Chapter 3 – It All Started After a Plane Hijacking with Billy Joel

Read Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2

Everything was on fire.

Lukala frantically slapped at the fire as it crawled into his hut, thinking, “Wow, this material catches fire really easily and we knew that. Why did we construct our homes out of it?” He also thought it was weird that the gods would be cursing their village this early in November. They usually did it quarterly.

A feminine scream snapped Lukala out of his thoughts. It was his father, immobilized in his palace hut. Frank blew rapidly at the flames to keep them at bay, which would have worked if the flames were someone with a sense of smell.

Lukala’s future empire was glowing orange and red, crumbling to the ground piece by piece. His people were doing as instructed and gathering at the ‘safe spot,’ which was also completely engulfed in flames. The roar of the flames muted Lukala yelling at them to stop, so they died. They were brave, loyal idiots until the very end.

A dozen or so villagers ran off into the purple jungle, refusing instructions. This is who Lukala would be left with- the intelligent cowards. It’s kind of similar to how America was formed.

Weyland sat at the jungle’s edge wondering where the fire had come from. What were the chances of another arsonist being on an island with so few people? In the last 48 hours Weyland had been in a village fire, survived a plane crash, and murdered a police officer (that happened before the story began so I didn’t mention it).

From the corner of his eye, Lukala caught his father chin-dragging himself out of the hut, his body engulfed in flames. From the corner of his ear, Weyland could hear American voices deeper in the jungle, but he lost interest when he saw Lukala stomping at the fire engulfing Frank. Weyland assumed Lukala was trying to smash Frank’s skull open, so he ran over to help.

Weyland stomped aggressively, but Frank couldn’t feel it past the fire, though he was assuredly breaking bones. Luckily it made it appear as if Weyland had been helping. Lukala glared at Weyland, which made Weyland immediately blurt out, “Whoa, I’m not like that, buddy.” Lukala thought that Weyland had meant that he wasn’t responsible for the fire, when he was actually implying Lukala was a homosexual.

Weyland didn’t feel like fighting Lukala, plus he still had multiple stab wounds, so he didn’t take a swing. Instead, he followed him.

With Frank hoisted on Lukala’s shoulder, they ran through the jungle towards the cowards. At least they would all be safe together. Little did they know that the cowards were hiding in the bushes from a duo of masked soldiers. As cowards do, they said nothing, and the three men ran right into the masked men.

The masked men aimed their guns at them. Weyland shouted, “Shoot them, not me!” Lukala looked at him with a confused look, to which Weyland whispered, “Don’t worry. I have a plan.” (The plan was for the two men to shoot Lukala and Frank.)

One of the masked men, obviously the leader because of his patch that said “leader” on it, told them to get on their knees. They did what he said as best they could given that between Frank and Weyland they had every injury you could think to have. The leader watched the three of them very closely, and nudged Frank with his gun, “What happened to him?”

Lukala coldly replied, “A misunderstanding.”

The leader turned his gaze to Weyland, “and you?”

Weyland promptly replied, “They did this to me. Kill them.”

Lukala and Frank gave him a “What-the-fuck” look, to which he again whispered, “I have a plan.” The plan was still to have the men shoot Lukala and Frank.

The leader scanned Weyland with a serial killer’s gaze, “Are you American?”

“Yes.”

“Get up.”

The other masked man trudged over to Weyland and hoisted him up. Weyland acted like dead weight, and the man pulled something in his back that would give him problems for the next few days.

“We’ll kill these two,” commanded the leader, nudging towards Lukala and Frank.

Weyland looked at Lukala and Frank, who were all but resigned to their fate. Their entire village was destroyed except for the cowards, who were still watching from 10 feet away in the bushes. The machine gun’s cocking click echoed through the forest, only masked by the dying roar of flames. The gun raised to their heads, as if the soldier had done this a million times before. It was actually his first time and he was very nervous, but he’d always lived by “fake it ’til you make it.”

“Wait,” interrupted Weyland, “I want them for myself.”

The masked men looked at him, giving Lukala the chance to wink at Weyland. It was absolutely true though. Weyland wanted to kill them himself. To finish the job.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” demanded the leader.

“Weyland Grauman, like the theater. I’m a marine for the United States army,” which wasn’t true at all, but he’d used it so many times he wasn’t even sure it wasn’t true anymore. It was surprising how seldom he had been called out on it, although it does help when you’re openly bleeding from wounds that should have killed you, which was surprisingly often for Weyland.

“What do you want from me?” asked Weyland, now feeling like he was in with the group.

The lesser masked man leaned into the leader and whispered something in his ear, to which the leader sharply replied, “I know. Let me handle it,” and he shifted his gaze back to the three men, “You’re all coming with us.”

 

Releasing my book “It All Started After a Plane Hijacking with Billy Joel” on my Blog

Two years ago I quit my full time job to write a book. It literally all started with a short story called “A Plane Hijacking Story with Billy Joel” and I loved the main character so much (not Billy Joel) that I kept writing for 37k more words.

