Dear Blogger Friends...

Blogger friends and readers, you know I love you, don't you? I don't like abandoning my page like this, but, alas, I have outgrown this site. I just have too many books and I can't fit them all here. Please forgive me. I have relocated to www.pjjoneswrites.com . I sure hope you can follow my blog posts there. I will have exciting guest bloggers, and every Monday, informative editing articles just for writers. Won't you join me there?

And the Crappiest Poet is....

It’s a tie!

Aren’t I the lucky gal tonight? Having to decide between two men! Alas, I cannot, so I guess they both win!

Rex Jameson, congrats on the release of Lucifer's Odyssey , btw.

http://www.amazon.com/Lucifers-Odyssey-Primal-Patterns-ebook/dp/B005JPE8WW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1315191926&sr=8-1#_

This line has earned a place in the anals (or is it annals?) of poetic craptitude.

My love for you overflows onto my cheeks,

like a cup filled with hot, love butter.

Uh….eeewww!!!

George Berger, you are a man after my own heart. How did you know I loved crude?

Roses are white,

and lilies are, too.

My cock-ring's too tight

and my thing's turning blue.

Bwahaha!!!

Congrats! You both will receive a certificate celebrating your poetic ineptitude (when I get off my ass and design it sometime this week) plus a free download of either Romance Novel, The Vampire Handbook, or my double-feature parody hopefully releasing this week, Melvin the Dry Cleaning Zombie and Vampire Shoe Warehouse.

Thanks, everyone, for sending me your awesome…er crappy poems! I am definitely thinking this will be an annual event.

New cover! New stories!

Melvin the Dry Cleaning Zombie and Vampire Shoe Warehouse, two Halloween short stories, are currently in edits and should be available on your Kindle next week. I'm selling both together for one low price of .99. What do y'all think of the cover?

These stories all compliment my paranormal parodies, especially The Vampire Handbook and my soon-to-be-released Ralphie, the Special Werewolf. Ralphie is part of a Halloween anthology with an awesome group of writers, The Indie Eclective. To learn more about us, visit here.
http://indie-eclective.com/

In the meantime, here's a scene (unedited, sorry) from Melvin, the Dry Cleaning Zombie!

MELVIN, THE DRY CLEANING ZOMBIE BY P.J. JONES

          Melvin Metnik had broken the cardinal rule.

          Never have unprotected sex with a zombie.

          Actually, the cardinal rule for dating zombies was to not date zombies in the first place. But Melvin had always prided himself on being a rule breaker.

          This time, though, he feared he may have gone too far.

          Once again, he looked down into the toilet water. At the tip of his penis floating aimlessly in the tinted blue liquid.

          Damn. I shouldn’t have had sex with that zombie.

          He wondered what he should do about his severed extremity.

          Flush the toilet and say goodbye to an extra inch of manhood?

          Scoop it into his pocket and ask a surgeon to sew it back on?

          Or maybe just eat it and hope it grows back? After all, Melvin was getting kinda hungry.  

          In the end, though, his brain was overwrought from so much thinking. He reached into the bowl and scooped up the small, crusted nugget and slipped it into his pocket, deciding to worry about it later—after he filled the hollow void in his stomach.

          He stumbled out of the bathroom and into the adjoining bedroom then grimaced at the sight of last night’s fuck sprawled across his bed. Melvin gagged when the stench radiating from her rotting crotch hit him like a ton of bricks.

          Gawd, she smelled. He coughed into his palm while racing for the bedroom door. Once he’d made it to the kitchen, he gulped in the cleaner air. He groaned at the sharp stabbing pain in his head as he vaguely remembered chugging an entire bottle of tequila before taking the brainless bitch back to his apartment.

          What in the hell had he been thinking?

          This could seriously get in the way of his life’s aspirations, living off government welfare checks and selling pot out of his garage. Only werewolves would be foolish enough to buy weed off zombies, and they were usually too broke to pay for much more than a dime-bag.

          Shit!

          They didn’t give out food stamps for brains, so he’d have to get a real job if he wanted to pay the rent and buy more weed. All the zombies he knew worked in dry cleaning.

          Dry cleaning!

          The chemical smell, the little pins they put in clothing, that gigantic rotating wheel of clothes. What was that called, anyway?

          He should have worn a condom, but it was too late now, much too late.

Musings of my Broken Heart aka Crappy Poetry

Ahhhh…. Remember those emotionally charged teen years? When love was true but you were blue and you found yourself waxing poetic over your indifferent and worthless pimply-faced high school crush?

But after a few years, thankfully, you grew up. Your hormones settled. Your ass and thighs expanded. But best of all, you quit writing crappy poetry. Unfortunately, if you were like me, and brave enough to enter the world of trying to teach a new crop of high school kids how to appreciate real literature, you were, once again, subject to the mind-numbing torture of reading crappy poetry.

You’d be sitting at your desk, grading term papers and minding your own business, when a sniffling doe-eyed sophomore would sidle up to you while clutching a tear stained wad of paper in her hand. 

“Ms. Jones,” she’d say, “I’m entering my poem in an online contest and I could win one-thousand dollars. Would you read it and tell me if it’s any good?”

Oh, Dear God, no! 

But you smile and feign interest and take the paper from her outstretched hand.  The poem would read something like this:

I loved you once

Now you’re gone

I don’t know how I

Can carry on

You promised me

We’d never part

Then you left

And broke my heart

At that moment, you realize that if poetry had a scent, this one would smell like vomit.  But you smile again and tell her it’s sweet. You don’t tell her the truth because it would crush her already fragile heart.  She skips back to her desk and grabs another piece of paper. To her, your admission that the poem is sweet is all the validation she needs that she is going to be the next teenaged Shakespeare.

