When we left Pierce Noonan, he was experiencing a day of terror. His housekeeper interrupts him: “Excuse me, sir? Why are you screaming over the half-filled bathtub?” and he’s all: “HAHAHAHAHHAAHA! What?” and she replies with: “Oh gosh, shucks, being from Maine country, I need to finish cleaning up this tub right quick so I can get home and rest my stereotype.”

She then helpfully expositions about what “Dark Score Crazy” means, but Pierce Noonan wants specifics: do people go crazy with Dark Score Crazy? (This guy has a terrible imagination for a writer.) The housekeeper reveals that all these men have in fact, gone crazy and have killed little girls!

“Oh wow, that’s gross, “ Pierce Noonan’s face says, “but Ms. Housekeeper, was my wife banging dudes in this cabin?” Are you serious, Pierce? I think the housekeeper is also offended, because she leaves. Noonan decides to take matters into his own hands and goes online to Goog–I mean, Interweb Detective “Dark Score Crazy.” He comes up with nothing, not even 4Chan can help him. So he promptly goes up to his wife’s old work room attic and trashes the shit out of it. Then he sniffs the bedsheets.

This happened.

Suddenly he discovers an attic ABOVE the attic. A super-attic? The attic attic has a collection of creepy owls, a desk chair, some lye and a adorable raccoon that nearly kills our hero. So close, Mr. Raccoon! Better luck next season.

Noonan then finds a bunch of books about Dark Score! He flips through them, and seems sort of bored because there’s no reference to his wife cheating on him. What the hell, secret books?

He delves deeper into the mysteries of Sara Tidwell. He manages to pull up on his iPad a video recording of her performing in the 1930s. And yet he can’t seem to Google (sorry “Interweb Detective”) “Dark Score Crazy.” The mysteries of life!

Mattie shows up and bounces around and reveals that her sole custody of KyRA is pretty much a lock because Max has been paying off KyRA’s ad-litem or something. I don’t see how this means that Mattie is now safe and clear from the custody battle, but, whatever, bouncy bouncy bouncy!!

Then Mattie sees a familiar face in Noonan’s family photo. It’s the man she saw at the coffee shop with Noonan’s wife Jo! Noonan laughs gloriously. What relief! That’s his brother, his GAY brother. Hahahaha! Yay! Gay Brother Sid!

Then then, Mattie, like any 21-year-old bouncy bouncy gives the nearest 60-year-old man a big kiss on the lips. Yum!

You taste like my dad.

Noonan walks back inside his house to find it trashed by the ghost of Sara Tidwell, and proceeds to do her one better by breaking her records. That’s right bitch, Pierce will always break more shit than you! He returns to his magical fridge magnets, still trying to decipher the code “Sid Own Lft” secretly wondering if that’s the name of the Swedish man who boned his dead wife.

He calls his Gay Eunuch Brother Sid and Sid makes a joke about “knocking boots” and Pierce is like “HAHAHAHA. No, seriously, do you know anything about a lift? Maybe something you put in a shoe or an elevator in a factory where my wife was banging some dude? No? Okay.”

Pierce runs into his favorite Lady Tree and is hitting on the tree hard core (my mom wishes she were that tree), he puts his hand on the tree’s stomach and she zaps him and he pukes. That is an efficient deterrent for tree rape! He’ll think better next time.

Not to sound SAPPY, but you look GOOD, Lady Tree.

Suddenly, Pierce runs into Max, his motorized wheelchair and his assistant Rogette up on a rocky cliff. Max gives a long soliloquy about whores and rotting butterflies and Pierce sums up the audience’s thoughts by saying “what the hell are you talking about?”

Max wants to know if Pierce is sure he wants “to be the little girl’s hero.” And Pierce is like “Enough of ye!” and then Rogette punches him in the face and he falls off the cliff into the water and he shouts “ARE YOU CRAZY?!” and Rogette goes “AH-ha! HAHAHA!” and throws stones at him and continues to cackle like a Chico’s mannequin witch while Max yells out at him about responsibility.

Nothing to see here! Just taking a daily cliff walk wheelchair stroll.

So Pierce jogs back to his house in his soaking wet clothes (my mom wishes she were those clothes) and instead of calling the police and filing a report about being punched off a cliff he picks up a package at his door that is later revealed to be copies of his new book and then JASON PRIESTLEY: AGENT OF TEEN DREAMS leaves a voice-mail saying that the package has copies of Pierce’s new book. Phew, I’m glad I received verbal confirmation about the thing I just saw!

Instead of calling the phone company to report his lost phone or using his iPad to report his lost phone, Pierce pours himself a drink and decides to play a relaxing game of Words With The Dead. He gets a visit from the local deputy who passes on a message from Max that he wants Pierce to agree to “cease all legal maneuvers and let Mr. Devore rest in peace.” There’s no “catch” Pierce just needs to call Max and “agree to the terms.”

Pierce Mike Noonan has the same “whatthefuck?” look on his face as the audience, but he calls Max anyway—which is weird because why doesn’t he send a special convoy with a special message? Was his Gay Brother Sid busy?

But instead of simply calling and agreeing to Max’s nonsensical FORESHADOWING deal, Pierce Noonan says Rogette is an ugly bitch and promises to ring her scrawny turkey neck. You can’t just punch ex-James Bond off a cliff and expect to get away from it verbally unscathed, Rogette!

So after all that delightful banter, Noonan agrees to Max’s terms of 1) ceasing his legal maneuvers which was really only five minutes of his time applying basic logic to a custody battle taking place in what appeared to be in the “VHS Tapes” section of a public library and 2) let Mr. Devore rest in peace, implying perhaps a knowledge of Pierce Noonan’s ability to make out with dead people and maybe Mr. Devore is a bit frightened of this happening because he’s not scared of a man-on-man embrace, no, not that at all, in fact, he yearns for the touch of Pierce Noonan, for his strong manly arms and the chance to touch that furry, masculine chest as Pierce kisses him with a burly fiery passion of sensual Irish fierceness.

OR, Max simply wants a promise that Pierce won’t drink a pack of Nattie Lights and pee on his grave. Could just be that.

In the next scene Rogette gives Max a bath. I am hacking to cough up a hairball that doesn’t exist. She shoots him up with some drugs and puts a plastic bag over his head and kills him. Girl, if you were looking for a promotion, you are going at it the wrong way.

