I need help finding a title for a book i just wrote. I wrote the book while seated at the bar and drinking an exceptionally large quantity of caffeine. I was high as hell on caffeine while i wrote it. The book is about a young man in the Dominican Republic searching for his lost friend. Here is an excerpt from the book. Keep in mind, the book is totally unedited.
1.)
I?m 10,000 feet above the Dominican Republic and descending rapidly. The descent onto the island is not unlike a bird falling out of the sky after being shot with buckshot. There is a lot of air turbulence and the plane is being pushed side to side, and up and down. Beverages, vomit, and pillows are flying throughout the cabin as if we have lost gravity and are entering outer space. There is a large missionary group seated around me. Many of them have started to cry and weep. Several of them are clutching their rosaries and moaning. Quite a few people are holding hands and praying aloud. More than a few have gone into a trance. A young, very attractive female missionary, from Ohio, seated next to me, has rolled her big blue eyes into the back of her head and is speaking to me in tongues while taking turns project vomiting into her purse.
I laugh and hold her arm. I?m sipping a Cuba Libre while the plane sinks further and further into a state of chaos and mayhem. The woman in front of me is rocking back and forth, weeping and praying. I don?t think I have ever stood witness to so many people having a nervous breakdown. The crazy thing is that, on the scale of one to ten, I would rank this air turbulence no more than a seven. Eight tops. I?ve experienced much worse while off-roading when driving home drunk.
Staring out the window and seeing the turquoise water below glistening in the sun is mesmerizing. I?m daydreaming about swimming naked in aqua blue waters with an island girl with tan boobs and the smell of coconut emitting from her breath and pours.
The sideways descent onto the sun scorched tarmac is beautiful. No, it?s adventurous in a kamikaze sort of way. The runway runs east-west, but were coming in sideways with the nose pointing north-west. The water below is shimmering like glitters of silver. I can see people on the beach, but can?t make out any boobs or nudity. Yeah, I?m high right now. I just smoked a bowl of catnip in the toilet while the smoke detector alarm went off and the stewardess demanded that I stay in my seat. I don?t care, I?m about as high as one can get without physically leaving the universe.
After we land, an explosion of applause erupts throughout the cabin. People in the back of the plane break out into song and dance. One girl, inebriated, has taken her top off and is running up and down the isle. The chief stewardess is on the microphone demanding everyone sit down immediately, fasten their seatbelts and put their tops back on, or the plane will not taxi up to the terminal. The local islanders ignore her. They don?t care. They continue to celebrate, passing a bottle of dark rum around the cabin as if they?re on a school field trip.
I love the Caribbean?it?s one of the few places in the world where you have evangelical religious fever converging with nudity and dark rum in a spectacular fashion that borders on complete madness.
2
(Rocketman)
I?m here in the Caribbean on a mission. I?m searching for my best friend, the Rocketman. He disappeared about a year ago after being suspected of robbing banks in San Francisco with a stuffed whale?s penis. Granted, it was a strange accusation to level against someone who is an ordained minister, but knowing the Rocketman and his propensity for the bizarre, the charges demanded some serious consideration.
I?m familiar with weapons of mass destruction. I was with the Rocketman when he purchased the whale penis at a garage sale in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood in San Francisco. The girth of the whale penis was not that wide, but the shaft was long (about 7ft in length), and came to a very sharp point. If thrown like a javelin, it could easily impale someone and do some serious damage.
Fortunately, the Rocketman was not much of a javelin thrower, but his size could be quite intimidating. His physique bespoke of someone gifted in athleticism and sloth, while his over-all appearance bespoke of someone gifted in laziness and Beverly Hillbilly attire. He wore handmade velvet suits made from curtains and never wore shoes.
The Rocketman stood about 6?1 inches, 240lbs, and dressed in cut-off jean shorts, sleeveless plad-shirts, and was always barefoot. He did not own a pair of shoes. He looked as if he just walked off the set of a Duck Dynasty or The Beverly Hillbillies TV show. He had hillbilly written all over him, but he was incredibly well-read and artistic.
The Rocketman?s mother, Syltetoy?a Norwegian blond beauty with long strawberry blond hair and a burning red bush, had an aversion to bras and panties?asked me to find her son. She thought that, being his best friend, I might be able to penetrate the long, dark rabbit hole that he?d managed to successfully disappear into once again.
Finding someone like Rocketman is not going to be an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. For starters, he shuffles between traveling around in a homemade Kon Tiki raft made of balsa wood, bamboo, car seat foam, and thousands of empty plastic gallon jugs that he spent years salvaging from people?s trash. He was a professional dumpster diver and proud of it. He was also certifiably crazy and proud of it.
The Rocketman has been living like a gypsy for as long as I or anyone else can remember. Jesus Christ himself would be envious of the simple, Spartan lifestyle in which he survived and lived by. One problem in trying to locate someone like the Rocketman is that he?s been traveling around aimlessly his entire adult life. There?s no telling where or when he might decide to resurface. Another problem is that he doesn?t own a credit card, a mobile phone, or have a fixed address, therefore, he?s completely off of the grid?which makes tracking him down nearly impossible. But honestly, the biggest problem in finding someone like the Rocketman is this: if doesn?t want to be found, he can be more elusive than Jimmy Hoffa.
I really don?t know what to make of his disappearance. Some people think he has been abducted by aliens. I don?t believe that for a second. I don?t think aliens would be capable of keeping him seated for the entire flight back home. He?s restless, hyperactive, prone to pushing buttons, and he eats like a horse. Besides this, he?s compulsively spontaneous, moves with the changing of seasons, and prone to jumping out of moving vehicles.
