bobsoldout.com

After my second wife — the one I really loved and would have married sooner if my first wife hadn’t made such a poor decision in agreeing to marry me first (which was part of the settlement — she admits she made a terrible decision and gets the rights to most of my early work) — left me, I didn’t think I’d ever love again.  But then my second wife (who shall remain nameless, as per my attorney’s advice) pointed out that I was in love with myself (her keen observations are part of why I fell in love with her in the first place) to which I responded, “Well if I’m so in love with myself why don’t I just go ahead and marry me?” which is the last thing I ever said to her, unless you count voicemails, which I’m still convinced she didn’t receive, despite what the court order may claim.

So anyway I tried to take my second wife’s advice (as any loyal husband would) and went down to the courthouse (I had been married twice already and I didn’t want a big ceremony) and filled out all the forms and turned them into the clerk who eyed me suspiciously and said, “Sir, is this a joke or do you and your spouse-to-be really have the exact same name, address, and date of birth?”  I explained as calmly as passion allowed that it was most certainly not a joke, that I was in love and I wanted the world to know it and the state to recognize it.  And that’s all I’ll say about that situation pending the outcome of my lawsuit, but I remain optimistic.

Also I’d like to remind you that John Fontaine novels make a great Valentine’s Day gift for someone you love or just for yourself, especially anything published in about the last 10 years or so.

Happy Valentine’s Day,

jf, npfw
johnfontaine [at] bobsoldout.com

I sent out a few proofs of the second draft of my new book, Cows, Cowards, Cowboys, and Vampires: The Rise of Count Cowcula, and so far all responses have been positive.  A noted pulp fiction writer even calls it “A meaty book you won’t be able to put down,” and I can imagine Flann O’Brien calling it “the pig’s whiskers.”  Here’s another excerpt*:

Hot damn was it ever summer in the country and the heat was hitting Count Cowcula , hard, like a ton of bricks in a pizza oven.  Private Intelligence Cow had just returned from intentionally building urban relationships, disguised as a stray cow, and had some very delicious news for the other moosquitoes.

“Hear me, bovampires,” he lowly declared.  “There is an urban orphanage nearby, filled with defenseless children.  Their tender hearts are filled with children’s blood!”

Count Cowcula immediately understood Private Intelligence Cow’s intentions, and announced, “We feed in the heat of tonight!”

***

Cayhill Orphanage Works was just shutting down for a good night’s rest.  The sweet orphans were all tucked into their beds, and Gary and Melinda, primary caretakers, were winding down with bourbon, ice, and soda, in that order.

“I really enjoy our job,” Gary said.  “We’re really, really good people.”

“It’s true,” said Melinda.  “Now let’s make sweet virtuous love together.”

Gary barely had time to sexily consent before they were making love all over each other like hot syrup on hot pancakes, which is probably why neither thought to close the window.  The same window that a certain band of moosquitoes would soon use to float through.

***

The last words Gary would ever utter were, “No, not you, too, stray cow from the petting zoo!  I never should’ve believed you!”

*Earlier in the book I explain that bovampires cowmoonicate with each other through a series of vigorous grunts and stomping.  The following bovampire dialogue should be considered a loose translation only.