Riz Raru in… The Case of the Sticky Fingers, Part 4!

Check out Part 1Part 2, and Part 3.

This one’s a little short at just shy of 800 words, but there’s so many jokes it’s almost unreadable! <-That’s a good thing! Hope you enjoy!

A plucky PI users her unconventional methods to find out the truth after an army private gets caught under the influence of marijuana but claims she never smoked.

If you’d like a copy of my Star Wars parody, Scrote One, sign up for my email list (just click here). If you read it and enjoy it, I’d love a review on Amazon.

scroteonerevised-1


At the morgue, the mortician told me there was no body there with the name Jessica. I had her check for Jess’, Jessies, and Archibalds, because I really wanted to see a dead guy named Archibald.

I told her a little bit about my case and she said she’d heard about it on the news. I was surprised when she told me Jessica wasn’t dead. It felt like people kept telling me that. Talk about déjà vu.

Luckily it checked out with the story Belda had fed me, so I was onto something, even if it was something everyone else seemed to know already. At least I was earning my paycheck. After all, I’d already spent my pay on a dead body I bought from the mortician.

“I told you, I’m not selling you a body! Get out of here!,” the mortician yelled as she chased me out. Whatever. It saved me five grand.

I was glad to leave. None of the bodies in the morgue could tell me where Jessica was anyway, not even when I moved their mouths with my hand. I thought Ditch could help, but I hadn’t heard from him. Not since his frantic phone message asking about a wallet. If he was speaking in code, I didn’t know what it meant.

I bought a soda with a dollar from Ditch’s wallet and called Belda.

“She’s at the park. I told you that,” Belda said through the speaker, sounding annoyed for some reason. By Belda’s tone, I was glad Jessica wasn’t dead, because it sounded like a bad time to break the news. I hung up on her and headed straight for the park, only getting in two accidents on the way.

Once I was done washing the shrapnel and blood off the side of my car, I pulled into the parking lot of the park.

The park buzzed with typical activity: couples walking together, children playing, and film students making a terrible movie. There was one unusual thing in the park, however: Patrick Poogal, proprietor of Patrick Poogal’s Private Investigation Company LLC. My greatest rival.

He was making his way towards me, eating an onion like an apple because he always does. He’s the type of guy you’d fuck more for his confidence than his looks, then you’d fuck him for his looks.

He asked me what I was doing, as if I wasn’t obviously slashing his tires. Turns out it wasn’t even his car so I went to another car and started slashing those tires. He told me that wasn’t his car either. I should have known. It had some stupid window decal of a stick-figure husband, wife, kid, and a dog in a wheelchair.

“I’ll slash every tire here until I find yours,” I warned him.

He took a big bite of his onion and asked “what’s got you in such a huff?” blowing his breath sexily with the word huff.

“Because you didn’t take the case to help this girl. You took it because you’re trying to get under my skin. You wouldn’t help a woman if she was on fire screaming, ‘help me’.”

He said I was being ridiculous, so I grabbed a can of gasoline and poured it all over myself and struck a match to prove a point. He wrestled the match from me in a panic before I burned alive.

Damn. Patrick, 1. Riz, 0.

He stomped out the match and plugged his nose, “Jesus Christ, there’s something wrong with that gasoline, it smells like skunk.”

The joke was on him. I already smelled like skunk before the gasoline spilled on me.

Needing to get on with the show, I told him he needed to get off my turf, calling him a couple of choice four letter words, including some that weren’t even real words.

“I didn’t think you knew those words,” he said with a wink.

“I know a lot of words. Like dog, marshmallow, cerebral palsy, penis, vagina, penis-vagina, and um, a bunch of other ones,” I told him, brilliantly.

“Do you know ‘date’?” he said, as if he was all smooth or something, and not totally making me wet.

I told him I was seeing someone, plus, he was a total jerk, so I’d answer him in the only way I knew how…

“No, thank you.”

I marched away, sidestepping ghosts, because I see them, remember? I hoped Jessica had some answers for me, and that there weren’t any skunks in this park. I’d been sprayed enough that day


Let me know what you think in the comments! And make sure to check out my books on Amazon. 🙂

What’s Coming to Streaming in February – The Golden Stream

Fred Le and myself bring you what’s coming up on Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon streaming, as well as what’s leaving… with jokes!

Also make sure to check out Riz Raru in… The Case of the Sticky Fingers, a new story I’m releasing week by week.