Anyone who knows the Rocketman knows that Aliens would kick him off their space ship at the very first bus stop.
Frank
1.)
I?m 10,000 feet above the Dominican Republic and descending rapidly. The descent onto the island is not unlike a bird falling out of the sky after being shot with buckshot. There is a lot of air turbulence and the plane is being pushed side to side, and up and down. Beverages, vomit, and pillows are flying throughout the cabin as if we have lost gravity and are entering outer space. There is a large missionary group seated around me. Many of them have started to cry and weep. Several of them are clutching their rosaries and moaning. Quite a few people are holding hands and praying aloud. More than a few have gone into a trance. A young, very attractive female missionary, from Ohio, seated next to me, has rolled her big blue eyes into the back of her head and is speaking to me in tongues while taking turns project vomiting into her purse.
I laugh and hold her arm. I?m sipping a Cuba Libre while the plane sinks further and further into a state of chaos and mayhem. The woman in front of me is rocking back and forth, weeping and praying. I don?t think I have ever stood witness to so many people having a nervous breakdown. The crazy thing is that, on the scale of one to ten, I would rank this air turbulence no more than a seven. Eight tops. I?ve experienced much worse while off-roading when driving home drunk.
Staring out the window and seeing the turquoise water below glistening in the sun is mesmerizing. I?m daydreaming about swimming naked in aqua blue waters with an island girl with tan boobs and the smell of coconut emitting from her breath and pours.
The sideways descent onto the sun scorched tarmac is beautiful. No, it?s adventurous in a kamikaze sort of way. The runway runs east-west, but were coming in sideways with the nose pointing north-west. The water below is shimmering like glitters of silver. I can see people on the beach, but can?t make out any boobs or nudity. Yeah, I?m high right now. I just smoked a bowl of catnip in the toilet while the smoke detector alarm went off and the stewardess demanded that I stay in my seat. I don?t care, I?m about as high as one can get without physically leaving the universe.
After we land, an explosion of applause erupts throughout the cabin. People in the back of the plane break out into song and dance. One girl, inebriated, has taken her top off and is running up and down the isle. The chief stewardess is on the microphone demanding everyone sit down immediately, fasten their seatbelts and put their tops back on, or the plane will not taxi up to the terminal. The local islanders ignore her. They don?t care. They continue to celebrate, passing a bottle of dark rum around the cabin as if they?re on a school field trip.
I love the Caribbean?it?s one of the few places in the world where you have evangelical religious fever converging with nudity and dark rum in a spectacular fashion that borders on complete madness.
2
(Rocketman)
I?m here in the Caribbean on a mission. I?m searching for my best friend, the Rocketman. He disappeared about a year ago after being suspected of robbing banks in San Francisco with a stuffed whale?s penis. Granted, it was a strange accusation to level against someone who is an ordained minister, but knowing the Rocketman and his propensity for the bizarre, the charges demanded some serious consideration.
I?m familiar with weapons of mass destruction. I was with the Rocketman when he purchased the whale penis at a garage sale in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood in San Francisco. The girth of the whale penis was not that wide, but the shaft was long (about 7ft in length), and came to a very sharp point. If thrown like a javelin, it could easily impale someone and do some serious damage.
Fortunately, the Rocketman was not much of a javelin thrower, but his size could be quite intimidating. His physique bespoke of someone gifted in athleticism and sloth, while his over-all appearance bespoke of someone gifted in laziness and Beverly Hillbilly attire. He wore handmade velvet suits made from curtains and never wore shoes.
The Rocketman stood about 6?1 inches, 240lbs, and dressed in cut-off jean shorts, sleeveless plad-shirts, and was always barefoot. He did not own a pair of shoes. He looked as if he just walked off the set of a Duck Dynasty or The Beverly Hillbillies TV show. He had hillbilly written all over him, but he was incredibly well-read and artistic.
The Rocketman?s mother, Syltetoy?a Norwegian blond beauty with long strawberry blond hair and a burning red bush, had an aversion to bras and panties?asked me to find her son. She thought that, being his best friend, I might be able to penetrate the long, dark rabbit hole that he?d managed to successfully disappear into once again.
Finding someone like Rocketman is not going to be an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. For starters, he shuffles between traveling around in a homemade Kon Tiki raft made of balsa wood, bamboo, car seat foam, and thousands of empty plastic gallon jugs that he spent years salvaging from people?s trash. He was a professional dumpster diver and proud of it. He was also certifiably crazy and proud of it.
The Rocketman has been living like a gypsy for as long as I or anyone else can remember. Jesus Christ himself would be envious of the simple, Spartan lifestyle in which he survived and lived by. One problem in trying to locate someone like the Rocketman is that he?s been traveling around aimlessly his entire adult life. There?s no telling where or when he might decide to resurface. Another problem is that he doesn?t own a credit card, a mobile phone, or have a fixed address, therefore, he?s completely off of the grid?which makes tracking him down nearly impossible. But honestly, the biggest problem in finding someone like the Rocketman is this: if doesn?t want to be found, he can be more elusive than Jimmy Hoffa.
I really don?t know what to make of his disappearance. Some people think he has been abducted by aliens. I don?t believe that for a second. I don?t think aliens would be capable of keeping him seated for the entire flight back home. He?s restless, hyperactive, prone to pushing buttons, and he eats like a horse. Besides this, he?s compulsively spontaneous, moves with the changing of seasons, and prone to jumping out of moving vehicles.
Anyone who knows the Rocketman knows that Aliens would kick him off their space ship at the very first bus stop.
Frank