Being my first book, it has its issues, and I never fully edited it, so week by week I’ll release a chapter that I’ve edited enough that its readable.

Subscribe to get updates and enjoy the full thing!

Chapter 9 is here! And it’s funny?! You decide!

My last post got some good love, so as promised, here’s Chapter 9. If you haven’t read the introduction yet, read it here.

Lessons In Debauchery: The Topher Weyland Story is an adventure comedy novel about an aspiring TV personality who gets recruited by the CIA to be a distraction, but things quickly get out of hand when he forces himself into their mission and is thrust into saving the world.

I’ve included a little blurb about the events leading up to this chapter so you won’t be super confused, and you can read some of my thoughts on it at the bottom of the post.

Chapter 9
Fired

Topher has literally risked his life to get back to the studio to film an important episode of his show when his producer, Frank, summons him to his office looking furious.


“I knew you were a scumbag, but this is low!” he yelled.

Frank’s face was as red and swollen as his wife’s vagina after our lovemaking. That was my opener when I walked into the room, hoping to diffuse the situation. It didn’t work, but at least I had a funny anecdote to use when I told people about it later.

“You had sex? I thought you just kissed!”

I tried lie #1. “It’s not what you think. She must have had sex with a guy who looked like me. You know how small her brain can be sometimes.”

Lie #1 backfired, which it often does. Luckily I don’t always start off with my strongest lies.


Lesson:

Don’t waste your good lies early. You want to have a couple of great options to fall back on.


“Shit,” I said without missing a beat, “I meant, whoever told you this is obviously a big liar. I say we buckle down and find out who this person is, what they want, and why they’re trying to frame me-”

“I saw you! I have video of you two kissing!” he shouted, pointing at his office security camera.

“Can I have a copy?”

He whizzed a stapler at me, but my lightning reflexes kicked in and my hand blocked it, which broke my pinky instantly.

“Frank, just calm down. You have to understand. I didn’t know she was your wife. I thought she was your daughter.”

He whizzed his other stapler at me, but I was too busy wondering why he had two staplers to block it in time.

He hissed at me, “You’re fired. We’re having you replaced with Glen River Howard.”

Glen River Howard was a two-bit Youtube host at best, and the closest thing I had to a rival.

“Don’t be a stupid asshole, Frank. Glen River Howard doesn’t have half my talent, and I’ve seen him make eyes at your wife. You don’t want two guys screwing your wife, do you?”

He feverishly searched for something to throw at me, but there was only paper. “You may be hot shit right now, but I’m going to make sure everyone knows what you really are: a selfish, sociopathic prick.”

I needed to get him back on my side. “I hate to say this, but you’re sounding like a really big, dumb asshole right now.”

Judging by his heaving chest, it didn’t work. Luckily instead of finding another stapler to throw at me, he quickly composed himself and sat down.

“Get out.” His eyes darted down to his desk. He couldn’t even make eye contact with me. It was a good thing since I was checking my phone anyway.

Things were looking grim. Frank was completely ruining my big break. There had to be something I could do.

The chemicals in my brain started to churn, which meant I was getting a great idea.

“Who else knows, Frank?” I asked.

“I’m making the announcement after you leave,” he said, the wind out of his sails.

I stood there, weighing my options: Leave a shamed man, and work my way back up the entertainment ladder. Or…

He pretended to shuffle and sign some papers. “You’re still here? What part of leave didn’t you understand?”

I slowly walked to the door and locked it.

“What are you doing?-”

My wingtip smashed into his face with one of my patented front kicks, which I was hoping would knock him out instantly, but it didn’t so I had to keep kicking.

After about 46 kicks I stopped and he was out cold. With my shoes bloody and weathered, I had no choice but to take Frank’s. I know what this sounds like: I beat a man to near death after sleeping with his wife, and then stole his shoes. I guess while that is literally what happened, it makes me sound less heroic. I stuffed him in his closet and tied him up, but I made sure to leave a note:

note

I told myself that after I filmed this last episode of “Do You Have Your Keys?” and got a new dynamite hosting gig, I’d buy new teeth for Frank. After all, I didn’t want to hurt him. I was just doing what I had to do. It’s not like I was a monster.

I rifled through his desk for other things that I could steal when there was a knock on the door, and I saw the silhouettes of two suited men through the opaque glass.


 

Some of my thoughts:

A lot of this chapter is still pretty messy, focusing more on the comedy than brilliant prose. That’s something I want to work on as it develops. First and foremost with this book are the laughs though, and I think this chapter gives a good indication of Topher’s unapologetic nature.

So far I’m about 34,000 words in with an aim of about 40-45k words total. The chapters are meant to be small, around the length of the chapter above to make it a nice, tight read.

I can’t wait to get done with the full first draft and appreciate any feedback or if you are aching to read some more, even if its very rough still.

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