Romantic interlude.

Then! Pierce has a dream and is transported back to the County Fair of the Past and he runs away with KyRA from some menacing white dudes into a barn with hay bales and empty whistling jars. He tells KyRA to just squeeze his hand tighter if she gets scared and she replies that she isn’t holding his hand and he turns and AHHH, A LITTLE BLACK GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Terrifying.

Sara appears and screams “CUSTODY HAS ITS RESPONSIBILITIES!” I don’t know if you should discuss responsibilities to a man who can’t even Interweb Detective a new phone.

Pierce wakes up because Mattie is calling! Max killed himself! Bouncy bouncy! They set a date for dinner and Pierce gets on his computer to find out it’s been THE SHINING-ED and it says “BAG OF BONES” everywhere!

WHAT DOES IT MEANNNNN?!?!

Whatever. Funeral! Pierce follows an old man wheelchair-ing away from the funeral to his conveniently located nursing home. The old man then reveals what really happened to Sara Tidwell. SURPRISE, SHE GOT GANG RAPED. So the menacing white guys at the county fair were all like, “aww, yeah! She’s hot and black, let’s all of us pull on our suspenders and run into her in the woods where she is smoking randomly and make racist comments and then gang rape her and OOPS THERE’S HER KID WITH A BASKET PICKING MOSS GOTTA DROWN HER.”

Before Max kills her, Sara curses the men, which means that all of their male descendants will drown their daughters. Here are some better curses:

1) Curse all the men who gang raped her to get gang raped and die.

2) Curse all the men who gang raped her to watch Bag of Bones 1 and 2 forever and ever. Until they die.

Pierce goes over to Mattie Bouncy Bouncy’s house and she licks her lips in the hallway and points to her apron that says “Kiss the Cook.” They suck face and her daughter appears: GIGGLE GIGGLE “READ ME MY BEDTIME STORY MR. MIKE I AM SO PRECOCIOUS, LOVE MEEEEE.”

Pierce reads KyRA a story and she reveals that she had a dream about Mr. Pierce, the SAME DREAM HE HAD. ZOMG. Instead of asking Pierce why he’s scared of black people, she refers to Sara as the “mad lady” and tells Pierce Sara’s daughter is her friend. The “mad lady” made her dad try to kill her. But whatever, finish story-time! She conks out by page two. No joke: all that giggling must have tuckered her out.

Mr. Pierce reveals the curse to Mattie Bouncy Bouncy. And Mattie in turn reveals that is why Jo never told Pierce she was pregnant because she feared he’d kill her daughter! Pierce is so relieved! “Thank you!” he says. Thank you? Thank you for telling me that I’m cursed and would have killed my child if it had the unlucky chance of being born a girl? (Also, please to note that in the novel, all the children are cursed to die, not just the girls. But who cares. This version will be a hit in China!)

They celebrate by making out and then Mattie gets SHOT IN THE FACE. SHOT. IN. THE. FACE. While making out. While swapping spit. You are wondering what sort of man would make out with some chick after talking about his glorious dead wife who passed away only a few months ago but then that chick gets SHOT IN THE FACE. WHILE MAKING OUT. Republicans, you have your new birth control.

I'm still very handsome.

Rather than yelling “are you kidding me?!” Mattie dies asks Pierce to take care of her baby and Pierce grabs a chicken tenderizer because that’s the best weapon you can find in a kitchen. Pierce hits the sniper in the head with the tenderizer a few times and finds KyRA awake and sobbing.

SOB SOB SOB. More evil bad guys to kill KyRA! It’s revealed that Max wanted custody of KyRA so he could kill KyRA but then when he realized that Pierce was around and his bloodline was also cursed, that he could kill himself because Pierce would end up killing KyRA anyways because she’s the last little girl of the bloodlines, even though she isn’t related to Pierce and Sara said the men would only kill their own daughters? Technicality I guess? That is some curse Sara.

CURSE NEGOTIATOR

But I guess the other dudes didn’t get Max’s memo that Pierce would be taking care of business because they shot KyRA’s mom and are now chasing Pierce down a rainy street. But luckily something even more logical happens when a sign is hit by lightening and falls onto the bad guys’ truck and kills them all!!

SOB SOB SOB. KyRA falls asleep again. She’s got the right idea. I want to fall asleep too. Pierce puts her to bed and walks downstairs where Sara’s ghost attacks him with a shitload of old records and the tub turns on, and Max’s ghost is taking a relaxing bath and referring to Pierce as Daddy and KyRA as whorelet. I’m only reporting the news, people.

Jo’s voice rises up, whispering “Lie Still Bag of Bones.” Pierce discovers that Jo is INSIDE HIS WRITING. And DOWN LFT SID means DOWN LEFT SIDE. “Owls Above Studio” is one paragraph and “Lie Still Bag of Bones” is “Lye will Still her Bag of Bones.” If Jo is in his computer, she has a virus.

Pierce runs to the sexy tree he’s been trying to sex and digs up Sara and her daughter and they are very well preserved, I must say. No bag of bones anywhere! Suddenly the tree starts to beat the shit out of Pierce with its branches and it’s hilarious. But then Jo appears and fights the evil demon Sara who was viciously raped and murdered and her child was killed before her very own eyes. Who cares, Sara! Lye all over their faces! GO TO REST, GHOSTS.

Jo tells Pierce she loves him and disappears. Pierce runs home and finds KyRA in the bathtub crying. Rogette is there and she is going to kill the little whorelet! Where is a tenderizer when you need it?! Pierce and Rogette fight over beard trimming scissors and KyRA cries and cries and cries but then Pierce stabs Rogette in the neck! Yay! Blood squirts all over! KyRA’s mother Mattie appears out of the water and says goodbye to her daughter. Get ready for therapy for the rest of your life, KyRA. I hope you get a good discount.

Wow, policemen are here! They haven’t been around for all the other unexplained murders, but it’s never too late. KyRA tells Pierce that her dead mom said that he’s going to be her dad now, and he’s ready to be a father! Finally, 150-something-year-old Pierce has grown up! Then they decide to go paddling on Dark Score Lake where little girls were drowned. (Also, don’t forget Kyra almost drowned. Twice.)

THE END.

Questions I have:

• Why?

———-

Eileen hopes you enjoyed her Bag of Bones review, you little whorelet.

