Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Free Excerpt Eb Book 2 (Comedy for kids)

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Gremble Trott and Percy Blaine were guards. They'd spent a good thirty years together guarding the palace doors. The two were the best of friends or at least the best that could be afforded by having to stand next to each other for thirty years and have the same old conversations.

It isn't' that Percy hasn't been nice enough, thought Gremble, It's just that Percy's quite thick believing in and speaking endlessly about insane conspiratorial, type things. Crazy ideas he's got. Medi-cal Sci-ences and some daft thing he keeps callin' grav-i-ty. He'll get nowhere talkin' like that! He ain't even got the sense to believe in levelheaded stuff like alien abductions and Big Foot!

“See,” explained Percy for the eight quintillionth time, “Ya got this apple, right? And ya drops it on the ground, but it don't float away. Cuz' it's stuck from floatin' off by an invisible force, and that's called gra-v-ity. Right? So...”

“What?” yelped Gremble in an agitated fashion, with the same voice one uses when in the company of any zealot, “Of course it don't float off. It's magic!”

“But,” pointed out Percy, “Wouldn't floating away be magic?”

“Um yeah,” Gremble faltered, he wasn't as good at debating a point as Percy was, “It's uh... it's um... it's still magic. It's just the uh apple's way of choosin' not to use it! And that’s magic too!”

“No. See? Eb's round like a marble see? And it's always spinnin' round, and that creates...” Percy began. But as usual, Gremble left out a belly laugh, “You're daft. It can't be round. I'm standin' on it!” then Gremble stomped his foot several times and yelped, “That's flat ain't it? You ain't ever gonna get nowhere in life if ya keep hanging on to these childish ideas me boy! You'll never go further!”

“We can't go further,” Percy said sullen, “Our Dads was guards, our Granddads was guards our Great Great Granddads was guards, we're born to it ain't we? That don't change the fact that...” his voice trailed off.

Gremble paused before he looked to see what it had taken to shut the other guard up. It was something horrible more than likely as even the Invasion of The Cream, And Brandy Interlopers of 78 hadn't silenced old Percy. It was because of this terrifying thought that it took Gremble several moments to muster the courage to turn his head. But when he finally did so, he was astounded.



“Is that a flying book?”

“Yeah. Looks like it.”

“Gremble? I think it's staring at me.”

“It would appear so.”



“You was right about magic and all that. I'd guess if gra-v-ity existed, then books couldn't fly.”

“Well said. Very sensible.” Gremble remarked as the book hovered menacingly.



“Can you read the title? I'd like to know what's threatening to eat me if you don't mind.”

Gremble had never been very good at reading, writing or other schooling-type of things but he could read this title because the picture helped a lot. Gremble said “Wea....pon...s...and... ar... mor. Weapo...ns... and Ar...mor. Arm...or. Weapons and Armor I fancy it says.”

“What dya think it wants then?” asked Percy.

“I'd guess it'll be wanting our weapons and armor,” answered Gremble holding out his shield. It wavered and shrunk and then disappeared into the book. Gremble shivered watching the book suck the shield into its pages. Then the book made a hissing noise, and the sword rose to its level and was gone. Piece by piece all the weapons and helmets were ingested into the book.

“Um, Gremble?”

“Yeah, Percy?”

“Um, do you think it's bent on takin' the armor too?”

“I do believe so. Why?”

“Me underpants is metal.”

“Oh yeah. Mine too. Comes with the job I'd reckon.”

“Gremble?” Percy whined as his chain-mail shirt disappeared into the book.



Monday, March 26, 2018

The Thinks you never thunk you'd think (repost comedy)

The thinks you never thunk you'd think....

Well good morning everyone. I was having a conversation with a dear friend of mine and she said the silliest thing. She said and I am quoting here, “I'll have kids when I'm ready.” and I started to laugh because trust me... mine is 23 and I'm still not ready! You aren't EVER ready to learn all of the things kids can teach you. Am I talking spiritual, inspirational and lovely little cutesy things they say like, “If fairies light up can we make one a night light?” NO! I am talking real kids here!

You are never ready for all the crap that they teach you because this is info you don't ever think you'll need and then can't imagine why you do! These are things like how to explain why we don't put peanut butter on the toilet seat! Horrid things like how to get lollipops off of the dog. You start asking yourself ignorant questions. Crazy things you never thought you'd hear yourself think. Things like... Why in the hell don't they make a Barbie that flushes down properly? Sickening things like, “Why is it only the most expensive Ninja Turtle that destroys the garbage disposal? Are the others less Ninja? And if they are Ninja why does the plumber tell me he sees them every week?”

As a parent you are never prepared people! That's just what they tell you so that the race doesn't end! You will inevitably end up walking around mumbling the most ignorant questions that you really NEED the answer to. Queries such as, “Well I don't really know if my mouth would fit around a doorknob. Can I put it on a resume?” You might even google the place where cootie vaccinations are available. You will find yourselves just smacking yourself in the head trying to get kid's thought to take hold... in that place where you thought you had a brain but now... dark and cold.

