Tag Archives: Satire

by | May 10, 2019 · 5:00 am

Matching Configurations – Blitz

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QUANTUM
ROOTS III
Fiction,
Light Sci-fi, Satire
Date
Published: March 2019
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Olan
Chapman returns in this third edition of Quantum Roots, as Calvin Cannonball
Cooper, a vigilante from yesteryear who uses powder guns, throwing knives and
cannonballs to neutralize the bad guys of today’s society.
History
books fail to mention Calvin Cooper, but this defender of the weak and  helpless, went down with Jim Bowie, Davy
Crockett and William B.Travis in that 1836 slaughter we remember as The Alamo.
Acknowledged
or not, Cooper lives again each time Olan Chapman dons a cavalry outfit, found
in a New England attic overlooking the sea.
Matching
Configurations is based on a belief that any quark assembly that spins through
a series of worm holes, must format with a matching configuration triggered
from this side of the Time Wall.
This
296 page novel contains some adult material not suitable for readers under 18.
Other
Books in the Quantum Roots Series:
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Quantum
Roots: The Vigilante Sightings
Fiction,
Satire
 
Federal
agents, Alexis Grumman and Jeremy Wade track down a current day vigilante,
whose fingerprints match those of a Korean War veteran. Author Kyle Keyes uses
characters from two previous novels, to promote a theory that particle energy
formats with a quantum root system, that can bypass time and space. Keyes
believes that such fiction could turn to fact as we move into the age of
quantum mechanics. Adventure fans everywhere should delight in this fast paced
action story, that brings yesterday’s gun play back to settle cyber-age
injustice. Synopsis: Jesse Joe Jacks was born sometime during the snow blizzard
of 1923. The Lower Elk County, game warden died from a lightning strike on July
23, 1959, while wearing a sheriff’s star. Olan Chapman came to life in August
of 1974 and found a computer career with a center city, electronics firm.
Chapman drinks heavy and is haunted by flashbacks of an older sister, lost to
an unsolved case of gang rape and murder. Jacks loved nature and lived to
protect wildlife. He stood tall and fought to uphold justice. Jacks was also a
crack shot with a firearm – any firearm. Chapman attends the theatre, plays
piano and at one time led a march against the National Rifle Association. Both
men have the same fingerprints, much to the chagrin of Lt General Alexis
Grumman who heads the federal department for para-normal activities. Working
with special agent, Jeremy Wade, Grumman breaks open the case when Chapman’s
fingerprints also match those of the vigilante.
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Quantum
Roots II: Worm Holes
Published:
February 2017
Genre:
Fiction, Satire
 
In
this sequel to Quantum Roots, the meekish Olan Chapman faces danger as
vigilante Samuel Leroy McCoy, a US deputy marshal who upheld law and order in
1876, Dodge City.
The
metamorphous holds an eerie transformation, cloaked with rolling sagebrush and
horse whinnies from yesteryear, which causes DPA Director, Alexis Grumman to
rethink the validity of worm holes.
“Creation
is a worm hole,” replies Dr Norman Daly, “Atoms require hadrons to form a
nucleus, and each hadron comes through it’s own worm hole. Two quarks form the
bi-dimensional plane needed to support the hole. The remaining quark squeezes
through this hole, after which the first two quarks follow to shape the hadron
to a given genetic, configuration. The hole then closes to divide time from timeless.”
The
gunfighter is wanted for multiple killings, a consequence that keeps the
slender computer wizard on the run from authorities – and domineering wife, Ivy
Chapman.
As
in Quantum Roots, aka The Vigilante Sightings, Quantum Roots II is based on mounting
evidence that people form from recycled energy.
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About
the Author

photo Matching Configurations -Author-Kyle-Keyes_zpsby6txocd.jpg

Kyle
Keyes is widowed, has two children and an armload of grandchildren and great
grandchildren. When Keyes isn’t at work, he can be found in the nearest sand
trap, hitting himself in the ankle with a sand wedge.
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Link

 

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by | November 26, 2018 · 10:16 am