Tell me, Ms. Jones, by refusing to tell this child the truth, what have you done? The next thing you know, she’s penned a whole book-full of crap, titled, “Musings of my Broken Heart.” Thanks to Amazon self-publishing, she can upload her spewing vomit and charge .99 cents to any hapless soul who accidentally downloads it.

Unfortunately, she will further spiral into self-loathing depression when only two people buy it. Who are those two people, you ask? Her mother, of course, and you. Yes, Ms. Jones, you created this monster, now you must carry on the charade and purchase her poetry.

This all could have been avoided had you told her the truth, or at least suggested an improvement, such as editing the last two lines.

You promised me

We’d never part

Excuse me ‘cause

I need to fart

Isn’t that revised poem much better?

Will she change it? Probably not. But at least you are not to be held responsible for her delusions of poetic genius. 

Now I ask you fellow bards and sages to come up with a crappy poem of your own and leave it in the comments along with your email. At the end of one week (or two or three, depending on how may crappy poems I can collect), I will pick the crappiest of the vomit heap as the winner and you will win a free download of either Romance Novel or The Vampire Handbook plus an e-certificate deeming you the King or Queen of Poetic Mediocrity.  How’s that for reaping the rewards of your literary genius?

** I suppose I should say the poem can't be too offensive. Although, if you've read some of my writing, you'd know it's pretty hard to be offensive around me. Still, if y'all turn in some totally sick f**ked up poems, I may just have to call the cops or, at the very least, disqualify your psycho poetry. For example, no doing nasty stuff with babies. We can't all be Hugh Hefner.   

REVIEWS FOR CHOCOLATE!!!

Oh, lookie! BlueInk reviews will review your book for just a nominal fee of up to $495. Yes, you too, can hire the 'professionals' to write a review of your book. Here's the kicker. If they don't like your writing, they won't publish the review.

Oh, how nice of them! For that much $$$ they'd better clean the windows, pick up the dogshi**, and do my laundry.

No wait.

They'd better send a tall, dark and twenty-something stud with bulging biceps to do it for them.

Otherwise, I'd say that $495 for a book review is, oh I don't know, FREAKIN' INSANE!

http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2011/0812/Bad-review-of-your-book-Voila!-It-s-gone

In light of this new trend for scammers...er reviewers to make $$$ off of indies to read and then review books, I've decided to start my own review business. However, you will find my services to be far more affordable as I charge in CHOCOLATE. The number of stars in your review depends on the candy quality.

Cheap American convenience store candy bars - One star
Boxed American chocolate (variety box with mostly crappy creme filled centers) - Two stars
Higher quality American chocolate (nuts and chews) - Three stars
European chocolate will garner four or five stars depending on the quality and quantity of the chocolate.

All you have to do is send me the chocolate as well as a free download of your book (or not, as I really don't intend on reading it, anyway) and then tell me what you'd like for me to say in your review. Sound ethical? Great! Reviews for Chocolate is now open for business!

HELP ME!!!!

I have a confession to make. A reason why I don’t blog as often as I should, and not just because my brain farts of cleverly written prose only seem to come in random intervals. No, I’m a sloth, a slacker, a wastrel, a dreamer.

Why?

Because I’m too busy wasting time on other crap. Like, checking my Amazon sales reports. And my Nook sales reports. And my Smashwords sales reports.
Then there’s going to everyone else’s blogs. Of course, my waste of a day would not be complete without popping in on the KindleBoards, checking my email, Twitter and FaceBook accounts. Oh, and did I mention checking my Amazon sales reports? And then checking them again?

Let’s not forget Googling myself to see if readers have written any new reviews. Then there’s liking, tagging and reviewing all my writer friends. Of course, I’ve got to read. And choosing my next book takes time, since I’ve got this unstoppable habit of downloading new books whenever I check my Amazon reviews. All those pretty blurbs. All those pretty covers. I just can’t help myself.

And then, of course, I’ve got to check my Amazon sales reports. Haven’t I already checked them three times today, you ask? Why, I don’t remember. Have I? Perhaps I should just go check again.

Oh, yes, and there’s that other thing I do. Writing books. I’ve got to fit at least an hour of writing into my busy day as a time waster….er writer.
So there you have it, my confession. Please forgive me. I’m going to make it a point to blog more .I promise. After I check my Amazon sales reports.

Download your FREE copy of Naughty Little Schnitzel!

It's here! Get your FREE copy of Naughty Little Schnitzel on SmashWords. It should be ready on Kindle in a few days.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/77841

NAUGHTY LITTLE SCHNITZEL: Ted Ledbetter has dreamed of becoming a porn star, just like his late father, Thunderhead Ted. Unfortunately, Ted’s got one small problem preventing him from making it in this cut-throat industry. With the help of his beautiful, yet frightening assistant, Ted’s determined to produce his own adult film and prove to the world that he’s man enough to be a Naughty Little Schnitzel.

YES! NO! YES! NOOO! What was I thinking?

What WAS I thinking when I wrote this story? Eghads! I'm pretty sure I just sealed my fate in hell (or at least a really sucky version of purgatory). Okay, peeps, I PROMISE I won't write anything cruder than this. LOL!

I'll release the blurb when Naughty Little Schnitzel comes out on Smashwords FOR FREE soon, hopefully a few days with a little luck from the SmashGods.

And, yes, do judge the book by the cover. My parody of adult film stars REALLY is THAT bad!

FLABIO has his own FB fan page!

Dear God, what have I done??? In response to many readers wanting me to bring Flabio back, I've created a fan page for him. If he asks you to bake him muffins, just ignore him. And whatever you do, don't agree to meet him on a dinner date. You may just lose a finger while reaching for the last dinner roll.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Flabio/167703973299785?v=wall

THE VAMPIRE HANDBOOK is OUT!!!