And sign up for my mailing list (CLICK HERE TO DO SO) and I’ll send you a copy of Scrote One: A Star Wars Parody!

Best Superbowl Joke Wins a Copy of Scrote One

The person who writes the best Superbowl Joke (in my opinion) will get a paperback copy of Scrote One: A Star Wars Parody (or just buy it for as low as $1.99 on kindle).

scroteonerevised-1

Also check out my new series, Riz Raru in… The Case of the Sticky Fingers

Riz Raru in… The Case of the Sticky Fingers, Part 3

Check out Part 1, and Part 2.

A plucky PI users her unconventional methods to find out the truth after an army private gets caught under the influence of marijuana but claims she never smoked.

If you’d like a copy of my Star Wars parody, Scrote One, sign up for my email list (just click here). If you read it and enjoy it, I’d love a review on Amazon.

scroteonerevised-1

 


Part 3

I knew it was important that I talk to Jessica immediately, so I only spent three days in Vegas instead of four, and then it was off to her home.

She lived with her mother in a house I remembered from egging it way back five minutes before I knocked on the door. Her mother, Belda, answered. She looked like a Belda. You know, old and boring. She didn’t like when I said that. I told her I was just kidding. She said she didn’t find it very funny so I explained to her that it was funny because it was true. She didn’t like that either. Finally, I decided to shut up and urged her to let me in. She was starting to ask about the eggs and I had a feeling she wasn’t going to like the answer.

She left me alone in the living room while she finished something up in the kitchen. It gave me time to case the joint. I examined the knick-knacks on the mantle, pocketing a few. Nothing too valuable or incriminating. Just some elephant statues and an urn. The urn didn’t fit in my pocket so I put it back and just took the ashes.

Several pictures of Jessica were proudly on display, including some from her recent graduation from the military academy. It felt nostalgic for me. It reminded me of the time I thought about joining the military. You never forget about the times like that.

Belda came back in the room with a tray of drinks.

“What is that? Tea or something?” I said jokingly. She said it was. Neither of us found the situation very funny.

“You don’t understand how important this is to me and Jessica. Without her military salary, we can’t afford to keep this house. Not to mention our family name, tarnished,” said Belda, nibbling on a biscuit.

“Your family name?” I asked.

“Yes. The Rios family- “

“Rios?!” I interrupted, “that’s the name of the murdered girl I’m looking for!”

It took her seven minutes to explain to me that Jessica hadn’t been murdered, and that she was baffled why I was there if I hadn’t already known Jessica was her daughter. What she was saying made too much sense for me to doubt. Once I understood most of it, and could pretend that I understood the rest, I told her she had my full vote of confidence.

Once we were back on track she offered me some of the tea. I refused since it could have easily been weed tea. She told me it wasn’t, but I couldn’t be so sure. Her daughter had mysteriously gotten high without smoking, after all. She said that made sense, so I told her she owed me a dollar. It took me seven minutes to explain to her why she owed me a dollar before she finally gave in, or just got tired of guarding her purse so tightly.

To kill the whole tea issue, I knocked the teapot to the ground. You could tell she knew I meant business because she asked me to leave. This wasn’t going well, but it was going better than it usually does.

Belda continued to give me whatever information she had. “All she ever wanted was to be in the military. Like her father. She’s never smoked anything in her life. Drugs or otherwise.”

“So, you’re saying your daughter has never smoked anything? No joints, cigarettes… meats?”

She didn’t follow, so I slid her the smoking gun, pun intended: a folder with pictures of Jessica at a BBQ, smoking meats.

I put my hand on Belda’s shoulder to comfort her, and to discreetly wipe some gunk off on her blouse.

“Looks like your daughter hasn’t told you everything. The first thing you need to do is accept your daughter is a liar. I suggest we turn her in, or drown her to save face.”

She told me that it was just barbecue and that can’t possibly be what I meant. I told her she was right, but in court that wouldn’t matter.

“No offense, Ms. Raru, but you certainly don’t seem like you’re suited for this type of work. You hardly seem like you take investigating seriously, and you certainly don’t seem mentally equipped to carry a gun.”

I would have shot her face off right then and there for insulting me like that, but I’d forgotten all my bullets. She was right though. I told her that I’d never held a gun without fatally shooting someone.

She said, “accidents happen.” Yeah… accidents.

I knew she needed some assurance. I usually charge more for that, but she really needed it. “Don’t worry. I’m going to make sure I put every ounce of my being into this case. Except for poopoo and cah-cah because that would be gross.”