The Outlandish and the Ego – Blitz

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Dark Humor, Satire
Publisher: Xlibris
Published: February 2017
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The Outlandish and the Ego is the first in a new genre of literature: political erotica. This wild and comical satire follows two parallel stories that ultimately converge and blend into a new American reality.
One side of The Outlandish and the Ego plays out with the Aide, who relentlessly seeks to maintain his power as he maneuvers his president for reelection. The Aide’s ruthless appetite for victory comes to life in the form of wife swapping, partnering with a corporation hungry for war, endless slandering, and so much more. But in order to win, the Aide must survive an evil secret society-the Brethren.
The other half of The Outlandish and the Ego finds Samuel and Roger: two wild derelicts who are running from demon gnomes that nobody else can see or understand. In order to satisfy the gnomes’ demands, Samuel and Roger must solve the riddle of “the signal.” The two twisting plotlines crash into each other as the fate of the Aide, Samuel, Roger, and the Brethren come to an unexpected and hilarious close.
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Excerpt
The following is the opening to the second chapter of The Outlandish and the Ego. The chapter is entitled, “The Ego.”
The Ego
The doors to the Oval Office blew open, and supreme authority guided the Aide’s rush toward the President’s desk. He held a shotgun with both of his hands. The oversized battle helmet rattled around the crown of his head as he stomped toward his destination. He knew everything he needed to say and how he wanted to say it. He was ready.
“We have a situation,” he said as he pulled around the President’s desk. As the President looked up at him with befuddlement, the Aide leaned in and put all his weight into a great shove and sent the desk over on its side.
“Take cover, they’re here, and they’re coming for you.”
“Who’s coming? What the hell is going on?”
“I should have informed you sooner, but I underestimated the severity of the information given to me.” The Aide readjusted his glasses as he peeked back over the ridge of the fallen desk, probing for oncoming enemies. “The Confederates are here.”
“The Confederates?” The President’s mouth gaped open. “What is going on?” he whined.
“I didn’t want to alarm you, but there has been an uprising, and the Confederacy, I’m afraid, is back and looking for you.”
“I’m as white as they come!” the President whined.
“What do they want with me?”
“Most likely a swift assassination.” The Aide peeked over the desk once more, this time aiming the barrel of the gun at the opening of the room. “But fear not, sir. I am here to protect the Union.”
“Where is the Secret Service?”
“Dead. They’re all dead.” The Aide looked the President dead in the eye. “Even the first lady. She was slain out on the front lawn.”
“This can’t be.” The President melted down to the carpet, grabbing his hair with his trembling hands.
“They’re gonna kill me!”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” The Aide pumped the shotgun ready. “Unfortunately, I only have one shot left.”
“One shot?”
“Yes. Don’t worry, though, I’ll make it a good one.”
The Aide perked up as if to focus in on his surroundings.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?
The Aide popped up and fired his last shot in the direction of the opened doors. After feeling satisfied, he sat back down behind the safety of the desk.
“What was it?”
“Nothing, sir. Just a false alarm.”
The President lay there with his back firmly pressed up against the desk, quaking in a peculiar combination of shock, fear, and rage. “No, no, no,” he mumbled while shaking his head. Frozen, he stared into the palm of his hands, searching for a steadiness in his current reality.
Then from the belly of the hall that led into the Oval Office, the penetrating screams came pouring through, directed at the President.
“What’s that?” he cried.
“It’s one of them,” the Aide said in a low tremble. “He’s wearing a ski mask, and he’s armed.” The Aide looked down at the ground. “It was a pleasure knowing you, Mr. President.”
“Oh Jesus!” The President began to bite his lower lip as he clenched his fist tight, turning the knuckles of his hand white. The savage grunts and screams of the masked Confederate assassin grew louder, and the President knew it would be only a matter of time. The masked man was now in the Oval Office. He stood in the doorway, and though the President and the Aide bunkered down back behind their makeshift barrier, the masked man knew where his target was hiding. He laughed maniacally as he mockingly danced toward the desk.
“Please, there is no need to kill me,” the President begged. “I’m from Louisiana—trust me, if it was up to me, the Confederacy would have never gone away!”
“It’s too late for negotiations.” The masked man moved toward the President, standing over the hunched man before him. He prodded the barrel of the gun up to the
President’s mouth. “Open wide.”
“Oh Jesus,” the President muttered. He opened his mouth, and the barrel of the gun slid inside. He felt the cold steel bang against the tips of his front teeth, and he knew it was the end. He closed his eyes and waited for his world to fade into the grim abyss.
“Just as we planned!” the Aide yelled. He gave the masked man a high five as both men bent over with laughter. The President opened his eyes to understand the commotion. “Did you see the look of fear?” Both men began to cackle uncontrollably. The Confederate assassin took the mask off, revealing his identity.
“You?” The President frowned.
“You idiot,” the Press Secretary said. “You were all too eager to swallow that barrel!” Both men began to laugh once more.
The President stood up slowly, adjusting his tie and trying not to look as embarrassed as he felt. “So nobody is dead, right?”
“Of course not,” the Aide explained. “The Secret Service and First Lady were in on it too.” The Aide waited for the humor to subside. He sensed that the Press Secretary had caught his breath, so he decided to move on with the business of the day. “All right, all right. Now that we’ve all had our fun, it’s time to get to the serious matters of the day.”
 