People without children don't understand why we want a union! Take for example this scenario. I was sitting with my daughter when she was a toddler with all of my friends standing around. We were talking about how she always only asked me questions that I never had the answer to. The conversation went something like this:

Friend 1: Oh you mean she asks about religion?

Me: No. I can answer that. These are things I can't even answer.

Friend 2: You mean where babies come from right? Nobody knows what to say.

Me: No you just don't get it. I know where babies come from. These questions are harder!

Sarah has become very quiet and all eyes turn to her. She is thinking very hard about something. Finally I say, 'What?” She lifts her little head and looks at my friend and asks, “Does a spider have a tongue?” Every friend I had just took off and left me there. I don't remember giving her an answer.

So if you are a parent and you have days where you sit around with the over-whelming urge to poke yourself in the eye repeatedly in order to let the stupid out... be comforted. You are still incredibly intelligent. (It's just that now you have kids and so nobody remembers it any more.)

And if you are not a parent do an act of kindness today for someone who is. And by that I mean... buy us a text book on astrophysics so that our friends will come back and we can once more talk in full sentences that don't rhyme! PLEASE!

That's my side of it,


PS Does a spider have a tongue?

Thursday, March 22, 2018

Interview for Grandpa’s Courteous Obligation (Cool Papa Ike Speaks!!)

Interview for Grandpa’s Courteous Obligation

Q) Thanks for granting us an interview. Can you tell us a bit about yourself?

If this interview will put my new book creation, “Grandpa’s Courteous Obligation”, in the hands of some readers I should be thanking you. To ramble on about my anomalous personal biography could be a novel in its own right. Most folks would probably agree that I’m a bit eccentric with an appreciation for life that leans toward the humorous and singular perspective. Those who have read “Grandpa’s Copacetic Conundrum” and “The Copacetic Conundrum Continues” got a taste of such a posture. We keep rolling with this unique styling in “Grandpa’s Courteous Obligation.”

Q) What is the title of your book and what is it about?

“Grandpa’s Courteous Obligation” is the next step in The Grandpa Series. “Grandpa’s Copacetic Conundrum” and “The Copacetic Conundrum Continues” was the tale of what Grandpa went through when he entered a society of gifted and talented gentlemen. It is now Grandpa’s Courteous Obligation to bring his grandson into the fold. As you read this story you will notice the many obligations that must be handled with ever-present courtesy by Grandpa Sam as well as all the colorful characters in this novel.

Q) What message do you feel your book most conveys?

The title, “Grandpa’s Courteous Obligation,” was vested with the notion that there are obligations that are assigned to us at times. Such obligations when accepted are frequently a courtesy toward others. In choosing titles for these books, if a conundrum can be copacetic than an obligation placed upon you, handled with courtesy, becomes a courteous obligation. In this exploit the reader will find that handling various obligations can lead to abundant entertaining escapades, a multitude of engaging absurdities and fascinating fun times.

Q) Tell us a little about what made you start writing? What’s your inspiration?

For all the writing required throughout your life, there has been no scribbling that has been as enjoyable as writing these narratives. “Grandpa’s Courteous Obligation” is considered the third book in The Grandpa Series. I have four more books that have gone through the first draft and author rewrite process. The first story initiated was called “Grandpa’s Cathouse.” My daughter Samantha is a published author. I delivered this inspiration to her with the expectation she could write it. She deferred this opportunity back to me. She wasn’t interested in writing a book about a cathouse for some reason. Never one to avoid the gauntlet I gave writing a shot. The experience was a hoot. When finished it was obvious that there was background needed for the reader to fully understand this compendium. Such an enigma led to my next endeavor “Grandpa’s Copacetic Conundrum.” Before you knew it, a series of Grandpa Books came flowing through the mush between my ears. My beloved bride sent “Grandpa’s Copecetic Conundrum” to various publishing companies. She loved my work so. Publishers can be a flattering bunch, let me tell you. A lady by the name of Angel with Cheshire Grin Publishing was the most honest and equitable. Thanks to her I got published. Inspired by letting the creative juices run rampant, having fun and outstanding support, I found myself inspirited to keep working to improve the writing and enjoy it to the fullest.

Q) What does writing mean to you?

I find writing fun. This mental exercise challenges you in the most fascinating way. The creativity, imagination and learning the art of using words to express your message in a meaningful correct manner is intriguing. To find that others take pleasure in reading your contribution is an accolade which is priceless. Writing is an astonishing peccadillo.

Q) If you were to give fledging writers one piece of advice on writing, what would that be?

Patience, patience, patience… Do it right and revel in your endeavor…

50% off Introductory Sale!


Sunday, March 4, 2018

Excerpt Witches at the Dept. Of Magical Vehicles (DMV)

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Death scratched his head and looked down at his disheveled robes. He tried a smile, but it was too difficult as he'd been standing in line for three hours and was still receiving no help whatsoever.

“NO. No. No.” Death screamed at the woman behind the counter of the DMV, “I don't ride a broomstick. I ride a horse. A horse. Eyes of lava, poisonous breath. Eats sugar cubes... a horse. H-O-R-S-E! You understand now? Four legs and a tail!”