I got up to leave, but stopped to take note of a decrepit old ghost that had appeared behind Belda. Remember how I can see those?

“I think your house might be haunted?” I said.

“Why do you say that?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but there’s a ghost right next to you.”

She looked at the ghost.

“That’s my brother, William. And he’s not a ghost,” she said. William just shrugged. He must have felt dead, or something.

It was time to get serious and find out who murdered Jessica.


Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments!

Don’t forget to sign up for my mailing list so you can get your copy of Scrote One! (just click here)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Case of the Sticky Fingers, Part 2!

Read Part 1 Here (it’s very funny!)

If you’d like a copy of my Star Wars parody, Scrote One, sign up for my email list (just click here). If you read it and enjoy it, I’d love a review on Amazon.

scroteonerevised-1

And now… here’s part two of Riz Raru in… The Case of the Sticky Fingers


It was my 20th time visiting the cemetery that month. You could say I go a lot. Go ahead. Say it.

Mom, dad. I still haven’t found out who killed you, or how you died, or who framed Roger Rabbit since I never saw that movie, but I promise I will. If you could just help me find the answers. I see so many ghosts, but I never see you… I miss you so much.

“Excuse me.” A man stood behind me with his young daughter beside him. She was cute. Cute enough to grow up to be a high-priced call-girl, or at the very least, a girl who drives a Jetta.

He asked me what I was doing. I wanted to respond with “Nunya. Nunya business,” but I’d been using that one too often and couldn’t think of a new one, so I told him the truth: the authorities never found my parent’s bodies, so they were never given a grave, plus graves are really expensive and not worth paying for if you don’t have a body to throw in there. I guess there are rules against digging them up too, which seems stupid if it’s your grave. I told him I’d been using that one as my mother’s. Then I stuck my finger out at him and asked him what are yooooooouuuuuu doing here?

“That’s my wife’s grave,” he said, upset for some reason. I told him it was beautiful, then shoved some old flowers off it and replaced them with my own, along with a note saying “I luv you, mom.” “Luv” was spelled incorrectly on purpose because my mom and I used to have this little inside joke where I didn’t know how to spell, which was also not a joke.

He tried to swat and shoo me away like I was some kind of pestering bee, so I stung him a couple of times and then decided to call it quits after he finally connected with a 911 operator.

I know how hard it can be to lose someone, so before I left I made sure to give him some comforting words:

“I can’t wait until you die, so one day I can put flowers on my father’s grave.” The words must have really touched his daughter, because she started crying instantly. Nothing a good handful of dirt didn’t stop though.

While the dad wrestled me away from putting dirt in his daughter’s mouth, my phone got a text message, which could only mean one thing: my phone service hadn’t been cut off yet.

I’VE GOT A CASE FOR YOU

***

My office is the last one in a long row of businesses.

-Pair-a-Normal Investigators, Rick Normal and Tobey Normal

-Sofia’s Unmeltable Ice-cream (Legal note: the ice-cream is not unmeltable, but is very tasty)

-Patrick Poogal, Private Investigator

And finally, mine: Riz Raru, Preyevit Investalligator. I have a CERTIFICATE OF EXCELLENCE taped to the door to show everyone how excellent I am at the hiding fist holes in the door (The certificate is for a Jiffy Lube somewhere in Sherman Oaks.)

My assistant, Ditch, was already waiting in my office for me. He’s really more of my sidekick, but the rates for sidekicks are much higher than assistants. I’m not made out of money.

He looks like someone plucked right out of a 40s-detective movie. He wears a trench coat and has a really big mustache that I make him wear. He tells me it’s very itchy and uncomfortable, but then I threaten him with violence and that always ends that argument. He’s very easy to get along with.

I sat in my chair looking at a picture he put on my desk. It was of a girl in military fatigues. I studied it for a while as Ditch leaned against my desk reading the accompanying file, then I stole his wallet while he wasn’t looking.

“You’re not going to believe this one, Riz,” he said with a chuckle.

“Hit me.”

He punched me in the face. I told him I meant the news, so he grabbed a rolled newspaper and hit me with that. I thanked him and asked him about the case.

“Her name’s Private First Class Jessica Rios. You may know her as the face of army recruitment.” I nodded, even though I didn’t, nor had I really been listening that well. He could tell I wasn’t listening because I’d been humming loudly, so he taped my mouth shut and explained that there were billboards for military recruitment all over the country with Private Rios’ picture. He told me the army had caught her off base.