I’m still pissed off I didn’t get an iPad for Christmas. What are some things you wanted for Christmas that your parents didn’t get you because they were bastards?

There were three things I consistently asked for Christmas when I was growing up: a good book, a pony and a cape. I got plenty of books, I even got a cape, but my dream of a pony has always eluded me.

Recently, I was issued a challenge while out for beers. That is, my friends were drinking beer and I was feeling brave and had Wild Turkey. That evening did not end well for me, and subsequently, I forgot the details of the challenge that I had been issued. All I knew was that I was hung over and had something to prove. And the challenge had to do with ponies and literature. Game on.

So below are the opening sections of some of my favorite novels, which have been mildly edited to include ponies. Yes, this is sacrilege. The real question is, was the challenge met successfully? Was this even the original challenge? Did it even have anything to do with ponies?!

Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser

When the pony boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total outfit consisted of a small trunk, a bridle, a small lunch in a paper box and a yellow leather snap purse, containing her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister’s address in Van Buren Street, and a small pistol.

The pony, who happened to be clairvoyant, sat down next to the perturbed eighteen year old Caroline Meeber and looked directly into her eyes and said, “In a few moments, a frisky salesman named Charlie Drouet will introduce himself to you and thus will begin a series of events that will involve you becoming a kept woman by two separate men, years of internal emotional debate until you finally break free of their control and become a successful Broadway actress. I say cut to the chase! Take this pistol and rob him and thrive!”

Caroline Meeber nodded and prepared herself as Charlie Drouet waltzed onto the train.

Poor Things by Alasdair Gray

Like most farm workers in those days, my mother distrusted ponies. When death drew near she told me her life-savings were in a tin trunk under the bed and muttered, “Take it and count it.”

But it turned out that the ponies had a hand in my predicaments. I went to medical school only to find that the system was corrupt: practicing on the poor in order to aid the rich. Then, I befriended Godwin Baxter, a good but ugly man. He introduced me to his Frankenstein-esque creation, Bella, a drowned woman resurrected with the brain of her unborn child. I was intrigued, on the verge of love, and then discovered she was into pony play. That’s when things got pretty spicy.

Veronica by Mary Gaitskill

When I was a young girl, my mother read me a story about a wicked little pony. She did not believe in the power of friendship or rainbows. And while she was selfish and horded all of her delicious apples for herself, she grew into a sturdy mare and was then sent off to the glue factory. It made me and my sisters sad, but we were bratty anyway.

Now I’m a 50 year old ex-model turned cleaning lady with Hepatitis C. And my flamboyant friend, Veronica, is dead. But I feel better for having learned the lessons that terrible little pony taught me.

The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton

Lawrence Selden paused in surprise. In the early rush of the Grand Central Station his eyes had been refreshed by the sight of Miss Lily Barton. She was sitting aloft a magnificent golden pony, holding her parasol in a threatening manner. She did not look amused.

As he approached, his mind poured into a river of really deep thoughts – like how he loved and she loved him, but that the pressures of high society demanded she marry above her own station and how this would ultimately cause her scandal, degrade her and end with her suicide. While he considered this, Lily’s pony galloped forward and she struck him on the head with her parasol and Selden fell down dead.

“Let us ride, Princess Butterscotch,” Lily said, stroking the pony’s mane. “We are off to avenge my reputation before it is even sullied!”

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in the world haven’t had the advantages you’ve had.”

Of course, I later realized that the Great Gatsby’s money had come from his network of pony servants who ran illegal bootlegs during Prohibition. The ponies had made him rich, and the ponies worked hard. And when the ponies worked hard, they got drunk. And when they got drunk, shit went down. It was only then I realized that social status was nothing but an equestrian metaphor!

Philosophy in the Boudoir by the Marquis de Sade

First Dialogue

Madame de Saint-Ange: Oh dear brother, let us discuss our scandalous bisexual affairs in such perverse manner that it will incite the French government to execute our author!

The Chevalier: Have you ever seen a horse’s cock?! It’s huge!!

———-

Got a question? Send it to jonathandefenestrates@gmail.com!

Naturally, first impressions are everything, and 3/5ths of the senses that matter are the ones you wish to appeal to.

Fellas, while you may not be aware of it, in this day and age, most women prefer that the man of their fancies at least smells like he attempts to bathe on a semi-regular basis. You may be asking yourself “Who the hell cares about my odor so long as I don’t smell like rancid monkey ass?” It’s a valid question–from the male perspective–in the dating world, while not having a significant BO problem is a plus, the faint smell of stale Doritos ain’t doing you any favors. You may think to yourself “well I wear deodorant.” Big whoop! You’re doing something we’ve all done to avoid being the smelly kid in class, it covers up your stink, it does not enhance.

Eau de...Ew

Firstly, you need to get over that unfounded fear that wearing cologne is going to turn you into a pretentious douchebag who is only able to communicate using a single two to three syllable word and also wears torn shirts and high-water hip huggers. Next thing to remember is finding a cologne that works with your natural musk. You can’t just buy any old thing and call it a day; you at least have to pretend you’re trying to be an adult. Visit your nearest Macy’s or preferred department store (that doesn’t end in –mart or -get) and ask around, they’ll be more than willing to help you find a selection as they’re looking to pawn off as much overpriced, scented toilet water as possible. Yes, it is expensive, but it’s an investment you’ll just have to make.

For all that is holy do not let the price tag dissuade you into traveling to the local Wal*Mart to pick up a two pack of Axe for eight bucks. Axe is good for two things and two things only: high school dances and impromptu flamethrowers. No, you don’t smell like sex, and no, women will not fall from the heavens with the desire to touch you where your bathing suit covers. You will be talked about, and the comments made behind your back will equate to: “Boy, I remember when I was a schumck.”

What’s important to remember is, much like everything else, you can, and more than likely will, overdo it. When that happens, you’ll know, as, whenever you enter and leave someone’s personal space, it will be followed by a not-so-subtle cough. Here’s a pretty good rule of thumb: if you can literally taste what you’re wearing before you walk out of the house, you need to disrobe, burn those clothes, and shower immediately before you offend everyone in the greater metropolitan area. You may think you smell amazing, but you will actually ruin a coworker’s day just enough to push them over the edge, causing them to pull that bottle of Jack from their office drawer, polish it off, and go on one of those rampages the news talks about every now and then.