About the Author

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O. Ryan Hussain is the new voice of comedic fiction and satire. The characters featured in his debut novel, The Outlandish and the Ego, are vibrant creations from a true genius. There is currently nobody better at blending truth, comedy and dirty fun.
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by | October 23, 2018 · 5:00 am

F**k You, Your Honor – Blitz

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Literary Fiction, Satire
Date Published: June 2017
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Publisher: Black Letter Editions
F*ck You, Your Honor is a satirical literary novel about a low-end attorney and real estate broker who is ordered by a judge to write a book to save his law license.
Attorney Darwyn “Wyn” VanWye is down on his luck. He squats in a foreclosed government-owned HUD home and conducts his law practice over his smart phone from a sports bar.
While attempting to reconcile with Amalia, his Argentine ex-wife, so his excessive alimony payments can be terminated, Judge Solomon arbitrarily sanctions him for misconduct. Instead of a fine or jail time, the judge sentences him to write a sixty-five thousand word book about the “dignity and integrity” of the legal system. Wyn believes the judge is out to get him.
After resisting the order, F*ck You, Your Honor is the book Wyn writes to hopefully save his law license. Will he succeed in placating the judge and winning back his ex-wife?
The book is loosely inspired by an article in the Wall Street Journal about a pharmaceutical executive who was sentenced by a Federal judge to write a book to show penance for lying to the Federal Trade Commission. The executive wrote the book, but instead of writing the reflective work the judge ordered, he denounced the unfairness of the legal system.
What if a lawyer was ordered to write a book like this? His first instinct would be to try to argue his way out of it.
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Excerpt
 29
Another day, I met a new prospective client at The Overtime who wanted to retain me to file for a divorce. I was talking to Cora who was busy with the lunch crowd when the prospect arrived thirty minutes early. I hate clients who are too punctual; it shows they are controlling. It’s rude. Here am I busy working on another case, and a prospective client comes in, and I feel the pressure of her waiting for me across The Overtime. But I immediately forgave her as soon as I saw her.
I must say, if ever I was tempted to start a sexual relationship with a client, this would be the one. After the case was over, of course. I could easily see myself ridding my new client of her soon-to-be ex-husband, and, maybe months later, after enough time had passed… my thoughts wandered off for a second and then wandered back to the case. Although she was probably in her late thirties, she had aged well; beautiful lips, a sensual curved neck. She had a rich, Southern drawl.
As I introduced myself, she let out this warm vibe. I made her fill out the questionnaire while she waited. Questions about the date and history of the marriage, names and addresses, the number of children, any instances of domestic violence. All based on statutes and precedent that I would need to file her case.
I noticed by her questionnaire she lived in a prestigious area of overpriced bungalows and Tudors that surrounded a big park near downtown. The park had a lake and a boathouse. Amalia and I used to go down there some afternoons in the summers for picnics and free concerts. I think part of my attraction to her, however, subconsciously, she reminded me of Amalia.
I never really thought that I had a type. I guess I do. I never liked the competitive career women, and just as important, they never liked me.
This woman was warm and kind. She was of Spanish or Mexican origin, but unlike Amalia, she had been totally Americanized. She spoke perfect English, ate bland food at The Overtime, though she dressed flamboyantly. She worked as a branch manager in a bank. She complained about the inflated prices of real estate and the ridiculous number of Starbucks. On street corners. In grocery stores. In strip malls. Being a banker, I guess she did the math, and $6 a cup is a lot for a cup of coffee.
She confided her husband had not touched her in a year. Unbelievable! I wanted to leap out of my chair and kiss her. I hadn’t touched Amalia in over a year, either.
The first thing I did, I asked her if she and her husband could reconcile. There’s a ninety-one day waiting period for a divorce, to give the couple time to cool off, maybe go to counseling.
If the parties went through a divorce, I could make thousands of dollars. If the couple can’t get along in the divorce, and both get lawyers, a couple can blow through their life savings. If the parties reconcile, the divorce is either dismissed or never filed, and I earn, well, nothing. Amalia called this “chewing my paw.”
I thought again about my divorce. Some of the arguments with Amalia were just silly.
