My wife and I have been watching Smallville lately, much to her chagrin. We’ve worked our way up through the first four seasons and just  started season five last night. It’s a remarkably uneven  show and you have to  wonder how it’s managed to stay on the air as long as it  has(Smallville just  got renewed for it’s tenth season). It’s a frustrating show that plays it fast and loose with the Superman mythos(Clark Kent and Lex Luther used to be best friends before becoming  mortal enemies, Krypton has a long history with Earth, and Clark meets  virtually everyone he’ll eventually work with as teenagers). But it hasn’t made the biggest and most obvious change.

Newspapers are going out of business. This is no longer a rumor or distant concern, it’s happening right now. In ten years time, or less, the newspaper industry is going to look drastically different, if it exists at all. So, my question is: Without the Daily Planet what is Clark Kent going to do for a living?

Superman has been around for almost eighty years. And in all that time he was always been portrayed, with one or two exceptions, as a mild mannered reporter for the Daily Planet. He took the job so that he would be at the central hub of information. Back then, everything got filtered through newspapers. In that newsroom Clark Kent would get reports from all over the world and know immediately where his help was needed.

Newspapers aren’t that central hub of information anymore. By the time something gets printed in a paper it’s been available online for at least twenty-four hours, and that’s probably being generous.

Clark Kent, mild mannered reporter, is almost as synonymous with Superman as Truth, Justice and the American Way.

Superhero’s are constantly having their origins updated. They existed in a kind of flexible timeline that’s designed to bring in new  readers on a regular basis(and fails miserably, but that’s another story). Iron Man originally was born out of the Cold War, then it was Vietnam War, then it was Gulf War, and Afghanistan/Iraq. Peter Parker was bitten by radioactive spider, nowadays it’s a genetically altered spider. And even in Superman’s story, Lex Luther started out as a mad scientist, then a crazy billionaire and is now the distinction of being the one-time, highschool best friend of Clark Kent.

But Clark Kent has always been a reporter for the Daily Planet. In his seventy-seven years in publication he’s had a short stint as a TV reporter and an even shorter stint in unemployment. But he always returns to being a reporter for the Daily Planet.

I wonder what kind of Superman my son will read about.

Clark Kent, emo and angst ridden blogger?

******

Remember, Fruitbasket from Hell is now available as an audiobook from Audible and iTunes for under $10.

The audiobook version of Fruitbasket from Hell is now available from iTunes for $3.95! Go buy it now leave a great review when you’re done reading it!

You know, yesterday morning I was talking to God and asking for His help in getting some projects going around here, seeking guidence on how to better monetize the stuff I do, and, wouldn’t you know, when I got home that night there was an email letting me know that it’s finally here: Fruitbasket from Hell for your ears!

That’s right. The Fruitbasket from Hell audiobook is now available from Audible.com. It’ll be available through Amazon and iTunes by the end of month. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know when it’s up in those stores. But, for now, you can get it from Audible for the low, low price of $6.96. That’s cheaper then most paperbacks. Go on, treat yourself and then tell all your friends how awesome this book is.

Here’s Chapter 1 for free:

Fruitbasket from Hell: Chapter 1

And people say God doesn’t answer prayers.

When you have eaten and are satisfied,
praise the LORD your God for the good land he has given you. (NIV)

Deuteronomy 8:10

Well, I had hoped to have two good things to share with you, but I guess I’ll have to settle for one.

Back at the beginning of February I submitted Fruitbasket from Hell into Amazon’s Breakout Novel contest. I didn’t really expect to win, given that last year’s winner was “serious literature,” but I had hoped to at least make it through the first round. But, I didn’t. Yes, it’s sad, but I still get the last laugh every time I sell another copy of Fruitbasket from Hell and I do sell them. Every day.

*****

My second bit of news is actually another entry in the Krumbine’s House Hunting Adventures.

After looking at almost fifty different homes and placing bids on six, we finally got a house!!!!

Except, maybe not.

We’ve been under contract with this house for last two weeks and it has been an emotional rollercoaster. One minute everything’s great and the next, everything’s falling apart. The rules keep changing on us from minute to minute. I want to say that we’ve probably almost lost the house at least twice. It is draining.

Our financing has been the biggest hurdle that we’ve had to overcome. Not that we can’t get it, but it’s that people aren’t sure if we can’t get it for this house. Thank you, Obama, for making this process as complicated as inhumanly possible.