I ripped the tape off and saved it for later. “Is there a crime against that?” I asked sassily. Looks like I’d solved the case before it even started.

He told me that yes, it was a major infraction for military personnel, especially the poster-child of the army.

I rhetorically asked him what the mystery was, knowing it must be murder.

He told me it wasn’t murder. “More like murdering brain cells, actually. She was high as a kite when the military police officer found her. As you can imagine, the military frowns on that sort of thing. It’s not like she was a male officer who sexually assaulted a female recruit. They couldn’t just look past this one.”

It sounded like an easy case. Just not for the defense. I told Ditch that I didn’t see anything worth investigating, then started throwing things at him.

He begged for me to stop, which I finally did once I ran out of things to throw. As he pulled my letter opener out of his thigh he told me the kicker; Private Rios swears she didn’t smoke, but refused to give a straight answer on what happened.

“The military wants to clear her name, but she’s stone walling all of their investigator. They think she might open up to an outside party,” he said, wrapping his leg wound in used tissues I told him were gauze.

“So they called the best,” I said proudly.

He said “bingo,” and a man came in, took a Bingo card from ditch and inspected it.

“We have a winner,” said the man, leaving immediately.

I told Ditch I’d think about it. As much as I needed a case, I also didn’t feel like working, so I wasn’t sure of the right thing to do.

“By the way, they’ve also asked Patrick Poogal to take the case,” he said on his way out the door.

My eye twitched at the sound of his name. Patrick Poogal was my biggest competitor and rival. At just shy of 6’5” he towered over all the other private investigators in the area. He also often stole my business.

I told Ditch I’d take the case. After all, it was the perfect case for me. I was used to tracking down and tattling on stoners in high school.

Ditch chuckled to himself and remarked, “Plucky teen, Riz. I can only imagine how you were in high school.”

“High school?” I asked him, “this was last week. But don’t worry. I’ll get her to open up to me. Even if it costs me her life.

Ditch left, leaving me alone to wonder how I was going to solve this case, and get drunk.


That’s it for now. Later this week I’ll be writing about how I went about writing my Star Wars parodies before the movies came out. If you want to read why I wrote them, check it out here.

Don’t forget to sign up for my mailing list so you can get your copy of Scrote One! (just click here)

Why I Wrote My Star Wars Parodies

This past December I self-published my second Star Wars parody, Scrote One, in conjunction with Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. The year before that I released The Farts Awakens in conjunction with The Force Awakens. I often get asked how I wrote them, considering they must have been written before I saw the movies. Even more often I get asked “why write a Star Wars parody instead of… well, anything else?”

This blog is going to focus on the WHY I wrote them. If how I beat the odds to write them interests you, don’t worry. That’ll be coming up! Reminder that these are available on Amazon, and Scrote One comes with BOTH The Farts Awakens AND Scrote One!

And one more thing… I’m giving the books away for FREE at the end of this blog!

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Why I wrote them should be pretty obvious: the stacks and stacks of cold, hard cash. Of course, I later learned there’s only peanuts in selling books, so that cold, hard cash was more like tepid, soggy cash. The REAL reason was my love for Star Wars. I was so excited for The Force Awakens, not really sure how to harness that excitement until I saw Amy Poehler make some joke about Star Wars and I thought, “I bet if Amy Poehler made a Star Wars parody it would kill.” That was it. Somehow that small germ of a thought turned into “Joe. You can write a Star Wars parody and make a killing!” With just 15 days before the movie’s release, I had the idea: The Farts Awakens. If it seems like it was on a whim, it’s because it was.

I took off work (I freelance, mostly) and started writing. That’s partly where the decision to write it in screenplay format came from. It was much shorter and easier to do it that way, but it also felt more like a parody than writing it in prose (maybe I’d watched too much Spaceballs and Thumbwars). It was easier to convey Star Wars imagery in screenplay format, plus I think it’s funny to have a twisted version of a Star Wars movie you could read with your friends. Was I right? I don’t know! Go buy a copy!

death

Honestly, the first one started out as much as a joke as it did a real project. Since the movie was going to be coming out in 15 days, I knew I needed help. I contacted some comedians I knew and summoned them to a secret meeting for a project they’d have to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement (NDA) to be a part of. I went to the Upright Citizen’s Brigade theater in Los Angeles with a suit, office supplies, and NDAs. When the writer’s got there, the gag worked. I’d made the whole thing so grandiose that it all seemed ridiculous (This later would play into one of my marketing strategies).

