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|  | | 30,000 Losers
The second book of the Filthy Lucre Trilogy. Reduced to the status of subaltern dishwasher, Trinculo Natherington is once again rescued from his mundane existence, this time by a trash-talking, three-eyed trouble troll. He continues his voyage of self-transmogrification, in the company of an assortment of old farts, shady ladies, a nubile teenaged hitchhiker named Nebraska, and an army of neutron-irradiated, ambulatory, trash-talking sagebrush. At the same time, in a mad laboratory tucked away in a remote part of the high desert of Nevada, Anton Pesticide's evil twin brother Earwig is using Trinculo's DNA to breed an army of idiot clones, as part of a truly unique political power grab. Aside from funding difficulties, the only obstacle to this diabolical plan is a runaway intergalactic prison freighter full of sulfur-based alien scum. And elsewhere, the bright lights of Las Vegas continue to attract all manner of fools, and lots of money continues to change hands.
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div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in">As Zeetle and his passengers continued their journey westward, through the farmlands of southern Illinois, the whereabouts of St. Louis was becoming a matter of considerable concern to them; for they could find no trace of it. The Gateway Arch, normally visible for miles in all directions, was nowhere to be seen. East St. Louis, on the Illino | |  | | The Pinball Apocalypse
The first book of the Filthy Lucre Trilogy. In a chance encounter at the local Laundromat, perennial putz Trinculo Natherington is rescued from his mundane existence by a trash-talking wad of statically charged dryer lint. Accompanied by the hard-drinking, nonexistent philosopher/pickpocket Anton Pesticide and an outlaw lesbian biker named Bruce, he embarks on a voyage of self-transmogrification, which includes third-class passage on the world's most toxic garbage barge, a trip through hell, an island-hopping debauch with a boatload of mountaineering hookers, and a brief stint as pope. Meanwhile reality continues to be defined by the nuttiest people, lots of money changes hands, and the ultimate fate of the planet is left to some of its humblest denizens.
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div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt">Commodore Mundus (not his real name) stood upon the bridge of the i>Pristine Commando/i>, scanning the horizon. His face was drawn into its customary implacable scowl, and his disgust, as usual, was too deep for words. Above him, in the breeze, fluttered the flag of no known nation. He flew only the banner of the organization to which he had dedicated his life—i>Earthscrubbers/i>. Their logo was | |  | | The Ultimate Rip-off
The third book of the Filthy Lucre Trilogy. Altogether bored with their earthly existence, Trinculo Natherington and his unexpectedly wealthy child-bride Nebraska are offered transportation elsewhere by a trio of extraterrestrial Three Stooges impersonators. Accompanied by their parasitical long-term houseguest Anton Pesticide and an elderly voodoo priest named Papa Benjamin, they embark on a cosmic odyssey of self-transmogrification, which leads them into a tangled web of transdimensional and intergalactic intrigue, kinky sex, and other wildly improbable coincidences, culminating in a visit to a planet where it is truly more blessed to receive than to give, and a fateful encounter with the mother of all black holes. And as always, lots of money continues to change hands.
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div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in">Katrina Stepanov awoke to find herself securely bound, in a spread-eagle position, to some sort of strange, shiny, metallic framework. Moreover, she was naked, and there were spindly alien hands all over her. Most women would have screamed. Most women would have struggled violently and uselessly. Most women would have gone into hysterics, and thereby rendered themselves all the more vulnerable. Most men would h |
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