As of this writing, we’re on an upswing. Our financing does finally seem to be locked in and we’re waiting for the home inspection to get done. If all goes well we’ll be closing at the end of March. Don’t worry, Rupert & Me is done far enough in advance that there won’t be any noticeable break as we move.

Fingers crossed, everything’s smooth sailing from here on out. Now that I’ve said that, I’ve probably jinxed us. A giant dinosaur will undoubtedly rise up and crush our house, leaving it in a billion, tiny pieces and we’ll still be forced to buy it.

And it is a nice house. Completely remodeled. 1400 square feet. Secret passageways and hidden underground tunnels. It’s everything I could hope for in a home.

I’m sorry, my wife’s giving me a look. I have to tell the truth now. There really aren’t any hidden passageways.

I have no doubt that this entire experience will be documented in great detail in future Rupert & Me strips. I foresee Jason and & Alice having to move….

*****

Speaking of Rupert & Me, I reached two hundred strips! This may not seem like a big thing, but it is. A lot of start up webcomics don’t reach two hundred this quickly, without missing a single update. That’s right. Not one single update missed. Go on, check the archives. I’ve actually increased my update schedule. Plus, Rupert & Me has been consistently improving every month. I mean, go back and look at the early strips and then look at today’s. April’s strips are even better looking.

Sorry to toot my own horn, but I’m very proud of myself and no one else is giving me a pat on the back.

That last sentence sounded more bitter than I intended it to. Allow me to elaborate.

I started Rupert & Me back in June of last year. I didn’t know anything about drawing, writing a comic strip, character design or website design. I have been literally learning everything on the go(Quick sidebar, shout out to my former boss Tammy Fuzz Face who thought learning by doing was retarded. Well, Tammy, you’re retarded. And fat. I’m sticking my tongue out at you.) I haven’t gotten as far as I would like, but looking back at where I started, I’ve come a long way.

So, yes, I’m feeling very proud of myself.

I’m totally taking tomorrow off.

A lot of people wonder where the character of Steve came from. I like to think he came from this song, right around the 0:55 mark. Be forewarned, there is some colorful language in this video. Don’t play it when little kids are around.

Also, Steve’s story started back in November with this strip and continued through till Thanksgiving.

I should get an award or something. How many webcomics make it to 200 strips without a single missed date? I’m going to pat myself on the back.

Don’t mind my ego, he’ll be leaving soon.

I should have good news to share next Tuesday. Please keep us in your prayers. Till then, another book excerpt. Toodles.

Explorers of the Unknown

About the book:

Explorers of the Unknown, the fan-favorite comic book from underdogs Matt and Nathan Roman, is about to hit its 100th issue To celebrate it’ll be switching from a monthly release schedule to a weekly one The only problem is, nobody told Matt. This is the situation Matthew Roman finds himself in upon returning from his honeymoon. This and his brother sleeping around with half the town’s female population. He’s, at best, agitated, and that’s putting it mildly. And thus begins our tale of two brothers, comic books, and newlyweds. . .

CHRISTIAN FICTION

Chapter 1 after the break.

Chapter 1

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to rip him to shreds. No, wait, I’ve got something better. I’m going to pull his entrails out through his nose and then wrap them around his neck, choking out whatever little life might be left in him. That’s what I’m going to do. I want you to imagine the most painful death possible and you may come close to imagining what I’m going to do to him,” Matthew Roman stormed into the offices of Awesome Comics. He was oblivious to the presence of the three people sitting in the lobby, one of whom was the new intern by the name of Sam Donavon. But even if he had been aware of the people, it was unlikely that Matt would have tempered his rage-filled monologue.

Jillian Fields effortlessly slipped out from behind her front desk and into Matt’s path blocking his entrance into the bullpen. She held up “While You Were Out” messages. “You have messages.”

Matt looked at Jillian and then at the messages. “I’m on a warpath here, I have no time for messages.”

“First,” Jillian continued, ignoring him completely. “Joe Turner called, said he had that ‘thing’ for you. He wouldn’t elaborate, so therefore I was forced to imagine the most absurd and potentially disgusting thing possible. Does your wife know that you’ve ordered a life-size photo of Princess Leia? In the metal bikini?”

Matt peeked around Jillian at the empty hallway. Then he looked at Jillian. Then back at the width of the hallway. Jillian was by no means a fat woman, and Matthew himself was equally lacking in girth, but there was no way he could get past her without some kind of physical contact, which, of course, would lead to all sorts of awkward and potentially legally incriminating circumstances. He pushed the glasses back up the bridge of his nose and said, “Can this not wait? There is blood to be spilt. And Joe Turner did not get me a life-size photo of Princess Leia.”