My newest parody (6000 words) has just released for only 99 cents! The Vampire Handbook, features bonus reads: The Zombie Handbook and the Were-Thing Handbook. No one is spared in this one: The Twilight Saga, Casey Anthony, Justin Bieber, Anthony Wiener, Kim Kardashian and more...

http://www.amazon.com/The-Vamp​ire-Handbook-ebook/dp/B005D14X​PO/ref=sr_1_14?ie=UTF8&qid=131​0916312&sr=8-14

Synopsis:
So, after a painstakingly long soul-searching (at least five minutes) and after grappling with the possible fate of your immortal soul (who cares if you’re not going to die, anyway), you’ve decided to become a vampire.

Congratulations!

But before beginning that dark and shadowed journey into a life of eternal damnation, every vampire is required to read THE VAMPIRE HANDBOOK, a short step-by-step guide to becoming a vampire and then adjusting to the bloodsucking lifestyle.

Some of the helpful tips in this handbook include: Rules for Living an Environmentally Friendly and Urbane, Undead Lifestyle, Dietary Restrictions for Vampires, Engaging in Battles with Other Immortals, Rules for Fitting into Society and not Scaring off Potential Meals and much more...

In addition to THE VAMPIRE HANDBOOK, you will also get THE WERE/SHAPE-SHIFTER HANDBOOK and THE ZOMBIE HANDBOOK as well as a few sample chapters from my sparkly vampire parody, ROMANCE NOVEL.

THE VAMPIRE HANDBOOK!!!

In celebration of my new .99 cent short story, THE VAMPIRE HANDBOOK: AND OTHER USEFUL RULES AND REGULATIONS FOR ADAPTING TO THE IMMORTAL LIFESTYLE, coming to your Kindle next week, I've posted a scene below.

ENGAGING IN BATTLE WITH OTHER IMMORTALS
It is not recommended that vampires engage in physical violence with other immortal races, as vampires could get their heads knocked off a, wnd risk the possibility of an eternity in hell. However, as this rarely happens, this advisory is of little consequence. Everyone knows vampires are the most bad-ass immortals alive…er dead. However, should a battle ensue, it’s essential that vampires know the proper procedures for defending themselves.

HOW TO BATTLE WEREWOLVES, OR SHAPE-SHIFTERS, OR WHATEVER IN THE HELL THEY ARE: Since were-animals are usually from the poor, shitty areas of town, it is safe to assume that they are also uneducated and easily manipulated. However, their ignorance can also make them more dangerous. It is highly recommended that every vampire carry several marijuana joints in his/her pocket at all times for this reason. Usually, the were-animal can be easily calmed with a few hits of pot. If drugs do not soothe the savage beast, depending on the size of the monster, the vampire’s best option is to run like hell. Because Hell is exactly where the vampire will be heading if the vampire is decapitated by the animal.

ZOMBIES: Zombies are usually pretty easy to outrun as they walk at an unusually slow pace and vampires have an unnatural ability to run faster than a jackrabbit on speed. Since most zombies have the IQ of a peanut, it’s best to run from them as well. Remember, ignorance is dangerous. No matter how slow a zombie may be, no immortal can top the brute strength of a zombie’s crushing grip.

WITCHES AND WIZARDS: Run like hell from them, too. They can fly really fast on broomsticks and they know magic. Besides, there is a certain witch and wizard saga that is way more literary and entertaining than a certain vampire saga; therefore; you suck. They win. Shut up and run.

ALL OTHER IMMORTALS: Run from them, too. Let’s face it. As a vampire, it’s your job to look sexy in leather pants. You’re attractive. You’re urbane. Do you really want to be on the receiving end of a wooden stake? Probably not. Just get the hell out of Dodge, or PitchForks, or whatever city your pansy ass haunts at nights, and leave the real fighting to the monsters who never get laid.

Another new cover?

Well, a writer friend told me a few weeks ago that Romance Novel is missing a huge market since it mostly parodies a certain sparkly teen vamp saga. To say the least, I've been hesitant to market the book toward that fan base. Though most of those readers are over 18 now, I know the saga probably has a continual cult following of impressionable young readers.

Do I dare use a cover that would appeal to them? How can I not when I know I'm missing out on a large number of adult readers? Finally, I came to three conclusions.

1. Deadward is an environmentally friendly, disco loving vampire.
2. There's a part of me, and it's a pretty dominant part of me, that thirsts for more sales.
3. Teenage girls who are downloading books to their Kindles need their parents' credit cards. Hopefully, their parents are irrevocably and unconditionally not allowing them to download adult books. Besides, I'll put a disclaimer in the blurb that this is an adult novel.

Sooo...Poor Flabio will certainly NOT be happy with me when he discovers I've traded his moobs for a were-gerbil, but business is business. Sorry Flabio. I am about 90 percent sure I will change the cover. What do you think?

ROMANCE NOVEL'S blog tour has begun!

Guess what? Today I'm blogging about my paranormal romance parody, Romance Novel, with Desiree Holt today! Leave a comment for a chance to win a Starbuck's gift card. PJ http://www.desireeholttellsall.com/

And please stop by my awesome Goddess Fish blog tour for more chances to win!

6/20/2011 Desiree Holt Tells All
6/21/2011 Sugarbeat's Books
6/22/2011 Alisha Paige
6/23/2011 Sue Perkins, Fantasy, Romance & Young Adult Author
6/24/2011 Sexy Adventures, Passionate Tales
6/27/2011 Book Junkie
6/28/2011 Grace Elliot
6/29/2011 Lisa Haselton's Reviews and Interviews
6/30/2011 BK Walker Books, Etc.
7/1/2011 Misc. Ramblings

Five Reasons why self-pubbing ROCKS!

