Friday, May 28, 2010
Words to live by
Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead.
Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow.
Do not walk beside me for the path is narrow.
In fact, just piss off and leave me alone.
Sex is like air. It's not that important unless you aren't getting any.
No one is listening until you fart.
Always remember you're unique. Just like everyone else.
Never test the depth of the water with both feet.
If you think nobody cares whether you're alive or dead, try missing a couple of mortgage payments.
Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away
and you have their shoes.
If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you.
Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day.
If you lend someone 20 and never see that person again, it was probably well worth it.
If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.
Some days you are the bug; some days you are the windscreen.
Don't worry; it only seems kinky the first time.
Good judgment comes from bad experience ... and most of that comes from bad judgment.
A closed mouth gathers no foot.
There are two excellent theories for arguing with women. Neither one works.
Generally speaking, you aren't learning much when your lips are moving.
Experience is something you don't get until just after you need it.
We are born naked, wet and hungry, get slapped on our arse ... then things just keep getting worse.
Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.
Enjoy the eye candy.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
MASK OF THE BETRAYER
Whimsical Publications, LLC
Fiction-Psychological thriller/suspense Whimsical Publications, LLC/paperback 282 pages April 2010 $13.95
When the whispers in the night, the whispers of her lover, are the whispers of a killer, will Margot escape before she becomes the next victim? Deep in the foothills of Red Rock Canyon, a serial killer stalks. He leaves his signature—a skull mask on the corpse. But when the homicide cop realizes the crimes are the reenactment of a case never solved ten years ago--all fingers point to Michael DeVeccio. And when Margot realizes she is married to the killer, her life becomes a living nightmare. Suspecting her affair with Carlos, he had surveillance equipment installed all over the mansion. Once he showed her the very graphic video of her and his uncle going at it in the satin-lined coffin, he’d used it to his advantage. Michael suspected his uncle knew more about his parents’ accident than he’d let on, but couldn’t prove a thing. Desperate to uncover the truth, Michael blackmailed Candace into getting Carlos to confess on tape. If she failed, she’d be killed. Stuck between a rock and a hard spot, Candace had done things to the old coot that disgusted even her. But those things had made the old man sing like a canary and the taped confession had saved her life. After her mission was a done deal, Michael kicked her out of Vegas and told her if she ever returned, he would rip her lungs out. Reaching Carlos DeVeccio’s bedroom, she got a little thrill as old memories surfaced. Just a few more seconds and she’d fall into the arms of her lover. She smiled to herself. She had returned to Vegas for a reason. She was flat broke. But after tonight, Michael would be her ticket back into the world of luxury. Then she’d be mistress of the manor once more. And more to the point, she’d have access to his billion dollar bank roll. With a devious smile, she pushed her way through the heavy mahogany door. Crossing the threshold, she entered the house of horrors. Carlos DeVeccio had been a real nut, one straight out of the books. But with her fetish for face masks, she loved his collection and had often come into his wing just to admire them. What a thrill it had been to have sex in the coffin, howling along with the werewolf. Some might think it a bit kinky, but they didn’t know what they were missing. Calling out to her lover, her pulse quickened a beat. “Michael? Are you here yet, darling?” That’s when she heard it, manic laughter from the final circle of hell. A slither of fear trickled down her spine, releasing a wild rush of adrenaline. Carlos? She thought about the death of Lacy Diamond. Two Ninja assassinations were no coincidence. Sensing danger, she felt for her sword. It was gone. Panic soared through her. Where the hell was it? The laughter got louder and louder, moving in closer and closer. It seemed to be bouncing off the walls. She couldn’t tell from which direction it was coming. Just then, the bell in the tower gonged, thundering off the walls like canon balls. Instinctively,she covered her ears with her hands. Where the hell was Michael? Evil eyes from the face masks followed her every move. She had to escape this hell before it was too late. She couldn’t think over the gonging of the bell. Every few seconds, the werewolf howled at the moon. She screamed, even though she knew no one would ever hear her. Floundering in wild disarray, disoriented by the darkness and relentless gonging, she searched in vain for the door. Her arms swam in mid-air, like a person drowning, desperate for an anchor, something to hold onto. She reached out and grabbed at nothing. She had to find a way out of this mausoleum of the living dead before it was too late. Where the hell was Michael? The laughter got closer. Perspiration drenched her skin. The chilling laughter echoed in her ears, louder and louder, closer and closer. The bell in the bell tower broke through the thin filament of sanity she had left. The werewolf open his mouth and howled at the moon. Where was Michael? He’d know what to do. He was a master swordsman. His fencing skills were extraordinary. He could wield a Ninja star with his eyes closed and hit the mark. Where was he? Blood thundered in her ears, but not loud enough to block out the manic laughter. It was close but she couldn’t see a thing. She wished she had her sword. She turned to run; it was too late. She heard a distinct click. The killer had just depressed the button on her Zorro sword, releasing the thirty-seven inch blade. His psychotic laughter reached an ear-splitting crescendo just as the bell in the tower gonged out its last chime. From the dark shadows, Valentino pounced, her Zorro sword gleaming in the moonlight. “Surprise!” he thrust the sword into her heart. “I promised to make you scream, darling Candace. Let me hear you scream.”
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