“Interesting,” Jillian went to the next message. “Second, speaking of your bride, she called. She said to turn on your cellphone and that it negates the point of having one if you’re not going to keep it on. Third, Joan Phelps called and wants you to call her back immediately, she said it was urgent,” she paused to double check the date. “And that was from a week and a half ago. So you should probably take care of that before killing anyone.”

“Murder between brothers always takes precedent over everything else. So please move.”

“You’re making a scene,” Jillian said.

“Yes, I know. That’s the whole point.”

She looked around him at the three people sitting in the lobby. “He’s not really going to kill his brother.”

Matt turned around. “Yes, I really am going to kill my brother.”

Jillian pointed to the skinny redhead sitting on the edge of the sofa who looked like he was about to pee in his pants from fear. “This is Sam Donavon. He’s one of our new interns. It’s been his lifelong dream to work here at Awesome Comics. You’re scarring him for life.”

“With enough therapy he can get over it. Now move.”

Jillian stood firm, folding her arms. “I’m sorry. This isn’t up for discussion. I’m not letting you pass until you give me your solemn word that you will not kill your brother.”

Matthew folded his arms. “I outweigh you by, like, sixty pounds. Probably more. There is nothing you can do to keep me from achieving my goal,” he paused and then added with emphasis, “I’ve been working out.”

“I don’t care,” Jillian said.

“That’s nice. I don’t care that you don’t care,” Matt said. “You’re not the hallway monitor. Now, move.”

“You’re a Christian. Doesn’t the Bible have some specific rules about killing? Like, you’re not supposed to do it?”

“You’re an Atheist, you can’t use the Bible to support your arguments. Now move.”

“No,” she stood firm. “It would seem that we are at an impasse.”

“No, actually, we’re not. I’m your boss. Move.”

“No, actually, you’re not.”

“Yes, actually, I am. You’re my secretary, ergo, I’m your boss. So, move.”

“I’m not your secretary,” Jillian said.

“You’re not?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Don’t be silly,” Matt said. “You just gave me my messages.”

“I’m an administrative assistant to the bullpen.”

“Who is also my secretary.”

“No.”

Matt scratched the back of his head. “Really?”

She nodded. “Really.”

“Whatever. I’m on a bloodletting quest, I don’t have time for these trivialities. Now move, my thirst must be quenched.”

She threw her hands up and stepped out of the way. “Fine. But I’m not cleaning up. I’m not the body remover either!”

“How was your honeymoon?” Nathan asked, not looking up from the drawing board as Mathew barged in.

“It was great. We saw some sights, we did some things, we had lots of sex and then we came home to find that my brother had committed me to a weekly release schedule for the build up to our one hundredth issue,” Matt replied. “So, yeah, you know, other than that, it was great.”

Nathan turned around in his seat.

Where Mathew Roman was of average height, narrow shoulders and thin build, Nathan Roman was obscenely tall, broad shouldered and stocky build. Mathew kept his hair longer and often had a neatly trimmed beard. Nathan had a buzz cut and was consistently clean shaven.

“What exactly constitutes as a lot of sex?” Nathan asked casually. “Once a day? Twice a day? Three times a day? Did you get sore?”

“More then average,” Matt replied.

“I have no idea what’s average. My average is probably different then other people’s average.”

“Hey, I know, let’s talk about something that’s not involving my sex life?” Matt suggested. “Like this release schedule you’ve committed us to.”

“What’s the big deal?” Nathan asked. “You’ve done weeklies before. We both have. You’re doing one now.”

“Well, beyond the fact that you didn’t consult me beforehand, Explorers of the Unknown isn’t a weekly comic!”

“But we have done it weekly before,” Nathan pointed out.

“For three or four weeks,” Matt said. “Not ten!”

“You normally script ahead,” Nathan said.

“Are you just cycling through your excuses here?” Matt asked. “Sometimes. Sometimes I script ahead. But I’ve been planning a wedding for the last three months and I’ve been on a honeymoon for the last two weeks. I am exactly one month ahead. One month. We cannot do this. We haven’t even done an outline for the next year.”

“Yes we have,” Nathan said.

Matt paused. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve done an outline.”

“No we haven’t.”

Nathan paused, chewing on the eraser end of his pencil. “We haven’t?”

Matt shook his head. “No.”

“Well,” Nathan tapped his fingers on his legs. “We’ve got ideas.”

“Yes, we have ideas,” Matt conceded.

