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Category:
Humor
Publisher: Veinarmor Press
Type: Fiction
Pages: 218
Copyright: 2006
ZANE SICKLE: COMIC/ADVENTURER FOR HIRE
Sixty-five-thousand words of utter nonsense!
A stand up comic, an australian bodyguard, asian hookers, ninjas,a bevy of nude women, the CIA, the NSA, the PRC, four scientists, a kazoo, a battered bullhorn, the Amazon, Jesus—the Action Figure, various vermin and a hidden spaceship. Zane is an experienced comic who's sometimes funny, sometimes not; determination to make others laugh keeps him at it. Barely successful on his home turf, he discovers others think he's 'the bomb'.
Excerpt
“Why do you fight the attraction?” Fred asked. “Is it the blonde thing? If it is, that’s just ridiculous. You got to shake that nonsense off. Morgan is hotter than a Mexican pepper smothered in horseradish. She’s got a thing for you, as if I need to tell you about women and their weird taste in men. Personally, I thought her and Clive would be doing the outback mambo, look at the rummy. He’s almost handsome enough to make me gay.”
“Rack off, ya pommy seppo, I’m not one for the blokes, I’m quoit happy wi’ a bit a mappa tassie.” Clive said, engendering wrinkled brows and confused looks from Fred and Zane.
“Clive just told you to fuck off, Fred,” Zane said, laughing. “I think?”
“Rack off, that’s push off, a pommy seppo is a damn American, ya bloody well know what a bloke is, and a mappie tassie is a map a Tasmania or a nice, wahm part of a Sheila.”
“He’s heterosexual, Fred,” Zane summarized.
“I gotta go inspect the trough lolly,” Clive said, rising. “Order a couple more schooners, we’ll put the wobbly boots on and really hit the turps.”
“Trough lolly?”
“That big, sweet smelling lifesaver in the urinal, ya dense bostahd.”
“Fred, we need an interpreter,” Zane decided.
“He gets worse the more he drinks,” Fred observed. “He’ll be fine as long as we keep him away from the beer.”
The three men drank until the manager ran them off. Once out in the still hot, heavy air they quickly realized—they were drunk.
“Fred?” Zane asked. “You gonna make it? I ain’t carrying your ass. It’s only a couple blocks.”
Fred didn’t answer, he was concentrating on walking.
“Ah’m seeing a technicolor yawn in ‘is fewcha,” Clive mumbled.
Zane broke out laughing at that one.
“Technicolor yawn, damn! I’m going to Australia. Screw this Amazon crap. You’re funnier than I am—and ya ain’t even trying.”
“I may a ‘ad one bucket a piss too many,” Clive said, grabbing Fred’s arm to steady his progress.
“Yep,” Zane said. “Bad time for more ninjas to jump out at us. Or giant, hairy Russian weightlifting women, or French Foreign Legionnaires...”
“Or littel green men wi’ ray guns,” Clive interrupted. “That’d sure spit the dummy on my donger.”
“That wouldn’t be bad, none of us are named Ray,” Zane said. “If they had a Zane gun, now that’d be a fookin’ tragedy.”
"That line needs work," Fred slurred.
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