This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. David Beem will be awarding a $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
It’s been said every story must start somewhere. Ours begins with a professional dork. The kind who fixes computers and lives in his gran’s basement. The kind tapped by destiny (that saucy minx) to become the world’s first superhero!
And not a moment too soon…
A nano-sized artificial intelligence is on the loose! It got itself dart-gunned into a cow butt by a frog man in a porn store! Two stoners are corrupting it on twitter! And that’s just the first three pages!!
Join our dork of destiny as he channels the collective unconscious—his psychic superpower—in a harrowing tale of high drama, romance, betrayal, revenge, jesus chickens, cocaine, weirdos, magicians, ninjas, nfl spies, and disco ball water torture administered to the tune of rapture, by blondie. My god, man, what does it all mean!?
It means uncorking that next bottle of wine isn’t only a good idea—it’s advisable.
I roll onto my side. A bar of honey-golden sunlight is bisecting a bare and definitely female leg in my bed.
Something like a popped clutch hitches in my chest.
I snatch the blankets and try to yank them up to my neck. They won’t come, because Mary—beautiful Mary Thomas—is sitting on the edge of my bed. The blankets are trapped beneath her beautiful butt, which happens to be wearing my favorite boxers. And the rest of her is in my Notre Dame jersey.
“What’re you—how’re you—what’re you—are you wearing my clothes?”
“I got to thinking,” she says, standing and sashaying over to my desk, where she picks up the picture of me and Dad. Her blonde hair is gleaming in the morning sunlight. Her legs are long, toned, and tan. I bite the side of my tongue, and my gaze snaps to eye level just in time; she sets down the picture and faces me.
“I’m going to help you.”
I yank my sheets up to my neck and count to ten. I’ve missed something. Maybe more than one critical something. Probably an entire chapter of critical somethings torn from the story of my life while I was sleeping.
I release the sheets and sit up. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the window.”
“I mean—okay. Not to be rude or anything, but…why are you in my room?”
“I’m glad you asked that, Edger,” she says, like her sitting at my desk and wearing my boxers and jersey is the most normal freaking thing in the history of normal freaking things. “I know we just met yesterday, but I think it’s time we moved in together.”
About the Author:David Beem enjoys superhero movies, taekwondo, and flossing. He lives in Djibouti with his family and crippling self-doubt. Help actualize David’s inner confidence. Visit his website today, and buy all the stuff.
Buy the book at Amazon.