And no, you cannot go the Pepe Le Pew route and accept your own stink; the man got the ladies due to a combination of charm and sophistication with just a hint of sexual predator.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEdBndu0YUM

———-
Chris hates anyone or anything which goes against how he feels a sentient being with more than three brain cells should act. He hopes to use his “Encyclopedia Douchebag…ica” as a springboard into becoming a full-fledged, tax exempt religion complete with holidays and greeting cards, mainly so he can steal from its coffers. His hopes are…not that high, knowing that those who needs his guidance most, are unable to read his words… what with the extra flesh from their sloped, ape-like foreheads blinding their eyes from the truth.

When not acting like a complete bastard (which is not very often), Chris writes about all things video game related on his blog iNOOBriated, and his Twitter. He also offers his services as a freelancer for Beckett’s Massive Online Gamer. Yep, he’s a neeeeeerd.

Our story begins with a helicopter shot of dangerous and evil Maine foliage interspersed with scenes of drowning little girls, a funeral, a floating cell phone and a bunch of white boys running around. Is this a new Insane Clown Posse music video?

No! It’s Bag of Bones, the horror/mystery thriller of our time! Or, our something. It also means that Pierce Brosnan plays Mike Noonan and he is going to ACT your PANTS OFF. Or at least your mother’s pants. She thinks he’s dreamy.

Hey there, Eileen's mom.

Anyways, Pierce Noonan wakes up his wife Jo (Annabeth Gish) to let her know he has finished his book. He is wearing freshly pressed khakis with a matching freshly showered face. I call bullshit. A writer who has just finished his/her book staggers from the dark quagmire of trashed coffee cups and dried carcasses of lean cuisine boxes to emerge smelling like the unwashed rebels of the French revolution (just as elated, and just as bloody).

But whatever! Annabeth Jo finishes up the last lines of Pierce Noonan’s novel as he dictates something about “chains around her neck” and he gets all frisky up in her space. I love it when a guy makes me type for him and whispers stuff about strangulation. Edmund Kemper me all night long!

Ladies, he's single!

Whatever, they bang off camera I guess. Then it’s book signing time! Jo is totally bored and excuses herself and says she is going to get some lunch. Instead, she heads across the street and finds a pregnancy test right next to the household cleaners. Not a good sign.

Jo decides not to pick up floor wax to give her vagina that all important shine. She’ll buy that at Walgreens.

She runs across the street and BAM, hit by a car and dead. She what happens when you lie to your husband?

Pierce is super sad, but also suspicious because Jo had that pregnancy test in her bag. How could she be pregnant, he’s 150 years old! I mean: “I have  low-sperm count.”—Pierce Noonan

There’s a funeral AND JASON PRIESTLEY. He is so excited to be here, you guys! He is going to give his best Brendan Walsh as a slightly sleazy book agent impression ever! “Mike, your book is selling like hot cakes! It’s your best ever! Is it too skeezy for me talking about book sales at your wife’s funeral? Yes! But she would have wanted it that way because something something money success!”

Would you trust this man with your book?

Pierce joins his brother Sid for a drink and laments on his dead wife and how the hell could she be pregnant because the doctor said Pierce had already gone through man-o-pause. But if they had a girl they would have named her Kya. Did you hear that? Kya. Kya. KYA.

Pierce: Jo must have been cheating, Sid! But what about that lake house in our family you sold your share of to me? Yes, there are going to be a lot of abrupt changes of subject throughout this mini-series, Sid, so get used to it.

Sid: I’m totally used to it so I’m going to switch back to talking about Jo and how she was super faithful to you and you should trust me and not think your wife was a big whore.

Pierce: I just hope she wasn’t too lonely out there on Dark Score Lake.

Sid: What? Okay now I’m confused. Your wife was going to the lake house that I sold my share of to you?

Pierce: Yes. I hope she wasn’t lonely up there and needed someone up there to keep her company in that dump we inherited from our grandfather that I only visited once or twice but she went to suspiciously a lot of the time.

Sid: Why was she always at your lake house alone? Weren’t you happily married and aren’t you a very rich author who can come and go as he pleases? Also isn’t it weird how you have this lofty British Irish accent and I sound like I’m from New Haven?

Pierce has a few nightmares, like finding Jo under his bed, or discovering a coffin in the woods with a ringing phone. How Twin Peaks! He breaks some shit and wakes up. He is very depressed and can’t finish his book tour and breaks some more shit and goes home and stares at screen-savers of his dead wife.

He gets a call from PRIESTLEY who informs him that the spring fiction list is getting a little full: Grisham and Patterson are releasing books too! What?! This is terrible news! We all know the insatiable hunger people have for thrillers and books with snakes stuck up women’s vaginas.

“Pierce,” Priestley says, while caressing his cover of Teen Beat’s 1991 “Adult Men Playing Teenagers in Hit 90s Shows” “some writers stockpile like squirrels, what do you call those books that you write when you were young and hungry and your sperm count was high?”

“Trunk novels,” Pierce replies.

He opens a cabinet and pulls out a stack of aged papers wrapped with rubber bands called “RED SHIRT MAN — FIRST DRAFT.” Instead of saying “Hey I HAVE one of those!” he complains about writing a novel in three months. But…you have the first draft…and you have three months…and writing is your full time job…

“Well you get clickety-clacking!” Brendan Walsh says.

Pierce has another dream in which he’s wearing a jean shirt/jeans combo (lookin’ fly) and is in front of his sound-stage lakehouse at Dark Score. A little girl runs out wearing a red swimsuit and a Red Sox cap (REPRESENT!), a woman screams and the windows explode. He wakes up and gets a call from the lakehouse caretaker and finds out the windows have exploded in REAL LIFE. This happened to me once. I had a dream I got a flat tire and the next morning I got arrested! Dreams reveal so much.

Pierce decides the nightmare is the hint he needs to go stay at the lakehouse. Because the best idea for an alcoholic man with writer’s block who is dealing with his wife’s tragic death should certainly be to go stay at a remote cabin in the woods that he just had a nightmare about! Very smart! Bestselling author!

