Monday, January 20, 2014

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/19

Things worked out well for the floating book shop today. I managed to land the ideal parking spot, which allowed me to sit in the car periodically to warm up. There was even an hour of sunshine to thaw the old bones. And people bought books. My thanks, especially to the young man who purchased Sweet Dreams by January Valentine, my literary angel, whose birthday was yesterday. Happy Birthday, V.

Here's an excerpt from All Hallows, my horror screenplay, available at Amazon, Kindle only, $1, link below. In it, five nuts escape an asylum and wreak havoc on a small town. Along the way it pays tribute, sometimes subtly, to all such entertainment the public has been blessed with by warped imaginations. The excerpt is a read of only two minutes or so:

Part 24: Lover's lane. Richards is seated at the wheel of the car. Rob is taped into incapacity in the rear. There is an ugly welt on his forehead. Laura is taped and handcuffed in the front seat. All are still fully clothed. Richards swigs from the bottle of champagne.

Richards: Don't you love threesomes?

He looks at Laura, who's terrified.

Richards: I can see you do. M nage a trois. The French have such classy names for perversion. How do people ever settle for the conventional?

He takes another swig, looks into the back seat, squirts champagne through his teeth at Rob, whose neck bulges in revulsion.

Richards: Whatta you think, er ... ? What'd you say your name was?

Rob murmurs beneath the tape. Richards nods.

Richards: Right, right. Sorry. Bet you never dreamed your little angel was such a demon, huh? I can see how disappointed she is that I can't make anything happen right now. Don't you dare laugh, lover boy.

Richards raises the bottle as if to strike. Rob shakes his head frantically. Richards takes another swig, wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

Richards: I'd like to see what you could do with all the junk they pumped into me. That damn doctor. I didn't wanna be cured. I was havin' the time of my life before they put me away. You know, he looked a little bit like you, lover boy.

Rob's head rears back.

Richards: Well, he only succeeded in creating a different kind of monster. He's the real Frankenstein, not me. Murder's not very satisfying, though. I don't know how many people I killed at the sanitarium - and I still have that empty feeling. In my glory days,

sometimes one rape'd hold me for a month, maybe two. Even killing Brooks wasn't

satisfying. Maybe a coupla hours of torture'll do the trick. I never did like foreplay, though. The Marquis de Sade was a wimp.

Bob and Laura scream beneath the tape, stamp their feet.

Richards: C'mon, people - you're overreacting.

A car pulls into the lot.Richards' eyes spread.

Richards: Company, kids. What's the French term for fivesome?

The car is parked near the other, a considerable distance away. There is only one passenger. Richards notes the shapeliness of the silhouette, raises an eyebrow.

Richards: All alone, poor thing?

Vic's 4th Novel:

Vic's 3rd Novel:

Vic's Website:

Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle):

Vic's 2nd Novel:

Vic's 1st Novel:

Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle:

Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle:

Vic's Short Story on Kindle:
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