One time, we fought over a banana. I had left a banana on the kitchen counter the night before court to pack with my exhibit books. I usually brought a snack to help me through a whole day trial. Some judges allowed you to bring food into the courtroom to eat on the breaks; others didn’t. Without even telling me, she ate the last banana.
I have to admit, at the time, I was furious.
Another time, she packed me a lunch, put it in my briefcase, and took out my notebook with all my notes for a hearing. I appeared in court, totally unprepared. Sabotaged by Amalia. Lucky for me the case was continued. We went round and round as to who was at fault on this one.
My arguments with Amalia were passionate; never violent. They almost always ended in laughter. For a few years, we had a dog, Knuckles, though the dog eventually died. One day we took him to the vet. She wrote the dog’s name down on a form at the vet’s office: ‘Nuckles’. I informed her the word began with a silent K. The word didn’t register with her, and she had a hard time believing me. I can still hear her making the K sound, trying to pronounce it, trying to make sense of the word.
The English language mystified her. The next time she wrote out a grocery list, along with the milk and some more bananas, she asked me to pick up a package of ‘knoodles’.
I may not be the best one to give a guy marital advice, but still, here goes: Sleep with your wife from time to time. Be nice to her. Otherwise, keep your penis in your pants. These, along with financial difficulties, are the main causes of a divorce.
I explained the essence of a dissolution of marriage, showing off my knowledge with citations of statutes and case law. The first step after a divorce is filed—the parties exchange financial statements and supply the supporting documentation. I call this making the pie. Once you make the pie, you divide the pie, calculating how to fairly distribute the personal property, the assets and debts between the parties. Every asset is taken into account. From the smallest savings bond to the parties’ coin collection, each coin valued and divided coin by coin. The court will even divide the porn.
A divorce works like this: most lawyers review the financial documents, and based on the factors in the statute, calculate what their client is reasonably entitled to. Then they double it. So they will stay employed.
The most accurate definition of a divorce I copied from a well-respected, influential, and prestigious legal journal.
“A divorce is a domestic legal proceeding which takes a highly dysfunctional family, and legally divides it into two highly dysfunctional families.” That was the best definition I ever heard.
I gave her advice about the fundamentals of a divorce. There were statutes about temporary orders, how child support was calculated, parenting time was determined, alimony figured, property, pensions, and debts divided. Hopefully, there’s not much to fight about. If there are no children, thank God. That’s where people fight the most. They also fight about money, until they see how much money they will have to spend to fight about the money. First, a couple doesn’t need to agree to get a divorce. That hardly makes sense. If a couple cannot agree on who will pay the sewer bill, they cannot agree on the divorce. Second, if one party says the marriage is broken, it’s broken. End of story. Agreements of the parties or other court orders are enforced through contempt proceedings, which is an allegation of a deliberate violation of a court order under Rule 107. There are two types of contempt: punitive and remedial.
Remedial contempt is when the judge is mad enough at a party for violating a court order, he or she can put you in jail until you comply. Punitive contempt is when a judge is real mad, he or she can simply put you in jail. (Amazing, though, how a deadbeat dad who owes back child support, has no money, no job, no savings, and no prospects—through some miracle of math or accounting is able to purge a remedial contempt by coughing up ten thousand dollars after spending only one night in jail.)
The smartest thing any divorcing couple can do is sit down and work out a compromise. Settle some of the divorce or all of it ahead of getting the lawyers involved. Write it on a napkin and sign it. It doesn’t matter what form it is in.
A guy usually knows he has to share the assets of the marriage with his wife, especially if the wife is a housewife. A woman thinks differently. She doesn’t like to share. All of the assets are hers; all of the debts are his. That was the story of my divorce.
I gave my prospective client some good advice: “Empty all the bank accounts,” I suggested. “If you don’t, your husband certainly will. Once he finds out you are thinking about filing the divorce.”
This was sound legal reasoning. Before a divorce is filed, there are no court orders in place to protect the assets so the court can divide them fairly. One parent can run off with the children. Or abscond with all the assets and gamble them away in Las Vegas. Once the divorce is filed or if the money disappears in contemplation of the divorce, you will have to fully account for yourself and your finances.
About the Author