Pierce arrive at the town of Dark Score, which looks like this:

Behold:

The Town of No One Cares

Dark Score is sparsely populated by three or four actors outsourced from the local community college acting troupe. Oh well, not suspicious at all! Pierce goes to Dark Scorecard Lake and it’s very creepy and his handyman is also creepy and wearing flannel and tells Pierce he looks like his granddad, Harold. Harold, his granddad. It’s important because it’s repeated. Oh and I mean Pierce’s granddad, not the handyman’s granddad. Though, they are in Maine, so it’s entirely possible.

Pierce and the handyman go inside and the house décor is Very Pier 1 Plus a Moosehead Wearing a Bell. They talk about the moosehead with a bell hanging over the fireplace and about how when he and Jo banged on the couch she said they were “ringing his bell” and he and the handyman laugh and are gross. Soon Pierce is alone and cries over a small guitar.

Yup.

The next few scenes involve Pierce feeling up the following inanimate objects:

• His wife’s dress that a possible adulterer would wear
• A painting
• His mousepad
• A tree shaped like a woman

He goes home and holy crap, the alphabet magnets on the fridge are moving and say “Hello Mike!” Why do two grown adults have kid alphabet magnets? Are there KIDS in the house? Oh God, I’m scared!

Pierce soon realizes that his wife’s ghost is with him in the house. Yay, not kids!! He’s drunkenly excited that his wife’s ghost is trapped with him on earth. No “until death do us part” for you, Jo! But that realization is quickly followed by a ghostly female screeching so loudly she breaks Pierce’s favorite drunk glass. “We’re not alone, are we Jo?” Pierce wonders.

Of course not, Pierce, remember the Moosehead you two fucked under?

The housekeeper shows up. She’s all “Sorry to bother you Mr. Noonan, gosh shucks don’t you know….I’m Brenda, your housekeeper! I’m here to clean the place up though it’s pretty much spotless; actually I’m gonna exit this scene and provide much needed back-story in Part Two. Bye!”

Brenda heads back to the TV lot break room to chill with the rest of the acting troupe. Pierce goes a drivin’ and sees the little girl from his dream,  walking down the middle of the road. He saves her from an oncoming car and then meets her mother Mattie. Mattie is very peppy, it’s like the head captain of the pep rally and she murdered that head captain and drank all of her blood.

Mattie tells Pierce her daughter’s name and Pierce thinks she says “Kya.” No, silly, it’s “KYRA,” there’s an “r” in there that stands for “this is a symbol” (I’m bad at spelling).

Pierce goes to Buddy Jellison’s and orders a village burger. How quaint! So is the country music playing on the radio. What is not quaint is some old dude who chats Pierce up and tells him that Mattie can be a “a dear—in the right position.” What? First the moose sex and now the deer joke. Oh Maine, the great state of bestiality.

Then the old guy leaves and Buddy is like “You’d do well to keep your distance from Mattie.” Are these people subscribing to some sort of “Town Skanks 411” new forum?

Don’t Google that.

Whatever, who cares about these weirdos, unless they know about Peirce’s wife cheating on him! “Why are you so interested in who your wife was seeing?” “I don’t know—I just wanted to know what her life was like when I couldn’t make it up here for reasons not explained and really I want to know if she was banging anybody because I’m 150 years old and there is no way I could have gotten her pregnant.”

Buddy is not buying this:

Say what?

And then Buddy does the patented “Let me change the subject without a smooth transition.” He rambles on about Mattie Devore (WHORE) and how she’s trouble but the waitress pipes in that Mattie isn’t trouble she’s IN trouble—with the wrong crowd. Seriously, how does this ever happen that you go to a restaurant and you order something at the restaurant and some old dude at the restaurant mentions a woman you just met and you don’t even ask how the hell he saw you meet the woman because it was around the corner from the restaurant and his view was blocked by a window shade in that restaurant and the owner of the restaurant doesn’t think it’s weird either and he just goes on and on about it and the waitress adds in her opinion and you just want to know if your wife is banging another dude, okay?! OKAY?! Now where is my quaint-ass village burger?!

We learn Mattie is the daughter in law of Max Devore, a multi-millionaire who is suing for custody for KyRA.

Here he is with his assistant for his daily evil window stare:

Very normal behavior.

Pierce returns to his quiet haunted house and grabs a drink. You know what goes well together? Alcoholism and ghosts. He gets a call from Max. Pierce doesn’t seem to be concerned that a man who was staring at him from a window has his phone number. He’s all like “Oh hai, what’s up, yeah I met your daughter-in-law that everyone thinks is trouble. Hey, do you happen to know if my wife was cheating on me?”

The conversation takes a turn for the angry, and Pierce hangs up the phone and Max laughs because he’s evil. Pierce hears a song from his basement and goes downstairs. There’s an old timey record player playing music and an album next to it by a singer named Sara Tidwell. Pierce recognizes the picture as the same portrait his wife was painting.

Suddenly he’s dreaming he’s at a carnival and a lady is on stage singing! It’s Sara Tidwell and she is bringing down the house in her best frock from Dress Barn’s “This is the Past” collection. Everyone is really into the show, like at a Belinda Carlisle concert. Some young guys look like they are into it in a more sexual sense. Thank God for well placed hay bales. Then Pierce has another dream that involves him making out with Sara Tidwell, but she turns into a corpse! Then then his dead wife is next to him and they make out, and she’s a corpse! Then then then he wakes up with Mattie in his bedroom and they make out but she has a gaping wound in her head! Excellent, a little variety.

Pierce wakes up and realizes there is no necrophilia option so he must be awake for real this time. He goes to KyRA’s child custody hearing and is questioned about finding KyRA in the middle of the road. Max, played by an American Stephen Hawking, shows up with Cruella de Vil’s Cousin Beatrice. After the meeting, Mattie reminisces to Pierce about seeing Jo and a man having dinner once and Pierce is all like “DID YOU SEE HER BANGING SOME OTHER DUDE?”

Pierce goes home and there’s a montage of him writing. Zzzzzzz. Then there’s the sound of bathtub running and he goes in and KyRA’s corpse grabs him and screams “HELP!! I’M DROWNING!!! HELP I’M DROWNING!”

Pierce leans in and whispers, “Hey, do you know if my wife was cheating on me?”

Kidding! I wish he did though.

Questions I have:

• How does Pierce get his hair to look so full and summertime fresh? I bet it smells like lemons.
• If Pierce thought going to Dark Score Lake House would cure his depression over his wife’s death, does that mean I should sleep over at an abandoned lunatic asylum to cure my eczema?
• Is feeling up trees a federal offense? It should be.

