Today we have a sneak peek from the bawdy spoof by authors K. S. Brooks, Stephen Hise, and JD Mader: Bad Book.
The name’s Case. Just Case, that’s all. He is a man among men and therefore no first name is needed.
Women want to smack him – men want to smack him, too, just harder. Join Case on his epic travels through multiple literary genres as he ruins horror, space-adventure, noir detective, spy-thriller, westerns, classics of literature, pop culture icons and more with his own unique panache.
Never before has a spoof conquered so much with so little.
And now, an excerpt from Bad Book…
From Chapter 7: Future Shocking
The hallway door burst open and Cyborg Norman came in spraying the place in slo-mo gunfire. Jones and I easily ducked each bullet, though I’m sorry to have to say neither of us managed to wash our hands.
Jones and Termi-Norman began exchanging gunfire, and I figured while they were distracted with each other, I’d make a move to escape. I returned to the stall I had been occupying, removed a ventilation panel from above the toilet, and slid into the ductwork, crawling in a rapid but distinctly manly fashion away from the melee. You know, in case they tried to outflank us.
In the dark distance, I could hear someone crawling along behind me. Whoever had won that fight was still after me. Coming to a terminus in the ductwork, I popped the screen and slid down onto what appeared to be an abandoned yet still functioning factory floor. There were all kinds of choppers, grinders, mashers, squashers, and vats of molten metal.
The Normanator popped through the ventilation shaft shortly afterwards, dragging his machine bazooka with him. I didn’t know what he wanted, and maybe it was all the chasing and shooting at me, but I was really getting a bad vibe from this guy.
My own natural agility and athleticism was my only advantage over him. That, and the whole not wanting to die a horrible death from bazooka bullets. That’s also a real motivator. I led him on a chase through the body-mangling machinery of the factory floor.
He lost an arm in the choppers, but he kept coming after me. He lost a leg in the squashers, but kept coming. The flame-spewing thingy scorched all the skin off him and also reminded me how long it had been since I’d had good barbecue. But he kept coming, now a mere metal skeleton.
I led him through the grinders, the crushers, the wringers and the car wash with the hot wax option. I was running out of factory floor when I crawled through the compactor chute and lodged myself against the wall. He came dragging his raggedy metal carcass with that delicious barbecue smell right through the chute towards me. I hit the actuator button and the compressor lever came down and crushed him till the little red lights in his eyes went dim. I breathed a sigh of relief. A ball bearing popped off him and came after me. I went running along the wall, tripped over a stack of “safety first” signs and sprained my ankle. I frantically hopped forward on one foot as the ball bearing gained on me. I fell to the floor.
That’s when Agent Jones reappeared. He stepped up to me and slipped on the ball bearing. Jones fell backwards through the slicing, dicing, chomping machinery and the ball bearing went flying into the vat of molten metal.
“I guess you are the chosen one after all, Case.” I heard Liz Domino’s sexy voice behind me.
I looked her up and down and said, “It’s been a long day. Let’s get you out of those clothes and order some barbecue.”