Having published five books under another pen-name through a publisher, I thought I'd share my reasons for believing self-pubbing through Kindle/Nook/Smashwords really does ROCK.

1. IF YOUR BOOK SUCKS, IT'S NOBODY'S FAULT BUT YOUR OWN.
One of my most frustrating experiences as a writer was when my editor made me change the ending of one of my novels, making my heroine choose a path that I didn't believe was right for her. I felt the ending sucked, but what was I to do? Pull my book and not finish out the series? Yes, I do have crit partners that give me their input on the direction of my novel, but as a self-pubbed author, all final decisions are mine!

2. KNOW HOW YOUR BOOK IS SELLING FROM DAY TO DAY, SO YOU CAN ADJUST YOUR MARKETING STRATEGY. If you only get royalty reports every month, quarter or (gasp) year, you won't know if your marketing has paid off and you may miss a lot of potential sales. On the downside, we Kindlers can get a little obsessive with checking our earnings. Guilty as charged!

3. IF YOUR COVER SUCKS, IT'S YOUR FAULT, TOO. That's right. You have to power to shop for artists. Though artwork may be costly, that's one of the downsides of self-pubbing, but, IMHO, it beats having a publisher tell me 'too bad, so sad' if I don't like my cover.

4. YOU DECIDE WHEN THE BOOK IS RELEASED. And you don't need to wait a year after you've finished the book for it to come out. I've had readers email me after a book was released asking me questions about my heroine's motivation, etc... I honestly forgot what happened in the novel. I was too wrapped up in my upcoming release.

5. BACK TO NUMBER ONE - IF YOUR BOOK SUCKS....YOU CAN FIX IT!!! That's right. You've learned a little bit more about the craft of writing since pubbing that bomb a few months ago. Your plot had more holes than FLABIO'S underwear after a spicy chili eating contest. So go pull the darned thing, fill in those holes and upload it again. That's the magic of self-pubbing through Kindle! PJ

How to deal with CRAZY people!

First off, I used to live in Las Vegas. Therefore, you could consider me somewhat of an expert on CRAZY people.

Though there is a debate as to their prevalance or even existence (and belive me, they do exist) unlike demons, vampires or ghouls, you don't need a special sixth sense to detect one. You just need a bit of common sense and maybe a vial of holy water.

Perhaps you knew a potential crazy when you were a child, like Little Lara Ledbetter who swore she would never marry, but would adopt 100 cats when she grew up. In the seventh grade, she wore high heels with tube socks and always rolled each sock into symmetrical do-nuts which stopped at each ankle. Was this some kind of new bizzare fashion trend? Had her cats told her to do it?

My favorite, or least favorite crazy person, was Jesus Christ. No, not that one. The one who picked up his daughter from play group at my house. Oh, yes, I was in for quite a surprise that day. Needless to say, my daughter wasn't too pleased when I told her she was no longer allowed to play with this particular girl. How do you explain to a five-year-old that her best friend's dad scares the crap out of Mommy?

By the way, did you know that Freddy Mercury and other famous celebrities were actually demons in disguise? Did you honestly think such raw musical genius could be possessed by a mere mortal? Pshaw! All this, according to Jesus Dad, who learned this shortly before he arose from the dead.

Yes, Bohemian Rhapsody is one of my all-time favorite songs. And no wonder I love it! Those demons really know how to rock!

So, PJ, how on earth do you deal with crazy people? Look, just smile and learn to take them in stride. They might be having an off day, an off week, possibly an off life. I know I've said some crazy things during my PMS cycle. Even though my PMS can get pretty ugly, I don't recall ever being resurrected from the dead. However, I have threatened to do bodily harm to others.

You see, we've all got a bit of crazy in us. Crazy can be good. After all, life would be pretty boring if we kept them all locked up in Vegas. Except for that flasher who did that really gross thing on the hood of my car in front of a Vegas night club. He can stay in Vegas.

Today's post was inspired by a particular writer friend of mine who is dealing with her own personal crazy.

BTW - My newest novel will be released this summer: DRIVING ME NUTS! - Three mental patients, two loaded guns, one stolen car and a WHOLE lot of trouble!

PJ's List of Annoying Drivers

I wrote this list a while back and recently dug it up when I was cleaning my desktop. This list still has the power to irritate me while making me laugh. Enjoy! PJ

1. Parents who don’t put kids in car seats. Usually these parents are too distracted to drive safely as their little brats are bouncing all around the back seat. Where’s a cop when you need one?

2. Guys who blast their shi**y music with their windows down. Does the whole world want to listen to your crap? No. You think we all care about your expensive stereo, but we don’t. If I want to listen to music, I’ll turn on my own stereo, thank you. My stereo may not be as big as yours, but neither is my ego. Because you’re self centered and insecure, you need the world to listen to your music, so we can validate that you actually are cool.

3. People who load the back of their trucks with too much sh**. In order to save a tank of gas, you’ll try to stuff every scrap of your furniture into one load. Never mind the lawsuit you’ll be facing when your futon crashes through someone’s windshield. So far, I’ve dodged a lawn chair, a glass top coffee table and a mattress. Sorry, but your patio furniture isn’t my idea of a hood ornament.

4. The guy who orders the deluxe car wash for his piece of sh** ’82 rusty Dodge pickup with a missing front fender. Who in the hell is going to notice your Lustra three coat sealant? Save that extra four dollars for a new fender at the junkyard. I’ve got a schedule to keep, and I don’t like wasting my time waiting behind you.

5. The car snob who takes up two parking spaces so his car won’t get scratched. If your car is so damned special, then park it somewhere else – your garage. Borrow your friend’s ’82 rusty Dodge before you learn the hard way. Taking up two spaces will INCREASE your chances of damage to your pretty paint job. Like, the words ASSHOLE scrawled on your driver’s side door in key marks. Maybe you think you’re special because of your expensive car, but unless you’re the guy who massages my feet and makes me howl at night, you’re nobody to me.