“So we’ll be flying by the seat of our pants.”

Matt folded his hands and took a deep breath. “I am going to talk to Phil now and then I will come back here and bludgeon you repeatedly. I am doing it in this order so as I don’t have blood on me when I talk to my Editor-in-Chief, for that might make me look crazy.”

Matt turned and walked out of the cubicle. Nathan hurried after him.

“Phil liked the idea. He really liked the idea.”

“Phil likes anything that he can build an event out of,” Matt replied over his shoulder. “And besides, you can’t draw that fast.”

“I was going to get Peter to help out with the backgrounds,” Nathan said.

“And?” Nathan prompted.

“And what?”

“Having Peter help out with the backgrounds isn’t going to make this move any faster,” Matt said, rounding the corner.

“He does draw pretty quickly. The guy’s practically a machine,” Nathan said.

“We should have discussed this beforehand,” Matt said.

“We did.”

Matt stopped cold and turned around. “We did?”

Nathan nodded his head vigorously. “Yeah.”

“Oh really? And when did this alleged conversation take place?” Matt asked.

“It was at DragonCon,” Nathan said.

“DragonCon last year?”

“No, DragonCon two years ago.”

“Okay, well, that doesn’t help your argument. It was two years ago!”

“And we discussed the possibility of doing an event for our one hundredth issue,” Nathan said.

“Again, it was two years ago!” Matt repeated. “And we said nothing about doing a weekly!”

“Well, that’s sorta true,” Nathan conceded.

“There’s no ‘sorta’ about this,” Matt said.

Matt walked into Phil Marr’s office. The Editor-in-Chief of Awesome Comics was a forty-five year old native New Yorker with a slight penchant for hyperbole.

“I don’t know what he told you,” Matt pointed at his brother, “but it can’t be done.”

Phil Marr, who was just barely overweight and shaved his head regularly, stood hunched over his desk looking over pages from Gatekeepers. He looked back and forth between the two brothers. “Excuse me?”

“There’s no way Explorers of the Unknown can go weekly for ten weeks,” Matt said. “It is not possible.”

“Okay, I don’t want to get in the middle of something here, so I’m just going to pretend you two just didn’t walk into my office,” Phil said. “It’s your comic, you guys can do whatever you want. You’re the ones who are about to get a million dollar movie deal out of these.”

Matt’s face went dumbfounded. “Huh?” he turned to his brother. “What?”

“Yeah, Joan called,” Nathan said. “There’s apparently some interest in the movie rights for EotU. Serious interest. Like, bidding war kind of interest.”

“And you didn’t tell me this before because…?”

Nathan shrugged. “You were yelling at me.”

******

Like it? Read the rest: Amazon Kindle, iTunes, Dead Trees, Everything Else

My wife and I have some stuff going on this week. I’m hoping to be able to make an annoucement or two next Tuesday, but till then I thought I’d give some love to my ugly step-children, Reflections of the Pink Elephant and Explorers of the Unknown.

Today’s excerpt is from Pink Elephant. It was written when I was employed as a 911 Dispatcher and thought cursing was fun. So, it’s got plenty of R rated language, don’t click through if you’re easily offended. I’ll run an excerpt from Explorers on Thursday.

What the book is about:

Chris Allen is going to have a busy 12 days. He’s a 911 Dispatcher and part-time online columnist. Family’s coming into town for his brother’s wedding, Chris is trying to get a new girlfriend, but his ex is still hanging around, a 911 call gone wrong is probably going to send him to court and then there’s the impending book deal for his online column. There’s also a lot of people talking about sex. Really. I’m not kidding about the sex part.

SECULAR FICTION

MATURE READERS

CONTAINS PROFANITY AND MATURE TOPICS

Reflections of the Pink Elephant

TUESDAY

1

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND.”

“It’s not that difficult.”

“Says you.”

“Yes, says me.”

“I know I’m missing something here.”

“Well, seeing as I think I made myself very clear, I wouldn’t know what that is.”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” I said, rubbing my eyes. We were seated at a small table in the coffee shop of a franchise bookstore that shall remain nameless for naming would give it power. And besides, it made me feel all dirty to be here. “You spent six months in France and didn’t have one romantic interlude? Not one? Not even, like, a little romantic infatuation with the wineboy or something?”

Josephine Marsh sat across from me. She brushed her brown hair behind her left ear, an unconscious move, half the time she’s never even aware she’s doing it. “I didn’t go to France to engage in romantic interludes.”