photo Fuck You Your Honor Author Craig Chambers_zpsskinmrdd.jpg

In his junior year in college, Craig Chambers attended the University of Leeds in England. He did not attend a single class, traveled around Europe instead. He came back and took the final exams, only to be disappointed that he got a 1 in English. He later learned that “First Honors” was the highest grade.
In the ‘80s he became a real estate broker while he worked on developing his writing style. Chambers attended law school in the ‘90’s because he observed a real estate closing where the lawyer messed up the deal, but still charged a fee of $1,000. He figured he could mess up a real estate deal for a lot less than that. His literary satire on the legal system, F*ck You, Your Honor, was released in June, 2017. He resides in Littleton, CO.
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by | May 27, 2018 · 5:00 am

Keys to Success from a Completely UnSuccessful Person – Book Tour

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Satire, Humor, Self-Help
Date Published: 12-15-17
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Dear Reader,
Knowledge, success, hope–this book will provide you with none of these things.
For those who are curious to check out the contents and “guidance” provided in this book, I would like to offer a brief, but important warning before you embark on your treacherous journey. I am this book’s editor. I have thoroughly handled, absorbed, and regurgitated the contents of this book over and over again, and while most of the content in this “self-help” book is, in my professional opinion, completely ridiculous and easily recognized as such, I fear that some of you who read this book may sadly find yourselves duped by Joel’s terrible advice.
Speaking modestly, Keys to Success from a Completely Unsuccessful Person represents is a collection of thoughts, ideas, and errant opinions from the delusional mind of a self-proclaimed self-help guru. Somehow, Joel has miraculously and single-handedly compiled more nonsense, utter gibberish, and complete lunacy into one book than any other author in all of human history that I am presently aware of.
Again, while I do believe that the majority of readers will find themselves deeply amused at the sheer idiocy in this anthology of stupidity, I fear that some poor souls may just get sucked into the author’s delusions. For that reason, I have provided this warning to please disregard Joel’s terrible advice. For most readers, I expect and hope that they will be amused by the book’s clear guidance on how not to find success and find humor in what the book attempts to instruct them to do.
Perhaps most importantly, I believe that although my hand was forced to publish this book of unrefined nonsense by Joel and my superiors, Joel will finally be exposed to the world for who he really is–a completely unsuccessful person.