From Tragedy to Parody

From Tragedy to Parody. Stop by Rebecca Knight's blog and find out why I wrote ROMANCE NOVEL plus read the hilarious scene that inspired it all! http://rebeccaknightbooks.blogspot.com/

Too Many Ebooks or does someone want to hog the island?

A nice fella by the name of ANDRE posted a blog article that there are too durned many ebooks.

http://coolmainpress.com/ajwriting/

My favurit quote-tashun is how he calls us Kindlers 'hillbillies'.

"My adventures among the unfriendly hillbillies in the Kindle Swamplands..."

Mr. Andre, I don't reckon yur from around my neck of the woods, but Iz sure glad youz smart enough ta writes that article showin' us how dumb we are and all.

He wuz brave enuf ta soil his britches and trudge thru the Kindle muck and post the link ta his article on the Kindle Boards. Some of them Kindle authors is darned near riled up. I ain't no rocket scientist, but I gets the feeling Mr. Andre is tryin' ta hog the epub island and kick all of us other not-so-smart writters off.

That's just my opin-yun. That and about two bucks will git ya a cola and some corn fritters.

Now, normally, I ain't one ta hold no hard feelings, but I'z wanted ta show a little somethin' ta Mr. Andre. See, there, THE ISLAND IS MINE!





And a nutter thing, I gots the last mango, chocolate and Twinkie, (have ta read Kindle Boards ta git that joke) and I ain't sharin it wit nobody, except my fella hillbillie writters! PJ

Celebrate my Cyberlaunch and enter to win a Starbuck's gift card!

Author Island is hosting my launch party today! Won't you join us? Register for a chance to win a Starbuck's gift card!

http://www.cyberlaunchparty.blogspot.com/

How many landfills can a vampire fill in an eternity?

Answer...a lot. And now here's Chapter One of ROMANCE NOVEL!
Chapter 1

“Miss Rosepetal. I’m afraid your baby is gravely ill. As each day passes, his heart beats slower. Eventually, it will stop.” Dr. Wannabush sat on the edge of his desk, twirling the tip of his dark, slender moustache, while he peered down at Smella Rosepetal through small, dark-rimmed spectacles.

“Not my little Joshua!” Hands clasped over her heart, the young mother‘s gaze swept over the rosy-cheeked, crimson-haired, infant sleeping in the basket beside her chair. “Doctor,” she cried, “you must save him!”

Dr. Wannabush stood, adjusting the heavy weight in his crotch while he thrust his pelvis precariously close to the bridge of Smella’s blemish-free, and not overly-large, forehead. “He will need a heart transplant, but the operation is risky.”

Smella managed to look up at the doctor’s face, despite the stiffened protrusion obscuring her vision. “How risky?” she asked.

Shaking his head, the doctor sat back down, the bulge in his plaid polyester pants looking more like an erect circus tent. “There is a fifty-percent chance he will not make it.”

“Oh, my baby!” She cried, her long tresses coming undone from their neat, maidenly confinement, in lush, cascading, dark waves, despite the fact that Smella hadn’t touched her scalp.

The doctor arched a slender brow. “And there’s more.”

“More?” she gasped.

“Your health insurance doesn’t cover this type of surgery.” The doctor leveled her with a hardened stare. “You will need five hundred thousand dollars.”

“Doctor, I’m a vulnerable single mother, desperately in need of a strong man to take care of me.” A hand flew to her brow and she turned pleading violet eyes upon him. “Where am I to get that kind of money?”

Lost in a perfectly staged, yet not painstakingly long, lapse of thought, the doctor rubbed his chiseled jaw. “Might I suggest you marry a young, sophisticated, wealthy Texas tycoon with raven hair and bulging biceps, who’s not afraid of a long-term commitment to a poor, ignorant, yet surprisingly beautiful, single mother, who for some reason has a flat stomach and firm breasts, despite the fact that she recently birthed an illegitimate child?”

“What a good idea.” Suddenly forgetting the gravity of the situation, Smella nearly jumped out of her seat, her perky breasts jiggling once, then coming to a complete, controlled stop. “How can I ever thank you?”

Dr. Wannabush shrugged, a sly grin creasing the corners of his mouth. “A quickie on top of my desk.”

Batting long, lush lashes, she shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, doctor, but I’m saving my virginity for my one true love.”

His forehead wrinkled in obvious confusion. “You have a baby.”

“Yes, I know. He’s the light of my life, and so smart.” She looked down at the baby again, which had somehow sprouted blond hair and a dimple in his chin. “He cries only on cue and knows not to interrupt a scene between Mommy and a minor secondary character.”

The doctor heaved a sigh. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind about that quickie?”

“No, doctor, I’m sorry. I must hurry to Texas if I am to save my baby.” Smella and her breasts quickly stood. She single-handedly lifted the infant’s basket with surprising ease before abruptly turning and heading for the door. “Thank you for everything. Maybe if you’re lucky, you will have sex in a sequel.”


Buy ROMANCE NOVEL ON KINDLE!


Buy ROMANCE NOVEL ON NOOK!

FLABIO'S new makeover!

Kindle authors, you rock! After much discussion on my cover, the authors over there on the Kindleboard, decided my cover fonts needed more 'pop'. If you are an author on Kindleboards, do you belong? If not, you are MISSING out!

Sooooo, here's my new cover. They suggested moving my little disclaimers beneath FLABIO'S moobs (man-boobs) and making the fonts bolder and a more legible Seriff. What do you think????

Though none of the kind authors suggested FLABIO get in better shape, I'm happy to report he is working out by jogging to the fridge, then to the toilet, and back again. Cramming those giant blueberry muffins layered with partially-hydrogenated-oil-artificial-butter-flavored-substitute into his mouth is a workout in itself!