She was about my height, maybe a little shorter. She wore a blue button down blouse and white Capris. Joey was an old friend of mine. Not old in the sense that she was twenty years my senior, because she wasn’t, but old because we had known each other a long time. Give or take about five years. Whereas I joined the real world workforce, Joey attended an out of state college that reminded me more of a nunnery than anything.

Joey was, how should I say this? She was smart. She was certainly good looking, but smart. Really smart. Traditionally I don’t hang out with people smarter than me, it tends to give me a complex. For Joey, though, I make an exception. See, I’m nice like that.

Oh, my name was Chris Allen. Actually, it was Eugene Christopher Allen, but I don’t think I have to go into the reasoning behind shortening it, do I? I was a twenty-four year old male, with twenty-five just creeping around the corner, who was currently employed as a 911 Dispatcher, which paid more than my last job working at a library. Although, when I was at the library I didn’t have to worry about late dues. That was nice. I miss that.

“It’s France,” I continued. “You’re expected to have a whirlwind romance, filled with passion and desire with a Frenchman named Jacques. Hell, it’s practically tradition.”

“I didn’t meet anyone named Jacques.”

“I’m sorry, you ever hear of role playing?”

“I’m trying to share the wealth of my international experiences with you here and you’re mocking me. Did you know that the President of Serbia was assassinated shortly after I left there?”

I nodded sagely. “Ah, I see. Very interesting. So instead of months filled with romantic passion you went around getting important world leaders killed.”

“Serbia is a country, not a world leader. And the President of Serbia is not a world leader. You probably never even heard of them till I just brought it up now.”

“Not true,” I said. “I saw a Bond film with Serbians in it.”

“Those aren’t real Serbians, they’re racial stereotypes.”

“And if it wasn’t for our racial stereotypes where would this country be?” I asked.

“In a better place?”

“Hey, at least we bath over here.”

“Another racial stereotype,” she said.

“Not a racial stereotype,” I countered. “Hard fact. What do you think the whole business with the guillotine was?” I switched topics before she had a chance to reply. “Did you at least visit the Eiffel Tower?”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no? What is this business with no? You were in France for six months and you didn’t even visit the Eiffel Tower? I was all set to let you off the hook about the Jacques thing, but this is just too much.”

“Besides,” she said, taking a sip from her coffee, “In reality the Eiffel Tower is hardly the icon of romance and adventure that you’ve been lead to believe. It is, in fact this orangey-colored bronze thing that undoubtedly looks atrocious up close.”

“Well, you wouldn’t know, because you didn’t go, now did you?”

“Anyway,” she continued, “I wasn’t really in France. Aix was really sort of on the fringe of France.”

“The fringe of France?” I repeated. “Have you been working on that one?”

“I did eat snails, though,” Joey offered.

I made a face. “You ate snails? That’s just disgusting.  Remind me never to kiss you again.”

“What? It was part of the experience.”

“Yeah, well, so is hooking up with a dashing young Frenchman named Jacques and visiting the Eiffel Tower. But yet you did neither of those,” I leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “Do you think snails have this kind of underground railroad movement? You know, to escape here to America where they are treated as dinner time delicacies and can die humane deaths beneath the heels of people’s shoes?”

Joey leaned forward, matching my posture. “Where in the world did that come from?”

“You didn’t eat them raw did you?”

“Can we mock your life for a little while?”

I waved her off. “There’ll be time for that later.”

Joey sat back. “Okay, how about this. If you don’t stop I’m going to start using big words.”

“Bring it on,” I replied. “I’ve been reading the dictionary every night for the past six months. I just finished the P’s. I’ll bet you don’t even know what prothalamion means.”

“It’s a song written in honor of a marriage. Comes from the Greek words ‘pro’ and ‘thalamos’ which mean before and the bridal chamber, respectively.”

It rolled off her tongue like it had been sitting there, just waiting to be released. Did I mention she was smart? Very brainy. Attractive, but very brainy. I think I felt that complex coming on.

I folded my arms and pouted, like the sore loser I was. “I don’t like you anymore,” I said. And then added, “You read too much.”

“Good comeback, Shakespeare.”

“You know, I was going to offer to buy you dinner tonight, what with you being broke and all, but now I’m having second thoughts.”

“Can we get back to a serious discussion here?”

“Serious is such a general term. In fact, I dare say it’s vague.”

“I’d hardly call it vague…”

“Besides,” I said, “bantering’s fun. And it’s the one thing I know that I can do better than you.”