Next Month: Bag of Boners Part Two: Pierce Breaks More Shit

———-

Ugh, James Patterson.

You tend to not notice just one or two – polo shirts happen, everything’s cool – but when they start to congregate it gets very obvious that you’re in the middle of a Situation (and if you say that to a group of young men and they all laugh, swear they don’t watch that show, and then immediately start quoting the show, you are among dudebros).

Other signs you are among dudebros, from actual observations in the field:

- Boat shoes are discussed in very serious tones. Loafers without socks are not boat shoes. If you make this mistake you are in trouble.

- You hear, “I am going to pound you so hard!” “Dude, you WISH, I’m going to be so far up your ass – ” and the sounds of a scuffle, and it turns out to be sports and not a porn shoot.

- “I don’t know about Chipotle, it’s a lot of carbs and I’m behind on my cardio. Let’s just hit the salad bar.”

- “Are the stripes on this tie too big? I don’t want to look like an intern.”

- “I can’t believe there’s no good place for beer in the neighborhood any more.”

- “I mean, she’s nice, she’s just not deep. I like deep.”

- “Oh man, there are so many girl drinks here I can’t even take it. Hi, can I have a sugar-free skinny vanilla latte?”

Chances are, you have probably met a dudebro. If not, they’re easy to spot – you will know a dudebro by his mating call, “Hey, my friend thinks you’re really cute, and I agree!”

But there’s nothing to be afraid of! When in his natural habitat, the dudebro is docile, even friendly. The more you look like a Barbie doll, Kate Middleton, or a Starbucks employee, the friendlier he will be.

You know you have upset a dudebro if he’s driven to his distinctive cry of distress (“Dude! Don’t just drape that sweater over your shoulders! What are you, a douche?”).

And, when provoked, the dudebro has been known to become discomfited, or even hostile! For your own safety around dudebros, do NOT:

- Get in between two men who are throwing a football back and forth. Not because they’ll hit you, but because there’s only so many euphemisms about balls you can take before you hand them DVD copies of Brokeback Mountain and say, “This joke is from 2005, and so is that shirt.”

- Beat them at a demonstration of physical prowess. I mean, if you can, you totally should, but just be prepared for them to give you a “respectful” nickname like The Crusher, and then have them constantly mention how much they work out and how weird it is that they’d even lose a game of badminton like that when they can benchpress like, 250.

- Feel free to explain institutionalized sexism to them, at length. They will blink a lot and nod. When you’re done, they’ll ask, “But then why are there so few women engineers?” Try not to stab them in the hand with a pen; you’ll get in trouble.

- Stare at them unblinking for a long time as they talk to you while you’re trying to do work. When they pause for breath, say, “That date was fun!” When they explain it wasn’t a date, say, “But Chloe said your date was exactly like that.”

- Challenge their ability to eat one hundred hot dogs in half an hour. They will do it and die you will be on record as the goader who started it.

However, since dudebros are proliferating and unavoidable, in the end it might be best simply to cultivate an identity they dare not trouble with – stack your desk high with books like History’s Greatest Massacres or some Virginia Woolf novels, which they can’t decide if it’s feminist enough to make fun of, and they’re not about to read big long books just to find out, so they’ll leave you be. In this way, you can peacefully coexist with the wild dudebro right up until he’s in Congress. Then we’re in trouble.

———-

Alison Burke demands that you RESPECT her GENIUS. *Throws boa over shoulder, walks out*
*Comes back in, shoves a magazine off your desk, walks back out *

I just saw Tallafornia. Any suggests on what I can watch now in order to avoid night terrors?
———————–

Two things you should know about me. #1 – I love British television series, especially historical dramas. #2 – I have an unhealthy infatuation with evil bitchy women in power. So this would explain why I have Period Piece Mondays every week with Eileen!

Now, for those of you who are not familiar with my love of Mr. Ray Stevenson, then might I recommend you check out Eileen’s June 2011 post? Yes, Ray was the star and most essential character in HBO’s series, Rome, which I have promptly renamed, The Titus Pullo Extravaganza of Brutal Hotness™. This was a genre defining series in which Ray slaughtered a few people, drank some wine, got naked, got around to slaughtering some more, had a fight with stupid Lucius Vorenus over something inane, walked around shirtless, and then had sloppy seconds with a lot of people. Oh yeah, and there was some political stuff and some dude got murdered on the senate floor. And that’s it. Yes, there were internet rumors about a movie and even a third season, but I am satisfied with my experience. Sure, Ray doesn’t call or answer my letters, but I think ours was a good romance. And now it’s done and I wouldn’t want to sully its memory.

Anyways Eileen and my latest foray into Period Piece Mondays is I, Claudius. The BBC miniseries debuted in the 1970’s, but literally takes off as the ideal predecessor to Rome.

Which brings me to the new object of my affections, Livia:

Evilus Bitchus

Technically, this series should have been named: How Livia Poisoned Everybody and Stole Jonathan’s Heart. Seriously, this woman is all shades of bad ass. From episode one, she stood there looking all regal and insidious. She also hold the greatest death toll in the early part of the series, single-handedly wiping out all other heirs to the throne to ensure Tiberius’s rule. In my wildest fantasies, Livia and I are stopping in at the gay bar and then this happens:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TsUThgpC_rg

Which leads me to my new version of fantasy football … fantasy death matches between Livia and other historical figures.

Livia vs. Alexander the Great

She poisons him. She wins.

Livia vs. Napoleon

She stares down at him in disgust. He realizes he is poisoned. She wins.

Livia vs. Cobra Commander

He bites her. He dies. She wins.

Livia vs. Julia Childs

Julia works all day to prepare this lovely goose dinner with a red wine reduction. Then, Livia suggests Julia try her stuffed figs. Livia wins.

Livia, I love you. Call me. We’ll meet in the Underworld and gossip over pomegranate martinis.

———-

Got a question? Send it to jonathandefenestrates@gmail.com!

There are numerous holiday cartoons and specials shown during the lead up to the big day. While that’s all fine and dandy, 95% of them are utter crap, with the only real decent one being How the Grinch Stole Christmas. As a child, I bought in like everyone else about how the Grinch was a force of evil who wants people to suffer. But much like everything else in life, things tend to become clearer when you reach adulthood, and the Grinch is really not that bad a guy.