About the Author

Born on the East Coast but raised in the Southwest, Joel Cunningham is co-founder of Parametric Studios in Scottsdale , Arizona., He has worked in marketing for the last fifteen years. He has acted in numerous commercial projects, produced and written for numerous TV and film projects, and is the current host of a film & television review podcast called The Reel Review Podcast. Keys to Success from a Completely Unsuccessful Person is his first book.

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by | April 12, 2017 · 5:00 am

Quantum Roots II – Blitz

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Fiction, Satire
Date Published:  February 2017
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In this sequel to Quantum Roots, the meekish Olan Chapman faces danger as vigilante Samuel Leroy McCoy, a US deputy marshal who upheld law and order in 1876, Dodge City.
The metamorphous holds an eerie transformation, cloaked with rolling sagebrush and horse whinnies from yesteryear, which causes DPA Director, Alexis Grumman to rethink the validity of worm holes.
“Creation is a worm hole,” replies Dr Norman Daly, “Atoms require hadrons to form a nucleus, and each hadron comes through it’s own worm hole. Two quarks form the bi-dimensional plane needed to support the hole. The remaining quark squeezes through this hole, after which the first two quarks follow to shape the hadron to a given genetic, configuration. The hole then closes to divide time from timeless.”
The gunfighter is wanted for multiple killings, a consequence that keeps the slender computer wizard on the run from authorities – and domineering wife, Ivy Chapman.
As in Quantum Roots, aka The Vigilante Sightings, Quantum Roots II is based on mounting evidence that people form from recycled energy.
Other Books in the Quantum Roots Series:
Federal agents, Alexis Grumman and Jeremy Wade track down a current day vigilante, whose fingerprints match those of a Korean War veteran. Author Kyle Keyes uses characters from two previous novels, to promote a theory that particle energy formats with a quantum root system, that can bypass time and space. Keyes believes that such fiction could turn to fact as we move into the age of quantum mechanics. Adventure fans everywhere should delight in this fast paced action story, that brings yesterday’s gun play back to settle cyber-age injustice. Synopsis: Jesse Joe Jacks was born sometime during the snow blizzard of 1923. The Lower Elk County, game warden died from a lightning strike on July 23, 1959, while wearing a sheriff’s star. Olan Chapman came to life in August of 1974 and found a computer career with a center city, electronics firm. Chapman drinks heavy and is haunted by flashbacks of an older sister, lost to an unsolved case of gang rape and murder. Jacks loved nature and lived to protect wildlife. He stood tall and fought to uphold justice. Jacks was also a crack shot with a firearm – any firearm. Chapman attends the theatre, plays piano and at one time led a march against the National Rifle Association. Both men have the same fingerprints, much to the chagrin of Lt General Alexis Grumman who heads the federal department for para-normal activities. Working with special agent, Jeremy Wade, Grumman breaks open the case when Chapman’s fingerprints also match those of the vigilante.

About the Author


Born To Write:
Older Americans often come from whistle stop towns painted by Norman Rockwell. Kyle Keyes grew up in Clayton, a South Jersey borough first founded as Fislerville.  Clayton had a small urban district with street lights, but no indoor plumbing. Farmland and outhouses were a sign of the times.
Clayton was so small, that Keye’s aunt doubled as his Sixth Grade school teacher, who once said that Kyle lived with his nose between the bookends. She must have known something.
Keyes went to Temple Tech for concrete and steel design in 1956 and 1957. He never became an engineer, but still has a red, tinker toy motor and his World War II, Erector Set.
The early Sixties found Kyle in the U.S. Army where his top sergeant would daily bark, “You just say morning, trooper. I’ll decide if it’s good or not!”
Keyes wholesaled bakery products to food chains for thirty years,and wrote odd items for local newspapers. He is widowed and currently lives in Florida. He has two children, Kathleen and Daniel. Grand children are now grown and too old for tales about railroads and yesterday’s America. This leaves Keyes no option but to write books.
Se la ve.
PS: Should you need a book autographed, Kyle can usually be found rooting through neighborhood trash cans, one block ahead of the recycle truck.

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