“Ah, but can you banter in French?” she countered with one of those know-it-all smiles. I was familiar with the kind. I’ve been known to use them myself on occasion.

“Can you?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I can discuss the merits of Roman Polanksi’s films in French.”

“Oh, you want to discuss Roman Polanksi? Let us discuss, then, how he’s a fugitive in the United States, but yet still managed to win a Best Director Oscar.”

“That does not take away from his status as a brilliant filmmaker.”

“No, but it sort of takes his credibility down a few notches,” I replied. “Since when did you start eschewing the facts in favor of personal taste? And for a Frenchman, no less. Did they brainwash you over there? Something in the snails perhaps?”

“I’m waiting to have a serious conversation here,” she said, finishing her coffee.

“Bah!” I exclaimed, waving my hands around. “Seriousness is for fools and poor destitute families who have lived their entire lives off of spam. Speaking of which, how was the family you stayed with?”

“Nice segue.”

“Thank you. It was totally off the cuff. I’m thinking about going on the road.”

“The Jean-Luc’s were very nice. Did I tell you they owned a vineyard?”

“No, some how you managed to leave out that juicy detail. Although, I must admit, some of your e-mails did have an inebriated accent to them.”

“I don’t write with an accent.”

“Yes, but I read with one.”

“Regardless of which,” she continued. “ There was no mass consumption of wine on my part. Although Mr. and Mrs. Jean-Luc did seem regard it as a solve-all for several family disputes that I witnessed.”

“Oooh, family disputes. This should be good. Did anyone run off and marry the milkmaid?”

She looked at me. “Where do you get these ideas?”

“They come to me spontaneously. I’m special like that. You know that.”

“There was no running off with milkmaids, although Mrs. Jean-Luc did try, on several occasions, to foster a love connection between me and her eldest son.”

“ ‘Foster a love connection.’ That’s good,” I said. “Can I use it?”

“Should I just come back when you’re ready to leave the stream of consciousness?”

“One never leaves the stream of consciousness,” I replied. “It flows with us wherever we go. Speaking of which, did you hear that Jessica Fairwell got married?”

Joey blinked. “What? When? Are you serious?”

“Jessica Fairwell got married. About a year ago. And, yes, I’m always serious,” I deadpanned.

“I thought she wanted to go to college?”

“She did,” I said. “But apparently she wanted to stay at home and raise children even more.”

“She’s pregnant?”

“Again. They had their first child about a month ago. A boy. And a little terror, too. Kid’s got Child’s Play written all over him.”

“And she got knocked up again so soon?”

I did a hands up. “I look at it this way, either they’re a very happy couple, and this child shall always be remembered as the “oopsie” or they live really empty lives and have no idea how to fill them up aside from having children.”

Joey nodded. “True, but there is a third possibility.”

“There is?”

“Yep. Who’d she marry?”

“Vincent Carthen.”

Another nod. “Well, they were both homeschoolers, and Christian ones at that.”

“Ah,” I joined with the nodding. “I see what you’re getting at. Years of sexual frustration coming to a head.”

“Both literally and figuratively,” she added.

“Hey, I like that. That was good.”

“Thank you,” she gave a little bow. “I am known to have my moments.”

“But, you see, both of us were Christian homeschoolers, too. So that statement could also imply when either one of us gets married we too shall be besieged by previously unsated sexual frustration. Of course, this wouldn’t have been a problem for you if you had just done your romantic interlude with Jacques. Me on the other, I masturbated regularly as a teenager, so I doubt I’m feeling as frustrated as you are.”

“I’m touched by your concern. It’s nice to know that you care.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“But you’re forgetting one thing.”

“Which is?” I got to my feet. She followed.

“We’re both grounded young adults who were raised by careful, intelligent and caring parents. And, of course, women can masturbate as well.”

“What does that have to do with anything? We’re both still neurotic as hell. And yes, women can masturbate, but let’s face it, that particular sport is more popular among the males of our species than the females.”

“And why should that be? Every sexual escapade that I’ve heard usually ends with the failure of satisfying the female. It’s really not that difficult to get a man off. For a woman, however, it’s an art form. Why shouldn’t women masturbate more then men? For half of them it’s the only kind of sexual satisfaction they’ll ever receive.”

“What are you all jaded about? Last time I checked you were still a virgin.”

“Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t feel the pain of my sisters.”

“Speaking of pain, my brother’s getting married next week.”

“Okay, see, now we’re going to have to work on your segues because you’re starting to make with the Freudian slips.”

“Hey, I’ve got nothing against marriage.”