Thank you Kindle Authors! PJ

Hilarious blog with Judd Exley!

Hey, people, go visit Judd Exley's page, would ya? I've got a new scene from ROMANCE NOVEL there and then you can peruse his hilarious blog. I swear, I've been enjoying his wit almost as much as he enjoys smelling his own elevator farts.

http://www.juddexley.com/

INTENSE, EMOTIONAL, FRIGHTENING, ARTIFICIAL BUTTERY, scene from chapter 14!

SMELLA'S ROMANTIC FUTURE IS IN JEOPARDY! HER ONE TRUE LOVE DUMPED HER. HER FATHER WANTS TO MARRY HER OFF TO A DEADLY LAIRD. AND WORST OF ALL, THERE'S ONLY ONE REMAINING BLUEBERRY MUFFIN!


“Smella, I’d like you to meet Laird Flabio.” Harvey latched onto her elbow and made a sweeping motion toward Flabio. “Your future husband,” Harvey enunciated in a dignified manner.

Flabio and his big muffins bowed before Smella, and he smiled at her with a feral glint in his dark, ominous gaze.

“What?” Smella’s hand flew to her throat, and she gasped before choking out the words. “I can’t marry him. I’m already unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Deadward.”

Harvey shook his head, snickering. “You keep telling yourself that, Smells. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

“It’s true. I love him!” She cried out, feeling her breaths coming in gasps. She couldn’t imagine a life without Deadward. An arranged marriage to a man she hardly knew? She didn’t even like blueberries.

Her father turned to her with a thunderous expression. “I forbid you to see him!” he bellowed.

Smella’s insides churned. Her knees weakened. “Why?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Harvey eyed her with concern in his creased brow. “My deputies have been investigating his family.”

“Really?” Averting her gaze, she pretended to feign ignorance. “What did you find?” she asked innocently.

“Ever since the Forests moved to town,” Harvey spoke with a hard edge to his voice, kind of like he was going to announce that he discovered Deadward and his family were demonic, bloodsucking vampires. “There have been no stray pets in Pitchforks.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” she wondered aloud, feeling relieved that her father hadn’t realized the Forests were environmentally-friendly, vegetarian vampires.

“That’s not all,” the deputy added with casual indifference. “Over a dozen soccer moms from around the area have come up missing.”

“Oh? What a shame,” she said with false sincerity.

Harvey squared his shoulders, and gave her that smug, father-knows-best, look. “People are afraid to drive their Suburbans.”

“Well,” she answered in huff. “It’s good for the environment.”

“Yes, I guess so.” He looked momentarily disoriented, scratching the back of his neck while scrunching his brows. “But something about the Forest family is weird, so I’ve already arranged a marriage between you and Laird Flabio.” He motioned to the fat guy holding muffins, who had conveniently managed to stay quiet during the tense scene between Smella and her father.

Flabio’s goofy grin widened. Setting down the muffin pan, he turned around and grabbed something off the dining table. “Flabio have flowers for you.”

Smella thought she’d swoon when Flabio handed her a bouquet of petunias - the same kind of flowers that had killed Sassy. She stared down at the flowers with uneasiness, a queasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. Then she looked back at Flabio, the man whom her father had arranged for her to marry.

Dear God!

He bore a striking resemblance to the bartender who’d mysteriously disappeared the night Roxy was poisoned. He also looked like the stranger who had tried to attack her in the alley. And was it just a coincidence that he handed her the same type of flowers used in Sassy’s murder? Or was Laird Flabio somehow connected to her friends’ deaths?

“Laird Flabio comes from money,” her father said while biting into a large muffin. “Scottish-Italian nobility who made their fortune in artificial butter.” He spoke while chards of muffin flew from his mouth. “Mmmmm, delicious muffins, Laird Flabio,” the deputy moaned before planting his entire face into the next bite.

Flabio grabbed a tub of margarine with a picture of his face on it. He dug out a chunk of the spread with his finger, greased the top of the muffin, and then shoveled a large portion into his mouth. He turned first to Smella, then to the deputy with a look of mock enthusiasm in his eyes. “I can’t believe this is partially-hydrogenated-oil-artificial-butter-substitute,” he said as if he was reading a cue card for a commercial, but having a difficult time articulating the words.

“We saved one for you, Smells.” The deputy nodded toward the pan with one remaining muffin.

Flabio gulped down the rest of the pastry, then reached for another. “Flabio want one more.”

“That’s your ninth muffin,” the deputy grumbled in between bites, slapping Flabio’s hand away from the pan. “Save one for Smella.”

The large man’s square jaw fell, and his lips turned a frown. “Flabio need muffin to build strong muscles.”

“I think Flabio could use a few less muffins,” the deputy derided. He grabbed the last muffin and tried to force one on Smella. “Take one before they’re all gone.”

“No, thanks, Harvey.” She waved him and the offending muffin away. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Turning on her heel, Smella raced from the room. She managed to hold back the tears until she’d reached the top of the stairs.

By the time she’d fallen onto her rainbow quilt, she was sobbing like a baby. How could her dad force her to marry such a brute? Surely she’d starve with a husband like Laird Flabio. She could only imagine herself reaching for a dinner roll at the table and losing a finger in the process. She’d be much safer with a husband like Deadward. Although he thirsted for her blood, and it took all of his physical restraint not to eat her, he would have been gracious enough to offer her the last muffin.

If her daddy refused to allow her to marry Deadward, surely her life would be over. Never mind the fact that he dumped her a few chapters ago, and he no longer wanted her, anyway. Or that he and his vampire family had relocated to an undisclosed location, and she probably wouldn’t find him, even if she searched for a million years.

