Hindu
Sex Aliens
The
Island Trilogy
Book
3
Larry
Weiner
Genre:
Horror/Dark Comedy
Publisher:
Forsaken Imprint
Booktrope
Publishing
Date
of Publication: October 5, 2015
ISBN:
ASIN:
Word
Count: 65869
Cover
Artist: Larry Weiner
Book
Description:
“Hmmm
… let’s see. Beautiful islands. Check. Friendly undead. Check.
Reminders of bloodshed and death everywhere we look ... I dunno, hon.
It’s a mixed bag.”
The
band’s getting back together once more. But this time, nobody’s
feeling it.
The
bicker gang of PARADISE ROT and ONCE AGAIN, WITH BLOOD is rapidly
losing its taste for luring clueless Middle Americans to obscure
tropical-island resorts. Not to mention unwittingly luring them into
the clutches of the local ancient undead. Or having to rescue said
morons from said bloodslurpers and fleshsnackers.
But
here they are — Cate Hendricks and fellow ad
creative/nutjob/horndog Kyle Brightman chief among them — on the
Indian Ocean island of Soma Indra. Putting together another
first-rate ad campaign. Pulling together another train-wreck
assortment of guests: Burned-out suburban housewives who are
semi-sick of men and seeking sisterhood through yoga sessions.
Socially inept software engineers who may or may not be aliens
looking to screw their way to species perpetuation. Oh, and did we
mention the thousands of Hindu deities looking to rewrite the Kama
Sutra during their annual R&R retreat?
Yeeeeaaaaaah.
This should go well.
Especially
when the gang runs into its most insidious and powerful nemesis yet:
Larry Weiner. How does this therapy-addled, midlife-crisis dingus
know who they are? Where they’re from? How they think? And what
evil plans does he have for them? And why do they want to be
thoughtful, responsible grownup-type adults all of a sudden?
Part
meta-fiction, part Metamucil, HINDU SEX ALIENS is the cerebrally
comic conclusion to Larry Weiner’s uproarious trouble-in-paradise
trilogy.
Excerpt:
“THIS
ROOM LOOKS Jackson Pollacked. Is that a thing? An adjective, maybe?
To get ‘Jackson Pollacked?’ There was a time when this would’ve
grossed me out. But then, I’ve seen things. And now, well, all I
can think of is that some unlucky bastard has to clean all of this
up.”
Kyle
Brightman stood in the conference room, hands in pockets, looking
around at walls covered with blood splatter, bits of organ meat, and
flesh. Tendons and bone lay strewn about on the conference table—you
could see where the kill had been by the small mound of muscle tissue
and a human skull. It looked as if someone had popped the cork on a
gigantic champagne bottle full of human remains and, voila!
Conference room Lee Marvin (Kyle had named most of the conference
rooms) had become, as Kyle put it, Jackson Pollacked.
Cate
Hendricks, looking as if she’d been dipped into a vat of blood, sat
spent in a chair, her legs splayed, still wearing her pair of purple
Converses with the white star. She gazed at the floor rug, studying
the pattern of blood and human tissue. To Kyle, she looked like a
predator having consumed its prey after a kill. Which, in Cate’s
case, was called Mandy Newberger.
Leaning
up against a wall, arms folded, Dory Parthenia cradled her iPhone
between her shoulder and ear. Kyle had always marveled at the way she
could do that—not just the manner in which she could converse while
doing something else, usually typing on a laptop, but the actual way
she was able to cradle the phone. Kyle had tried it a few times and
cracked his Han Solo-frozen-in-carbonite phone case after dropping
it.
“Uh-huh…
uh-huh… It’s in pretty bad shape. Uh-huh… Yeah, maybe four. I
dunno. We might have to rip everything up and replace it. The table’s
in good shape, just covered with blood and guts. Know what? Order a
new table. I never liked the ones we picked. Tastes change… Uh-huh…
Right, just put it under construction costs. Same for Katharine
Hepburn. Uh-huh… Try Design Within Reach—oh, you know what? Check
out Hive. Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”
Dory
let the phone slip off her shoulder and into her hand; Kyle was once
again impressed by her phone-handling gymnastics. “Not the best
meeting we’ve ever had,” she said.
“I
leave you kids alone for one minute and look what happens,” Kyle
said. “Last time I get coffee during client feedback.”
“We
both know that’s not true.”
“Right?”
The
two of them looked at Cate. They weren’t at the worried stage just
yet. Zombies often looked comatose after a feeding—or, in this
case, a feast, as Mandy was a big girl.
“So,
Cate. Hon? What was the trigger word?” Kyle asked. He walked over
to her and kneeled. Cate retained her thousand-yard stare. “Copy
changes? Did she try to rewrite the headline? They do that. Bastards.
Everybody has to have input these days. I suppose it’s always been
that way. Was when I started out in the biz, and that was almost
fifteen years ago. Can you imagine someone checking out the Sistine
chapel and going ‘meh’? Not that we’re creating masterpieces
here, but still—”
“I’ve
hit my wall,” Cate mumbled. And then she slid off the chair onto
the blood-drenched floor. She was out.
About
the Author:
Larry
Weiner is the author of PARADISE ROT (BOOK ONE), ONCE AGAIN, WITH
BLOOD (BOOK TWO) and HINDU SEX ALIENS (BOOK THREE) that make up the
Island Trilogy. Larry earned a degree in film from CSULA and was an
award-winning art director. He lives on an island in the Pacific
Northwest with his wife, two kids and a gaggle of animals. He plays
bass and thus has poor hearing.
Visit
his site at: http://www.larryweinerwrites.com
Join
his Twitter feed at: @LarryNWeiner
Like
him on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/larrynweiner
No comments:
Post a Comment