire Joe
by Jimmie Christo
Genre: Humorous Urban Fantasy
Do you even know how much of a pain becoming a vampire is?
All Joe ever wanted was to shoot up some smack, sit in his apartment, listen to some Nick Cave and be left the hell alone.
Now he has to cope with his addictions, his dealer, a new girlfriend,, the mafia, the cops, his christian minister AND an unquenchable thirst for human blood.
How the hell does life get harder AFTER you die!?
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Review from the 28th Annual Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards:
There was absolutely nothing conventional about this novel or its author. The author bio is unique – I’ve never encountered something so demeaning yet at the same time funny and strangely endearing. And as for the book? This is a very different take on the vampire theme as we encounter a no-good, drug-addicted lay-about gain immortality and bring other equally antisocial undesirables into the fold. You really want to despise the main character for his attitude, drug abuse, filthy language, squalid and nasty lifestyle and sexism – I wanted to hate him on sight, yet the author manages to draw you into his world and actually start pulling for him. I didn’t even want to read any more at one point as the excessive use of foul language and vulgarity seemed gratuitous. But then my eyes and ears have witnessed much worse, including Trainspotting, and that was a masterpiece. So the author is a skillful writer in the way he manages to drag you kicking and screaming into the story and start actually liking and sympathizing with some of the people. Jimmie Christo is a master at character development humanizing the most deplorably diabolically sick characters. I found myself happily reading right through to the end, tightly clutching my pearls as I eagerly flipped through the pages. The dialogue is well-written, vulgarities and all, the plot is face-paced, the cover is striking in its simplicity, and overall a good read – it’s one I definitely won’t forget!
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Born in Carlton in 1979, Jimmie Christo is an author of the lowest calibre.
A criminal since birth (he stole his mother’s heart), he grew in the care of the state until he was 18, whereby said state awarded him the Keys to the Universe (citation needed) after imparting no life skills.
He has literally been using the word literally literally, literally all his life (figuratively speaking) and is a pain in the arse most of the time.
He spent four years in jail for crimes he didn’t really commit to, namely trafficking (We believe the plan was to consume the whole volume in it’s entirety himself, although it was too large an amount for anyone not completely ravaged by addiction to comprehend as such), posession, weapons, burglary and being a not very nice person.
While incarcerated at Her Majesty’s Pleasure, determined to get more out of them than they took from him, he wrote a whole bunch of books and movies. Also, he may have changed his outlook on his existence. That said, he is not returning the Keys.
Vampire Joe is his first published work, read by eleven people to critical acclaim. Everyone else who read it said it was vile rubbish.
He has also written YA sci fi and children’s novels, understandably under a much nicer alter ego, keeping grown up stuff like Joe separate.
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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!
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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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Welcome to The Friday 56 hosted by Freda’s Voice.

 

This is a really fun meme!

The only rules are to grab a book (any book), turn to page 56 or 56% in your eReader and find a sentence or a few (no spoilers) that grabs you and post it.

Then go over to Freda’s Voice and leave your link so we can visit your 56!

My 56 for this week is from:

Breakfast At Cannibal Joe’s

  by Jay Spencer Green

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Genre: Humor / Mystery

From page 56 in the paperback.

… you know how hospitals have those signs at every junction and those color-coded lines inlaid into the floor that your meant to follow to your desired location? Well, the National Rehabilitation Hospital doesn’t have any of those. It would rather you wander around fruitlessly. I’m surprised there isn’t a sign outside that says “Get Lost.” Which is what I did. For 45 minutes.

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Synopsis

You’re not assigned to oversee a CIA front company in Dublin unless you screwed up royally—and Joe Chambers did. If he didn’t know so much about so many people, the CIA would probably terminate him—possibly in both senses of the word. Instead, he’s stuck managing Whetstone Publishing while his stateside boss comes up with ever more daft ways to maximize profits.

But Joe’s frustration is only just beginning. An MI6 agent keeps breaking into his apartment and stealing his booze, presumably revenge for blowing the guy’s cover in Athens; his publishing assistant’s too smart for her own good; and with head office’s cost-cutting measures hitting new highs of lunacy, he might need to start selling drugs or—God forbid!—move back to the States. Oh, and he’s got a tapeworm named Steve happily curled up in his guts.

A raucous mix of double crosses, brothels, triple crosses, and cocktail recipes, Breakfast at Cannibal Joe’s is a dark and twisted tale that fans of Vonnegut, Heller, and Hunter S. Thompson should love.

Voted No. 6 in the Top 50 Indie Books of 2015. Winner of Lord of the Book Covers 2015.

Amazon

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You can find a list of my reviews HERE.

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I am an Amazon Affiliate. Product images are linked.

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Spring At The Little Duck Pond Cafe organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

I have a fun excerpt to share with you.

And Rosie Green will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Don’t forget to enter!

And be sure to click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

 

Spring at The Little Duck Pond Cafe: (Little Duck Pond Cafe, Book 1) by [Green, Rosie]

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Synopsis

Fleeing from a romance gone wrong, Ellie Farmer arrives in the pretty village of Sunnybrook, hoping for a brand new start that most definitely does not include love!

Following an unscheduled soak in the village duck pond, she meets Sylvia, who runs the Little Duck Pond Cafe. Renting the flat above the cafe seems like the answer to Ellie’s prayers. It’s only for six months, which will give her time to sort out her life, far away from cheating boyfriend Richard.