“Are we expecting Steven to have any pent up sexual frustration issues?”

I shrugged, we made our way through the tables, heading towards the stacks of books. “I doubt it. They’ve been living together for a year.”

Joey’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, your brother’s been living in sin for the past year? How did you fail to tell me about this?”

“Please, is it our place to judge?”

“No, but we can make sarcastic remarks.”

“She’s a nice Jewish girl named Jacqueline.”

“That’s not a very Jewish name.”

“No, but she’s pretty kosher.”

“Well, that’s good to know, just in case she gets stuck on an island with any traditional Jews who have nothing else to eat.”

“And you wonder where I come up with these things,” I said. “How long are you going to be in town?”

Joey looked at me guardedly. “Why?”

“What’s with the look? It’s not like I needed an alibi or something. Just a date.”

“To the wedding?”

I looked around the bookstore. “Was there a breakdown in communication that I was unaware of?”

“Hey, I’m just making sure we’re talking about the same thing here. The last time I went as your date to a social function we got into a very loud verbal dispute with a closet Jehovah’s Witness that resulted in us being unceremoniously tossed out.”

“Which was more your fault than mine. But this is an entirely different situation. Trust me, we’re not going to get thrown out of this one unless one of us makes a speech filled with snide sarcastic remarks about people living in sin,” I replied. “If I’m seen attending this social function dateless Auntie Emma will feel obligated to play matchmaker and try to set me up with some of the nice girls at her church, who, no doubt, are suffering some serious sexual frustration.”

“You know I have a strict no-wedding-that’s-not-my-own policy. And besides, you’ve just sprung this thing onto a woman at the last minute. I just got back from France, what do you expect me to wear?”

I shrugged. “A dress? You can borrow one of mine.”

“That’s not funny. It’s disturbing. Make a comment like that in a church and the Christian community will mark you for life. You’ll be doomed to spend the rest of your life in shame. You’ll have to wear a paper bag over your head until the day you die.”

I didn’t reply. I just stared her down, giving her my best little boy look.

She folded her arms. “Classes start in three weeks. I can’t afford to spend two weeks down here.”

“Hey, friends don’t let friends go to weddings by themselves.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have a girlfriend for these sort of things?”

“That really depends on your definition of a ‘girlfriend.’”

“My definition of girlfriend is a girl who you’re romantically involved and goes by the name Danielle.”

“In that case, we broke up.”

“Really? Why?”

“Conflict of interest. I wanted to date somebody who was less screwed up than me, and she wasn’t.”

“Oh, so not only are you dateless, but you’re on the rebound. You  basically want me to be your consolation prize.”

“That’s not true. I broke up with her. Look, I’m asking you to save me from mass humiliation here. Where’s your humanity?”

“Same place as yours, away from here,” she replied. She looked around. We were in the graphic novel section. “Okay, tell me again, how do you justify comic books as actual literature?”

“First, you have obviously never read Neil Gaiman’s Sandman,” I replied, replacing a copy of Brian Michael Bendis’ Jinx back on the shelf. “Second, why should I have to justify it? And third, for such a self-proclaimed broad minded individual you’re awfully close minded about alternative forms of literature.”

Joey shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “It has nothing to do with being closed minded,” We made our way down the aisle of the bookstore. The store was moderately filled with just enough customers to keep the employees from bugging us about whether or not we’ve found what we’ve been looking for. “It has to do with your unhealthy obsession with funny books.”

I stopped and turned around to face her. “The only people who call them funny books are the ones who still think Elvis was the devil. And it’s obvious you’ve never read Cerebus.”

“Oh wait,” she tapped a finger against her lips thoughtfully. “That sounds familiar. Isn’t that the one about the aavardark? I think I remember you telling me about it. Isn’t the author a woman hater?”

I glowered at her and resumed my walk down the aisle. “That’s not the point. Let’s go back to Sandman. Perfect example of classic comic book literature. I’d even recommend it over Lord of the Rings.”

“Ah, but Lord of the Rings has Christian allegories in it.”

“So does the Matrix. What’s your point? Christian allegories are a dime a dozen. You can find them in any story, if you look hard enough. Even Harry Potter.”

Joey raised a hand to her face giving me an over-the-top expression of aghast horror. “Don’t let the Conservative Christian Coalition catch you saying that. They’ll burn you at the stake.”

I smiled. “The CCC. That’s cute. Can I use it?”

“Please, by all means. Don’t stop stealing now.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” I replied, turning down another aisle.