The story starts off with the Grinch sitting in his cave, lamenting on the fact that Christmas is upon him, and that means one thing; it’s going to get really loud, really fast. He stands outside, looking down over the town, thinking about Christmas Day, and about everything that comes with it in that tiny burg. How everything down there, for one day, is perfect and the rest of the world doesn’t matter, it’s all about them, and their happiness. “Nuts to that” is his take on the whole deal, and he thinks of a way to “stop Christmas from coming.” He cracks a smile that served as the inspiration behind Tim Curry’s own, and sets his plan in motion. Using his skills with a sewing machine, he creates a Santa suit, complete with a hat, prepares a number of sacks, and outfits his pet Max with a single, sawed off antler. Once the sleigh is loaded, they set off down the mountain, arriving at the outskirts of town in the middle of the night.

Without hesitation he quickly gets to work, sliding down the chimney. He gazes upon the living room and begins. Taking everything from jingtinglers, to pampongas, the roast beast, and even stooping so low as to lift the last can of who-hash, he strips their homes bare, leaving nothing behind but wires and crumbs, doing all of this while being insulted by Tony the Tiger. Sometime during the night, little Cindy Loo-Who (who’s no older than two), wakes up to find the Grinch attempting to stuff the tree up the chimney (lights and all), he explains to the child his intent, gets her a glass of water and shoos her off to bed. He fills all his ill-begotten loot into dozens upon dozens of burlap sacks; and, while displaying an almost god-like level of strength, not only stuffed them back up the chimney, but did so with enough force that it shoots out the top, clears the roof, and lands next to (or on) Max.

Once he’s loaded up everything he can get his hands on, he forcibly makes his small companion haul everything up the mountain back to his cold and damp cave. He gets to the top, stands out on a ledge, and awaits the cries of anguish sure to rise from the town below. He waits…and waits, nothing, not even so much as a “What the f@#$?!.” So what does he hear? Singing. Those Whovillians knew exactly who was to blame, they rose their voice in song to send a giant “Go f@#$ yourself” to the Grinch, who was sure to be listening for their wails.

But it doesn’t stop at singing, it devolves into some sort of pagan ritual as a ball of light rises from the center of the village and ascends to the exact position of where the star was on the town’s tree. This ball of light illuminates the entire town and exudes a sort of mind control effect on the Grinch, who then rushes down to town to disperse the gifts that he had taken. In the true Christmas spirit, the Whos forgive the Grinch, invite him to the great feast, allow him to sit at the head of the table and carve the roast beast. A wonderful end to what started out as a completely ruined holiday.

Thinking about all of that, most would say the Grinch was a bitter old man, hell bent on taking away others’ joy, when it couldn’t be further from the truth. The first instance in which he can completely shatter someone’s perception of Christmas, it’s little Miss Loo-Who. Not wanting to take her childhood away, he falls right in line with the Santa role for two reasons: the first being he doesn’t want her believing Santa is some common crook. The other is pretty obvious. With as much care as he can muster, he helps her to bed, and continues to work. The other children who shared the same bed with Cindy were spared the same fate as he took great care not to wake them. Second, he’s taking material possessions, things that can easily be replaced, and weren’t supposed to be the focus of Christmas. In taking those simple things, he’s forcing a sort of epiphany on the Whos as to what Christmas truly is. Third, at the climax of the story when the Grinch has his change of heart, and brings everything right back to the town center. The man lives on a mountain, if he had intentions of really shredding whatever sense of hope remained, he’d have thrown everything into the deepest gorge and gone on his way. The Whos singing signified to him that they had come to understand the meaning of Christmas, and in doing so, have earned the right to celebrate the holiday as they always had, with the gifts and festivities that was so much a part of them.

So, you may not buy the whole “he was doing it for the greater good” theory, that it’s a flimsy excuse that sounds to have been concocted by one of the many lawyers you see on TV in the early afternoon hours who claim that they’ll fight for you. I can dig it, but let’s take a look at his apparent victims, the Whos. What most fail to realize is that all of this could have been avoided if even one of those self-involved Whos thought about inviting the Grinch over during the season, but did they? Of course not. Year in and year out, they celebrate their own holiday, and every year, the Grinch was forced to sit by and listen to their joyous raucous, remembering his own past Christmases, and the tragedies that had occurred in his life that shrunk his heart two-sizes too small. Think of every grumpy-ass old person you’ve ever known, the majority of the time, they act like that because they lost someone they cared deeply for.

Of course, no one in Whoville knew exactly what the Grinch was going through, and just assumed him to be an asshole. Hell, “The Grinch” is more than likely the name giving to him by the town-folk. Instead of trying to connect with him on an emotional level, they demonize him and tell children that if they misbehave the Grinch will “get them.” They didn’t even think to take a man, who lives in a cave, a single can of creamed corn. Christmas is the time of year when you’re supposed to think about those who have nothing, and try to make their holiday just a little bit brighter, but did they? No. So what happens at the end, it takes a child, who is still crapping their pants, to make others understand that the Grinch has feelings, and, were it not for that child, they’d continue being the uncaring populace they had been for years.

They brought it on themselves.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzXKWKaxt3c

———-
Chris hates anyone or anything which goes against how he feels a sentient being with more than three brain cells should act. He hopes to use his “Encyclopedia Douchebag…ica” as a springboard into becoming a full-fledged, tax exempt religion complete with holidays and greeting cards, mainly so he can steal from its coffers. His hopes are…not that high, knowing that those who needs his guidance most, are unable to read his words… what with the extra flesh from their sloped, ape-like foreheads blinding their eyes from the truth.

When not acting like a complete bastard (which is not very often), Chris writes about all things video game related on his blog iNOOBriated, and his Twitter. He also offers his services as a freelancer for Beckett’s Massive Online Gamer. Yep, he’s a neeeeeerd.

2) Ladies: put on a touch of makeup. Men: slather it on. God knows you need it.

3) Don’t bring a water bottle – it makes you look nervous. Instead, bring a glass of chilled white wine, and if you get nervous, take a sip. You get less and less nervous as the presentation goes on! This is also nice to have during Q&A – if someone asks you a question you can’t answer, shout, “How DARE you!” and toss the wine in their faces. No one else will want to get in the middle of that. Question avoided!