But is running away from your past ever really the answer?

Clashing with the mysterious and brooding Zak Chamberlain, an author with a bad case of writer’s block, is definitely not what Ellie needs right now. And then there’s Sylvia, who’s clinging so hard to her past, she’s in danger of losing the quaint but run-down cafe altogether.

Can Ellie find the answers she desperately needs in Sunnybrook? And will she be able to help save Sylvia’s Little Duck Pond Cafe from closure?

 Enjoy this peek inside:

I have never climbed a tree in my life.

But I suppose there’s a first time for everything.

It’s a gaspingly cold mid-January morning with an ice-blue sky overhead – not exactly the ideal conditions in which to be lurking on the pavement outside a stranger’s house, nervously eyeing up the oak tree in their garden.

Camera gripped in my freezing hands, I stamp my feet and blow out misty breath as I psyche myself up to be bold. I’ve driven sixty miles from Newtown, where I live, to the pretty, chocolate-box village of Sunnybrook in Surrey – with the ultimate goal of climbing this very tree and taking photos of the view from up there.

The tree is almost exactly how I pictured it in my imagination – old and gnarled with broad, evenly-spaced branches. My eye homes in on one branch in particular. It reaches out to the left, a little over six feet from the ground; the perfect place to sit and gaze out over the village green and the duck pond. (As I knew it would be.)

Tears fill my eyes. But I’m smiling, too.

It’s all in a good cause.

Stop dithering and just do it!

When I push it open, the garden gate swings inwards without creaking and the windows remain blank. I drop my bag by the gate and head for the tree.

It’s amazing how fear can give you almost super-human powers. Under normal circumstances, I’d need someone to give me a bunk-up into this tree. But today, with adrenalin pumping through my system, I manage to swing myself up there with no problems at all . . .

About Author Rosie Green:

Rosie has been scribbling stories ever since she was little.

Back then, they were rip-roaring adventure tales with a young heroine in perilous danger of falling off a cliff or being tied up by ‘the baddies’.

Thankfully, Rosie has moved on somewhat, and now much prefers to write romantic comedies that melt your heart and make you smile, with really not much perilous danger at all – unless you count the heroine losing her heart in love.

Spring at the Little Duck Pond Café is the first in Rosie’s brand new series of novellas centred around life in a village café. Each novella is a ‘stand-alone’ read.

You can connect with Rosie Green on Twitter / Amazon

Purchase on Amazon

NOTE: Book is free at time of posting!

“Readers will be able to read the whole series on Kindle Unlimited”

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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Accidental Lazarus
Dead & Busy Episode 1
by Kfir Luzzatto
Genre: Humorous Noir, Supernatural Mystery
It is sort of annoying having dead people dropping by at all hours… 
A paranormal detective like Dave Callaghan has already seen everything, but he never expected to find a presumed dead mobster drinking scotch in his armchair. He is definitely unhappy when he (it?) engages him to find out who shot him. But the worse is yet to come; Dave’s girlfriend gets involved and the real trouble begins.
Episode 1 of the DEAD & BUSY series will keep you laughing to the (bitter) end.
“Dave Callaghan is not here to bring you profound, life-changing thoughts; only quick, unadulterated fun.”
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Phantom Lover
Dead & Busy Episode 2
 
A SEXY ECTOPLASMIC HOOKER
Why Do All These Deadies Keep Flocking Around Dave?
“It was bad enough, I can assure you, finding a half-naked ectoplasm sitting at my desk, but she had to talk nonsense too . . .”
Dave Callaghan is used to having ghosts drop by uninvited at all hours. But this time he is in for a new experience, and you must get ready for a good laugh!
Episode 2 of the DEAD & BUSY series – the one with the hooker.
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Mice
Dead & Busy Episode 3
TALKING MICE ON YOUR BED
A Mouse That Keeps Reciting Poetry to You, Is a Pest
When white mice plague a short-tempered mobster, he hires Dave Callaghan to find out where they are coming from. The mobster wants to know why the mice wake him up in the middle of the night to recite “Mary had a little lamb” to him.
Dave is used to dealing with ghosts of every description, but this time he is facing a complex conspiracy that involves the government and a lascivious ghost.
Episode 3 of the DEAD & BUSY series – the one with the Aussie ghost sailor.
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The Accountant
Dead & Busy Book 4
HOW TO ELOPE WITH A GHOST
In Which the Accountant Disappears With the Bank Codes
What can be more maddening for a businessman, than to have his trusted accountant disappear with all the bank access codes? Well, discovering that he has eloped with the ghost of a prostitute surely makes it worse.
The need to walk into a ghostly brothel doesn’t put Dave off. He even befriends one of the girls there and fun is had by all.
Episode 4 of the DEAD & BUSY series – the one with the little ghostly whorehouse.
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Kfir Luzzatto is the author of eight novels, several short stories and six non-fiction books. Kfir was born and raised in Italy, and moved to Israel as a teenager. He acquired the love for the English language from his father, a former U.S. soldier, a voracious reader, and a prolific writer. He holds a PhD in chemical engineering and works as a patent attorney. In pursuit of his interest in the mind-body connection, Kfir was certified as a Clinical Hypnotherapist by the Anglo European College of Therapeutic Hypnosis.
Kfir is an HWA (Horror Writers Association) and ITW (International Thriller Writers) member.
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