She and Deadward were destined to be together.

Get your copy of Romance Novel for only 99 cents on Kindle!
http://www.amazon.com/Romance-Novel-ebook/dp/B004UMOWWQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1303136844&sr=8-1

Get your copy of Romance Novel for only 99 cents on Nook!
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Romance-Novel/PJ-Jones/e/2940012377258/?itm=1&USRI=romance+novel+pj+jones

First encounter

Oooh, yes, the moment you've all been waiting for - The sizziling scene when the hero and heroine meet. Enjoy this scene with a nice glass of red wine. Grab your athsma inhaler, too, because you will be left breathless when you read their first, steamy encounter...

Just as she was about to lift the glass to her lips, a sudden chill caressed her flesh like icy kisses. She giggled as the sensation seeped through her denim and snaked up her thighs. Her giggle turned to a gasp, then a moan as one cool tendril slid across the prickly spikes of her week-old bikini waxing.

What had come over her? She hadn’t even taken a sip and already she was feeling buzzed.

Setting down the beer, she spun around, knowing her answer would somehow be behind her. Her jaw dropped in astonishment.

The most beautiful man she’d ever seen was not there, but when she turned sideways, a somewhat good looking, although pasty white gentleman, was seated in the saddle beside her. He wore retro black polyester pants with a matching button-down shirt, revealing a pasty white, hairless chest. Draped over his polyester was a heavy looking, black tweed coat with an oversized collar. The rather large buttons, and silver buckle dissecting the coat, were left unfastened.

Smella briefly questioned the wisdom of a fashion statement where a man wore many layers of clothing and then didn’t bother to button up.

“I wouldn’t drink that poison if I were you.”

He spoke with a slight accent, reminding Smella of a lonely soul from another place, another time. Or maybe just a British guy trying to sound like he was from nineteenth century Boston.

Smella’s eyes widened. Her gaze shot to the beer, then back to the stranger. “What poison?”

“You can’t pin anything on me!” The bartender hollered while stumbling backward, before falling against a shelf of beer mugs.

Locked in the stranger’s dark gaze, Smella ignored the sound of crashing glass. She was more interested in his perfectly kissable blood red lips and the cold, impenetrable aura that radiated off his stony features.

“Alcohol destroys your kidneys.” The stranger flashed a subdued smile, revealing pearly white, jagged teeth.

“You’re right.” Turning down her lips in disgust, Smella pushed away the offending glass. “Thank you for berating my choice of beverage. Throughout this novel, you may occasionally behave like a total control freak, but I know you are only concerned for my well-being, and because I am a woman, obviously I’m too stupid to act in my own best interest.”

Somewhere in the darkest recesses of her mind, she thought she heard the obese bartender scream, “Help me! I’m bleeding everywhere!” But she refused to let him ruin the romantic tension that she was trying to build with the tall pasty stranger.

Leaning toward him, she playfully batted long lashes while twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

But the stranger didn’t respond to her flirtation. He was too busy pinching his nose and making a gagging sound.

She scooted back. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” He spoke through a wheeze. “I have to go.”

In a flash, he was gone.

Smella was confused, bewildered, frightened, rejected, vulnerable, hurt, self-conscious and irritated.

But never mind her PMS.

She was more concerned about her awkward encounter with the kind stranger.

Buy Romance Novel on your Nook! http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Romance-Novel/PJ-Jones/e/2940012377258/?itm=1&USRI=romance+novel+pj+jones

Buy Romance Novel on your Kindle! http://www.amazon.com/Romance-Novel-ebook/dp/B004UMOWWQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1302838326&sr=8-1

Why are people spewing coffee on their ereaders when they read Romance Novel???

But more importantly....Is Flabio a real cover model? How can an unwed virgin mother conceive an illegitimate child and still retain her flat stomach and perky breasts? Why must all hunky single millionaires live in Texas? What's that awful smell? These questions an many more are all answered in Romance Novel, my new parody.

Buy the Book on Kindle!

http://www.amazon.com/Romance-Novel-ebook/dp/B004UMOWWQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1302616026&sr=8-1

Buy the Book on Nook!

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Romance-Novel/PJ-Jones/e/2940012377258/?itm=1&USRI=romance+novel+pj+jones

HOT LOVE SCENE!

Are you ready for some passion??? Here's a sultry love scene from Romance Novel!

She brushed the sleeve of her tweed coat across her passion-soaked lips. “Gawd, did you have onions for dinner?”

“Sorry.” Snake winced, wishing he’d laid off the salsa when he’d eaten those fish tacos.

“Do you want me to brush?”

“No,” Looking like she had her own dirty little secret to share, she toyed her fingers while playfully biting her lower lip. “I haven’t washed my delicate blossoming flower in over a month, so now we’re even.”

“That’s disgusting!” He gagged, releasing Smella’s shoulders. He was so disgusted, that a tiny amount of bile projected into the back of his throat.

She flopped back into her bean bag. “Women hardly bathe in medieval times,” she huffed.

“It’s 2011,” he corrected. Smella sat up and jammed a finger in his chest. “Are you going to point out every historical inaccuracy in this convoluted story-line?”

“I guess not,” he grimaced while wondering if three condoms would be enough to shield his penis from her skanky crotch.

Grasping his hand, she placed his palm on her ample breast.

That seemed to do the trick, because Snake had already forgotten what had him so grossed out just a few moments earlier. All that mattered was that he had a boob in his hand.

Leaning over, she rasped into his ear in a sultry voice. “I’m going to faint next time you kiss me. That’s your cue to carry me into the bedroom.”

Get your copy on Kindle!

http://www.amazon.com/Romance-Novel-ebook/dp/B004UMOWWQ/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1301838693&sr=8-2

Get your copy on Nook!
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Romance-Novel/PJ-Jones/e/2940012377258/?itm=1&USRI=romance+novel+pj+jones

Flabio has arrived!