“You'll have to show proof of ownership of your broomstick, sir, before you can take the test. Also, you'll have to fill out a few simple forms,” instructed the short redhead. She reached under the counter and produced a pile of papers that were thicker than a dictionary. “You'll have to fill these out in ink, please,” she said.

“First of all, I don't own a broomstick. I own a horse. Secondly, you only have bloomin' pencils.” Death screeched. Granny Voggle stood behind him in line, and she felt quite sorry for him. She wiggled her fingers and magically turned the pencil on the counter into a plume. Death sighed. He nodded at Granny. She smiled.

“Can I please see your supervisor?” Death begged.

“I'm the supervisor,” the woman said sharply, and Death began to weep openly.

“Sir, you'll have to step out of line, please, your broomstick just crapped on our floor. Clean it up, or it's a $5000 fine.” the woman snapped.

“It's a horse,” Death wailed, “A horse!” His skeletal hands slowly tore the rim off of his new hat. He was shaking.

“Sir. Please don't make me call security. Step out of line please.” the woman snapped.

“No.” Granny yelped, “I been here three hours already and he was here when I came. Now, my dear girl, you are goin' to find the form that says horse on it, or I'll bleedin' turn you into a mouse! And my dear, I know many hungry cats! Do I make myself clear?”

“Ah!” the woman snapped, “Are you threatening me? Go to the back of the line!”

Granny stayed where she was. She pulled the woman to face her. She snarled, “As I sees it the worst you can do to me is take away my license. But that ain't goin' to be nothin' if you compare it to what I can do to you. Now give him the proper forms!”

And to everyone's surprise, the woman did. But then she said to Granny, “Go to the back of the line or I'll have you removed.”

“Fair enough,” Granny said and walked the half a mile to the back of the line.

Four hours later Granny was back at the front of the line. She stepped up to the counter. The woman placed a sign on the counter that read, “Next line please.”

Granny looked around. There was no other line. Again Granny wiggled her fingers. Then she shouted, “This sign says, “This line open.”

“It does not!” the woman shouted and turned the sign around. She gawked at the new message. She yelped, “Please fill out these forms and then make an appointment.” She handed Granny a huge pile of forms.

“These is in another language! These is all written in troll.” Granny yelped as the woman left the counter.


It took several minutes to set a good cauldron and change the language on the forms to common tongue. But Ratchet managed to do it quickly enough to escape Granny's newfound wrath.

“There ya go!” she chirped merrily, “All sorted!”

Granny filled out each form. She stopped and yelled, “How am I supposed to answer that? They want to know what my mother ate on the third day of her marriage! What's that got to do with drivin'?”

“Write anything,” advised Wren, “They aren't going to know the difference.”

“Yeah!” quipped Ratchet, “It ain't like they read 'em any way. They chucks 'em in the furnace to keep the place hot so you'll get cranky.”

“Bligh me!” Granny screeched, “Is that true?”

“Yeah,” answered Wren. “The only things that count are the tests. They don't worry about anything else. If they did, they'd never have enough time to annoy you.”

“Then why in blazes am I fillin' these out?” Granny yelped angrily.

“Cuz' it's the only way to get to the tests, ain't it?” Ratchet exclaimed, “We all had to do it! No sense in complainin' about it.”


The next day, Granny waited in line for five hours. She was stuck arguing with an idiot of a man behind the counter.

“I'm sorry, Miss. There's nothing I can do. You look nothing like the photo on the birth record. Your picture on your license doesn't match!” the man screeched.

“Of course it don't. That was 105 years ago. I don't wear a nappy now either!” Granny growled.

“I can't push you through under the circumstances. You'll have to come back with other proofs of address and other legal documents first!” the balding idiot argued.

“What kind then? What papers do I need to appease you, you...gnarled up, flubbing, simpleton of a man?” Granny Voggle shouted.

“You'll need two pieces of mail addressed to you from different government offices, a certificate for competing in rabid wombat wrestling, three boxtops from you preferred teabags, twenty coloring pages from assorted workbooks, and a championship award certificate from any treetop yodeling competition. Further, you need a record of your last taxable purchase at Broom & Bath, a receipt from the toll roads at the far end of the city and a certified letter from your neighbors citing that you have lived there for at least two years. Until you have those things, there is nothing more I can do for you.”


Five days later, documents sorted, Granny waited in line for the eye test. She really couldn't see all that well, but she wasn't about to admit that. Her eyes had aged and time had not been kind to them. Also she'd forgotten her reading glasses. She tried her best just the same.

“Cover your left eye,” a burly woman said and then she pointed to a large letter on the eye chart. She asked Granny Voggle sternly, “What do you see?”

Granny replied, “A letter.”

The woman pointed to something else, “What do you see now?”

“Another letter,” Granny said.

“And now?” the woman asked pointing to the bottom line.

“Lots of tiny letters,” Granny responded.

“Okay,” the woman said, “You've passed. Go get in the other line.”