The main goal  for The Farts Awakens was to write a parody that was unapologetically crude and silly. I wasn’t trying to write something you’d discuss with your country club buddies. It was meant to be something that if you didn’t find funny right away, you’d eventually breakdown from the constant onslaught of dirty puns.

Initially I thought this would be a great work of art. Then over time I started to fear people would think that all I am as a writer is dirty puns. Don’t get me wrong. A LOT of who I am is dirty puns, but there’s more to my humor than that. That’s where Scrote One came in.

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With more time to think about it and prepare, a Rogue One parody seemed like a given. I wanted this one to be crude and silly as well, but I wanted it to have more types of jokes in it than The Farts Awakens. You could say it was an evolution of my Star Wars parodies, but that sounds so douchie, so we won’t.

Ultimately that’s why I included Farts Awakens with Scrote One. I felt Scrote One is much stronger and wanted it to be the compendium of my Star Wars parodies.


If you guys like this, next week I’ll be writing about my process writing parodies. If you have any questions about either book, I’d love to take them in the comments. If you have any constructive criticism on this blog, I’d love to hear it too. I threw this one together fairly quickly because I’ve been sick with a fever this whole week.

Now for that FREE COPY! I’d really like some more reviews on Scrote One, so if you subscribe to my mailing list I’ll send you a PDF copy!

SUBSCRIBE TO MAILING LIST HERE AND GET SCROTE ONE FOR FREE

 

Riz Raru in…. the Case of the Sticky Fingers, Part 2 Coming Soon

Read Part 1 Here (it’s very funny!)

I wanted to release another chapter this week, but I’ve had a fever and don’t know what happened in the last 36 hours. Good news is I want to send some of you people my Star Wars Book!

If you’d like a PDF copy of my Star Wars parody, Scrote One, sign up for my email list (just click here). I only ask that you give it a review. Thank you in advance! More writing soon.

Riz Raru in… The Case of the Sticky Fingers

Hello!

So many exciting things are happening right now with Scrote One, my Star Wars Parody, and my compilation of short stories (free on Amazon right now!), but I’m sick of promoting. It’s time I give an excerpt from something I’m working on.

It’s about a female private investigator named Riz Raru. It’s based off of a teleplay I wrote, but I think it works better like this because I was able to add a ton of more jokes. Let me know what you think!


It had been my first case in a long time where a civilian hadn’t ended up dead, and the first case in an even longer time where I hadn’t been the one to kill the civilian. Even that might not be true, since I tend to conveniently forget those types of details. It works really well for plausible deniability, but mostly I’m just forgetful.

My name’s Riz Raru. I’m a special cases private investigator, which means people all over the world hire me to help them investigate the cases no one else will take. Like cases about aliens, conspiracy theories, or ones that expose beloved celebrities as rapists. I’m just your typical gumshoe, and sometimes gumsandal in the Summer.

I can also see ghosts, so there’s that… but they can’t see me, and I can’t interact with them or anything, so some would say it’s not very important at all, or that it’s just a marketing tactic to make the cover look more interesting. I’m always told that if I didn’t lie so much about other things that they might actually believe me about the ghosts, but I tell them how much I like lying, which is often one of the only true things I say in the conversation.

I’ve always had a bit of a sixth sense… for justice. People may call me a little crazy, reckless, or a danger to society, but I’m just a normal girl who solves the unsolvable.

And sees ghosts.

And I’m also searching for the man who killed my parents.

RIZ RARU in…. The Case of the Sticky Fingers

It all started when I was born… but there’s a lot of boring stuff in between that and the interesting stuff, so I’ll just cut ahead.

The interesting stuff all started when I was tailing one John Drexel just outside the Japanese restaurant on 9th street, or it might have been 3rd street. Let’s split the difference and say… 3rd street. The restaurant was called Sushi Go, which isn’t important unless you want to order from there. I suggest the orange chicken.

Drexel delicately picked up his Shih-Tzu, cradling it in his arms, and then entered the restaurant. The dog must have felt like a baby does when it’s picked up like a dog.

I glared at him through my car window as he walked in, looking like the cockiest prick I’d ever seen. He looked so damn cocky I spent extra time glaring at him and ended up getting a parking ticket. After a couple minutes of trying to convince the parking attendant to take back the ticket, which resulted in a shouting match lasting several more tickets, I got out of my car and followed Drexel inside.