Romance Novel is up for sale, so all of my one followers, please go to Amazon and get your ecopy before they are all sold out! Just try and imagine the empty ebook shelves. Special thanks to my friends, Alisha and Beckie, for helping me navigate through Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/Romance-Novel-ebook/dp/B004UMOWWQ/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1301623676&sr=1-2

Here's the lowdown on Romance Novel:

Smella Rosepetal must find a millionaire husband to finance her baby’s heart transplant. She flies home to her deputy father’s ranch in Pitchforks, Texas, where she falls in love with Deadward Forest, a wealthy environmentalist vampire.

When a deranged murderer is on the loose in Pitchforks, killing romance heroines, Deadward assumes Smella would be safer without him. Smella turns to her childhood friend, Snake Long, for comfort. But Snake doesn’t have the money to save her baby, so Smella places herself in peril in a desperate hunt for a rich husband.

Time is running out for Smella’s baby, and she must escape the Australian Outback, then face down Flabio, an overweight and disgruntled, aspiring cover model, plus enraged vampire wives and their homosexual, vampire, cowboy husbands, a jealous were-gerbil, James Bond, a drunk rodeo clown and Smella’s strange boyfriend who wants to drain her blood, yet is repulsed by her smell.

Romance Novel

Attention all of my followers. Yes, I realize nobody is following me yet, and I also realize that I am writing to myself. Anyway, here is my new cover. Romance Novel releasing on Kindle soon. Unfortunately, I was forced to cut a deal with model, Flabio, and allow him to be on my cover. A friend of mine was so kind as to point out that his man-boobs aren't symmetrical. In Flabio's defense, he has thyroid disease, so please give him a break.

In case you're wondering what Romance Novel is about, it's an off color parody combining The Twilight saga, Brokeback Mountain, Australia, James Bond, fatherless baby, historical, mystery, suspense, western, unwed millionairre, erotica and medical romances.

Below is a scene from Romance Novel - PJ:

Long flaxen hair blowing in the artificial breeze, the bronze-skinned model flexed his bulging biceps while crushing the voluptuous blonde to his chest. Crying out, she surrendered her body to his mercy.

He was a man in his prime; a god among mortals. Women desired him, men envied him. Who cared that he wasn't as rich or as successful as his Italian cousin by a similar name? The time had come for a new king of romance.

"Hey, Flabio." The pock-faced, aging photographer with a bad comb-over, called from behind a wide-angle camera lens. "Could you look a little more angry?" he whined with a totally unattractive, nasaly pitch. "Maybe pull back your fist like you're gonna pummel her?"

A look of indignation and shock crossed Flabio's dark eyes as he jutted his prominent chin. "But we are lovers!" he snapped in a thick, yet superficial, Italian accent.

The photographer rolled his eyes. "This is a domestic violence ad, not a cover for a romance novel. Maybe you could pretend like you're strangling her." He motioned to Flabio's puffy pirate shirt, with pearl buttons and double-stitched seams. "Unbutton your shirt and let your beer gut show."

Flabio's square jaw dropped before he narrowed his gaze at the photographer. He shoved the girl with such force, she nearly fell over. He ripped his shirt off, revealing a distended abdomen and two fleshy man-boobs. Palming his fist, he stalked the girl.

With wide eyes and trembling limbs, she squawked like a deranged chicken, running circles around the studio.

"That's good," the photographer moaned. "Rough and dirty."

* * *

"Gus, you are Flabio's agent." Standing in the center of an otherwise vacant parking lot, the model barked into the receiver of his Blackberry as he leaned against the driver's side door of a cherry red, '84 Rabbit convertible. He struggled with the front of his pirate shirt, trying in vain to get button-less seams to magically seal over his fat belly. "Why you not return Flabio's calls?"

"I was busy with other clients," the disinterested voice slurred on the other end.

"Flabio is tired of crappy shoots!" As he thrust a fist into the air, the stitches of his shirtsleeve ripped open, revealing sagging triceps that wiggled like Jell-o. "He wants to be after man on Slimfast ad, not before!"

"Be happy you're getting paid," Gus groaned.

Flabio pursed his lips together and blew an exasperated breath, spittle flying from his mouth with the noise of his face fart. With an outstretched arm, he turned the receiver toward him as if the phone was Gus's head. "How Flabio can be real man pretending to be plumber or constipated?"

"Look," Gus echoed. "The romance industry isn't looking for men of your build."

Jutting his chin, Flabio puffed out his man-boobs while sucking in his gut. "Flabio have body of Atlas!"

For a moment, the receiver was silent, before a mixed sound of grumbling and cursing was heard on the other line. "Maybe if you lost a few pounds."

"How dare you!" He choked the little phone with both hands. "Flabio has bad thyroid."

"Face it!" Gus yelled. "You're just too fat for romance!"

"Fat? Flabio not fat! You fired!" Throwing the phone to the ground, Flabio repeatedly stomped on it.

After his rage had run its course, he scooped up the remnants of his phone while sobbing like a baby.

Jerking open the car door, he attempted to look angry while squeezing his large body into the compact front seat. "Flabio will show him," he growled while clutching the steering wheel with whitened knuckles. "Flabio will show all romance bastards! Think they can turn up their noses at Flabio!"

After several failed attempts, the car battery finally turned over and he tore out of the parking lot at a break-neck speed of five miles per hour. Ominous music slowly filtered in from the background as the Rabbit veered down a darkened alleyway. Though the car had become obscured in shadow, the reader could still hear Flabio's maddening, maniacal laugh, indicating that he was plotting something nefarious and foul, because every romance needs a villian, so the hero can save the girl and get laid.