“Does it ever occur to you that you like to read comic books because they don’t have so many words?”

“Did I do something to elicit all this cruel mocking, or do you just feel like you’ve got to play catch-up for the last six months. And by the way, I just finished Steven King’s The Stand,” I looked over my shoulder, “The unabridged version.”

“Don’t you ever read anything other than pop fiction?” She paused and pulled out a biography on JFK.

I shrugged. “Well, there is the Bible.”

She looked at me. “Not funny,” She replaced the book. “Seriously, though, you’re going to rot your brain with all this mindless entertainment,” We turned down another aisle. “Here, read this, it’ll sprout brain cells in your head,” She yanked a book off the shelf and shoved into my face.

It was a copy of Medea.

I peered over the cover at her. “Uh, maybe the Cliff Notes version?”

“This is one of the great classic Greek plays. You don’t read the Cliff Notes version.”

I shrugged. “Maybe a book-on-tape copy?”

She shook her head and sighed. “There’s no hope for you.”

I made my way down the aisle. “Wasn’t there another book called Medea’s Kiss? I heard that was good.”

“That was an overrated piece of crap,” she replied, catching up to me. “The author was a hack. It doesn’t even deserve to be included with the rest of pop fiction. Hell, it didn’t even have anything to do with Medea.”

“So, you didn’t like it then?”

“To say the least.”

I paused and looked around. “What are we doing in the self-help section?”

“Expressing our subconscious Freudian desires?”

I rolled my eyes and started making my way to the back of the store, where they kept all the bargain books.

We had to pass through the sex section, which ran adjunct to the self-help section. I permitted myself a wry smile as I thought about the ironic possibilities.

Our path was blocked. And what a lovely block it was.

To say she was a specimen of womanly beauty would sound cheesy and hackneyed. But she was. There was something very graceful-looking about her. If I was feeling particularly eloquent, I would say she looked like elegance given form.

In short, she was just the kind of woman any man would stop and gawk at. Like I was doing.

Joey nudged me. “You’re holding up traffic.”

“Shut up. It’s the sex section. Nobody’s going to come down here as long as there’s someone else here.”

“We live in an enlightened time, people are no longer ashamed of sex.”

I turned around. “Then why do you never go to a movie with your parents that you know has at least one sex scene in it?”

“That’s family embarrassment,” she said. “Totally different.”

I turned back around. The woman was gone.

“What was that all about?”

“Just appreciating one of God’s beautiful creations.”

Joey folded her arms. “How come you never look at me like that?”

“Because we’re platonic friends. You might get ideas, if I looked at you like that. You know, like marriage and kids.”

“You know, she could be your solution to your brother’s wedding.”

I threw my hands up. “Are you on drugs or something? I can’t think of any other explanation for your behavior. I’m not going to ask a complete stranger to be my date to my brother’s wedding. For all I know she could be crazy, or worse, married.”

Joey shrugged. “Okay, fine, I’m still not going.”

“Oh, well, we shall see about that,” I wagged a finger at her ominously. “We shall see-”

I didn’t get to finish my witty comeback when I turned the corner and ran right into my specimen of womanly beauty.

“Oops!”

“Sorry.”

She looked at me. There was a flicker of recognition across her face.

“Do I know you?” She had a beautiful voice.  It had a sort of bouncing melody to it.

“Not unless one of us has been busy stalking the other,” I replied.

She looked at me, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration. Her eyes were a dark shade of green. “Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Ever dialed 911 before?”

She snapped her fingers. “Oh, you!’

I threw my hands up. “Yes! Me!” I paused. “What are we talking about?”

“You work at the 911 center, right?”

“Yes….”

“I’m Grace Castada,” She stuck her hand out. “I work down in warrants. We talk all the time over the phone.”

The little bells started going off. I shook her hand. “Right, Grace. This is what you look like.”

She paused, giving me a wary look. Right then, be more careful with the offhand remarks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing bad. It’s just that we don’t have an abundance of beautiful people working at the Agency. And since you’re working down in warrants…”

“You had just assumed the worst and figured I had gone butch.”

I nodded. “More or less.”

“Then we’re even. I thought you were a fat, middle-aged balding man who played too many videogames.”

Oooh, the girl’s got spunk. I think I’m in love.

“Anyway, it was good to finally meet in person. Stop by warrants some time,” she headed towards the cashier, tossing me a small wave and another smile.

I returned the wave.

“Feel the sexual tension. She wanted you, you know,” Joey stood beside me, folding her arms.

“You, shut up.”

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