Yet another weird ad for my novels
“Lorax! What’s wrong?” I hurry over to the spherical Seuss-being, right as he snorts coke off a petrified tree-stump.
“Leave me alone!” he barks. “What the fuck do you know about speaking for the trees? I used to have free fucking reign of these motherfucking forests—now they’re filled with special ops larpers! Everywhere I look, it’s chainsaw-bayonets, out-of-context tattoos of Constitutional quotes, and rifles that weigh like fifty fucking pounds because they’re fitted with a shit-ton of unnecessary scopes!”
I look to either side. “I mean…we are in north Florida…”
“Don’t remind me.” He taps a fat line of coke onto the stump, then snorfs it up and bellows, “I said got-DAMN!”
Before I can reply, someone yells, “Hey! HEY!”
We both turn in place, locking eyes with a platoon of out-of-shape guys, the exact same folks that Lorax was complaining about. They’re festooned with gear, enough to outfit a dozen military surplus stores.
“Easy.” I raise my hands. “We were just about to—”
“Get fucked up the ass?” Their leader glances at his fellow larpers. They all bust out in evil chuckles. “You wandered into the wrong neck of the woods—we make Tarantino-written perverts look like goddamn altar boys.”
The guy to his right yells, “I call dibs on the sexy Chinese!”
I clear my throat. “Korean-American, actuall—”
He fires back with, “Don’t go messing with my damn intellectual!”
The Lorax flips them off and snarls, “Fuck you and your thimble-sized dicks!” Then he takes off running, right as they unleash a shitstorm of metal.
“FUCK!” I hunch and sprint, following in the steps of the furry little creature. It’s the one and only time that I wish I was shorter—anything to help me avoid getting shot.
He slides behind a tree, grabs a pre-staged machine gun, then rises to a knee and starts blasting away. “RUAAAAHHHH!!! YOU WANT MY BLOOD??? COME AND TAKE IT, YOU BACKWOODS HEATHENS!”
I drop to my belly and flatten myself out. The Lorax may be packing some oomph, but it’s jack fucking shit next to dozens of folks who can shoot from multiple angles, and keep us pinned while cutting off our options. Plus, it’s only a matter of time before they start chucking some of the grenades I saw hanging off their kit.
Fuck it. No options left. So I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
A chopper whup-whup-whups overhead. Seconds later, a figure clad entirely in denim aside from his cut-off sleeves, rockets through the overhead canopy—“eeeeeeEEEEHHH HOOOOOOO!!!”—and lands in a classic superhero crouch.
Holy shit—it’s Chuck fucking Norris!
My excitement doesn’t last. A grenade explodes right by his feet.
“CHUCK!” I low-crawl over and roll him onto his back.
He sputters and gasps, then swears in frustration. “Devious bastards! They figgered out my secret weakness—took me down with a grenade to the dick!”
“Uh…” I give him a quizzical look. “I think that qualifies as a lot of peoples’ weakness. Not so secret, either.”
He glances at his crotch. “Fuck me—it looks like a goddamn frito pie! I’m sorry, Kent.” He shakes his head and hisses through his teeth. “Chuck done gone and shit the action hero bed!”
Despair bubbles through my gut. Then it hits me:
I know exactly what to say.
“Chuck, John Wayne’s first name—it wasn’t actually John.”
His eyes go wide. “Whut?”
“It was…Marion.”
“THE FUCK YOU SAY!”
The veins on his eyeballs redden and bulge, then he jumps to his feet and charges straight at the larpers. They start screaming stuff like, “Game over, man—game over!” And, “He’s fucking everywhere, I can’t—HKKK!” And, who could forget, “He’s just one man, dammit!”
Chuck kicks a head clean off its neck. It ricochets off several larpers and breaks their skulls into pulpy fragments, then rockets through a gunman’s torso and leaves a bowling ball-sized hole in the middle of his chest. After a flurry of Mortal Kombat-worthy fatalities, Chuck reverts to a tried and true classic: he rips a pair of arms off, then whoops ass with the stumps like a rabid gorilla.
I watch the carnage in abject horror. The Lorax nudges me and chuckles with glee. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Damn, I wish I had me a wiener—I’d give these degenerates a taste of their own medicine!”
My brow wrinkles in disgust. “That…is an image I’m going to work like hell to try and forget.”
“Whatever. Pussy.” He goes back to admiring demon-brute Norris.
Kent Wayne wins again…I think?
Have you stumbled onto a firefight between larpers and the Lorax? Never fear! Buy my books, Chuck Norris, infuse him with demonic rage by inflicting the macho equivalent of telling a kid that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, then watch him go to town on your would-be murderers!
Get A Door into Evermoor on kindle here: A Door into Evermoor. Paperback here: A Door into Evermoor, paperback. Get Weapons of Old here: Weapons of Old Get Kor’Thank here: Kor’Thank: Barbarian Valley Girl. Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle Vol.4 on Kindle here: Vol. 4 on Kindle Echo Omnibus here: Echo Omnibus Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition Musings, Volume 1 is available here: Musings, Volume 1
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