The restaurant smelled like a restaurant, so everything checked out there, but there was still the Drexel matter to take care of. I tiptoed through the lobby and shushed the hostess before she could speak. I shushed her again as she was trying to keep quiet, just because. I flashed her my badge and my gun. I thought about flashing her my boobs too, but it would have just muddled the message.

I told her to call the cops, then put in an order of orange chicken. I continued into the restaurant, palms sweaty, nervous about not ordering anything for me and the cops. It felt rude.

In a private room, Drexel ate his bowl of rice one grain at a time, like a real asshole, as I barged in with my gun pointed right between his eyes. If my investigative work was half as good as I thought it was, that’s where his brain would be, just like mine.

“Stop right there. I know what you did,” I said, fearless and brave, since I was the one with the gun and all.

He patted his lips with a napkin and smiled. “And you would be?”

I threw him my badge. He inspected it and smiled. “This is a toy.”

“You damn right it is,” I said, “I’m Riz Raru. Special cases investigator.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard of you, Ms. Private Investigator. You solve the unsolvable cases, don’t you? And here you’ve solved mine. Bravo. So, you’ve figured it all out, have you? How I’ve been diverting power from the city center to operate my secret underground factoring, manufacturing my own polysynthetic weapons, and selling them to the Russians for vast amounts of money. Good work- “

I cut him off and told him that what I was referring to was that he didn’t clean up after his dog. He questioned why I would pull my gun on him for that. I told him I’ve pulled it out on someone for a lot less.

His face turned as red as a baboon’s ass after a spanking, and before it too. He stood up quickly, “hah! Well, it doesn’t matter why you came here. Since I revealed my plan to you, you won’t be leaving with your life!”

He drew his gun on me and I was suddenly regretting not checking him for a gun, or not bringing a bigger gun, but it wasn’t long before he learned that you can’t pull a fast one on old Riz Raru. The cops burst in with their guns drawn, leaving Drexel wishing he would have pulled a slow one on me.

The chief of police asked what the hell was going on. I asked him who the hell he was. He said he was the chief of police. I told him that I thought the chief of police wore some sort of head dress. He said that was an Indian chief, and I told him “oh, right.” While this was happening, Drexel almost got away, but the other police officers (who were wearing head dresses) caught him.

I told the chief that Drexel had a secret underground factory for photosynthesis with Russians and weapons or something. I asked Drexel what it was again, since he was so good as explaining it, but he was too busy fuming. I told them that it would just be easier if they checked under the city center for the photocopiers, or whatever.

After a while they thanked me and told me that, “no, for the second time, you can’t shoot the dog.” I reminded them that the dog was technically a bad guy. They told me that just because someone’s a bad guy doesn’t mean you can execute them. I told them I knew a few bad guys who wished I would have known that a couple weeks ago.

The cops were starting to ask questions so I figured it was time to go. Since I didn’t get any money off the case, I was in desperate need for a new gig. Or just a big bag of money. I would have preferred that. I headed back to the office hoping there’d be a gig waiting for me, but not before I took one important stop.


The Kresnik Files is FREE for the next couple of days. Check it out and give it a review.

kresnik-files-cover

And you can get a copy of Scrote One over at Goodreads!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Scrote One by Joe Cabello

Scrote One

by Joe Cabello

Giveaway ends January 18, 2017.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

 

Enter Giveaway

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GoodReads Giveaway of my Star Wars Parody!

Hello GoodReads users!

I’m doing a giveaway for my Star Wars parody, Scrote One. It’s super hilarious, and you can even read a sample HERE.

If you don’t have a Goodreads account, sign up for one. It’s easy, ya lunkhead.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Scrote One by Joe Cabello

Scrote One

by Joe Cabello

Giveaway ends January 18, 2017.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

If you want to read it NOW, you can get it for $1.99 as an ebook, or $9.99 as paperback. That’s cheaper than a 12-pack of beer, and much funnier.

I also have Volume 1 (HERE) and Volume 2 (HERE) of short stories and essays for only $0.99 each!

A New Star Wars Parody Book!

Hello!

I’m doing pre-orders on my new Star Wars Parody Book, Scrote One: A Star Wars Parody!

Last year in anticipation for The Force Awakens, I wrote The Farts Awakens: A Star Wars Parody, which you can read a sample of here.

SYNOPSIS: The Rebel Assliance makes a risky move to steal the plans to the Death Shart, setting up the epic saga to follow.

Please check out the FUNDING PAGE for more details. If you love Star Wars, and just love silly things too, this is a really fun book (written in screenplay form to capture the cinematic feel of Star Wars)