4) Everyone loves an embedded MIDI file.

5) Print out a paper copy of the presentation for everyone, then make them refer to it constantly so you know they’re paying attention. If this is a presentation on the future of technology, this tip goes double.

6) Fill the beginning of your presentation with quotes from famous people. About halfway through, start sneaking in quotes from cartoon characters. See if anyone notices. Those that do are go-getters and deserve a promotion. If you’re unable to give out promotions, these people must be viewed as rivals and their promotion efforts must be sabotaged as soon as possible.

7) Pick a person from the audience at random. Go through your entire presentation as if you were giving it solely to them. Look at them constantly. Ask them questions. If the person survives the presentation without becoming a nervous wreck and/or peeing themselves, he or she is a go-getter and deserves a promotion. Or sabotage. See above.

8) If anyone nods their head to anything you say, ask them to elaborate whatever point you’re trying to make. Begin by saying, “I see [insert name here] agrees with me. Do you have anything to add?” Because you just know they’re nodding for the sake of nodding, and all that nodding makes them motion sick.

9) End your presentation with a rousing Elizabethan dance number. Make everyone participate.

———-

Alison Burke is a writer from the Washington D.C. area, and has been a past Defenestration contributor. She enjoys cake and male models. She wishes her life was more like a Baby Bash video — save she would be the douche wearing a sideways cap as bikini-clad men grooved comedically for her viewing pleasure.

No.

The first offenders are those who have a family. Now, I’m not telling you people you shouldn’t breed, even though I should be considering we passed the 7 billion mark and a thinning of the herd is necessary. Regardless of how amazing you think the pod people who are replacing you are, I can assure you, the people sitting behind you do not. Now, just because you have that wonderful family unit, doesn’t mean the rest of the world wants to know every insignificant aspect of your lives.

First off, those bumper stickers that attest to your child’s educational prowess by attaining the rank of “Honor Roll” at their elementary school is really not that extraordinary of a feat to accomplish. It’s elementary school, the most complex thing children need to be able to do is write their entire name in cursive. I barely spent any sort of effort during that period of my educational career, and was rocking a 4.0 all six years. Not only is it a ho-hum achievement, it’s extremely dated. Sure, little Johnny is a brilliant 3rd grader, but eventually, he’s going to move on to middle school, then high school, you’ll have no more children in elementary, and you’re stuck with that faded bumper sticker.

But it doesn’t stop there, while they pretty much stop handing out those honor roll stickers, they still have other ways to force your supposed happiness on everyone that allows you to do so under the guise of “showing support” for your child. So, you adorn the back of your car with stickers that announce to the world that your children dabble in soccer, lacrosse, cheer-leading, debate team, and you’ve probably gone as far as to identify yourself with a sticker that follows the formula of: extra-curricular activity + parental role = awesome idea.

Even so, those stickers are nowhere NEAR as annoying as those ones that depict the entire family, including the dog and goldfish, in a crudely drawn, cave man wall painting styled fashion that’s attached to the rear windshield. You may think that’s adorable, and loving, and all that mushy nonsense, but to me, it only tells me how many people I’m going to have to brutally murder before I can get away with robbing your house of all its valuables.

Potential victims.

Next up are the outdoorsy, folk of the earth type people, you know, rednecks. It’s great that you’ve managed to find a hobby that makes you one with nature, getting out into the woods so you can take in everything this planet has to offer you, it really is, but when I’m behind your Ford F-150, I don’t need to see this love staring back at me. I don’t care if you use the disembodied head of a 12-point buck to signify you’re a hunter, in fact, I don’t need it: your camouflage hat, gun rack, truck’s paint job, and the dead deer with its head propped up on the tailgate is more than enough. There is one thing you absolutely need to do, as it does nothing but induce a rage-repressing sigh, and that’s to stop using unlicensed depictions of Calvin urinating on whatever it is you don’t like; Chevrolet, Ford, people of different ethnic background. You’re taking a very fond piece of my childhood, and using it in a way that goes completely against the character. First of, he’s six, he doesn’t have a legitimate opinion on any sort car that’s not produced by either Matchbox or Hot Wheels. Second, he’s above the low-browness of public urination.

Calvin deserves better.

Lastly, it’s you folks who stand for some sort of cause: we get it, you’re so much better than us commoners as you drive your Prius, sipping on your soy milk latte, nibbling on a gluten-free muffin, and professing your desire to save some animal that does nothing for the ecosystem outside of taking a crap in the woods. Here’s a tip: you buying that bumper sticker does nothing for that animal, and, if anything, you’re responsible for the removal of an oxygen producing tree, contributing to air pollution (a handful of times over as the adhesive and plastics used in its creation need to be manufactured), and then the money wasted on gas. The money used to purchase the bumper sticker could’ve been used to actually donate to the cause the sticker claims to stand for.

You sicken me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xv-0Sr-BV5A

———-
Chris hates anyone or anything which goes against how he feels a sentient being with more than three brain cells should act. He hopes to use his “Encyclopedia Douchebag…ica” as a springboard into becoming a full-fledged, tax exempt religion complete with holidays and greeting cards, mainly so he can steal from its coffers. His hopes are…not that high, knowing that those who needs his guidance most, are unable to read his words… what with the extra flesh from their sloped, ape-like foreheads blinding their eyes from the truth.

When not acting like a complete bastard (which is not very often), Chris writes about all things video game related on his blog iNOOBriated, and his Twitter. He also offers his services as a freelancer for Beckett’s Massive Online Gamer. Yep, he’s a neeeeeerd.

Excerpt from Plain Fear: Forsaken: A Novel

Americans are intrigued by insular cultures. I have a staunch belief that it’s not because they “look different” or act in ways our general population doesn’t act, but because these cultures ignore us and we don’t know why. “HELLO, AMISH? IT’S AMERICA. WHY AREN’T YOU RETURNING MY PHONE CALLS? WHY DON’T YOU LIKE MY MOVIES ABOUT EXPLOSIONS AND MY RESTAURANTS WITH ICE CREAM BACON BURGERS? ANSWER THE DOOR!!”

So we go and stare. We want Bengal tigers at the zoo and Egyptian artifacts at the museum to know that we are there, and we are Americans, better than you and staring at you and damn it, recognize that! (What we won’t go stare at: Native American Reservations. We don’t want to be reminded about that little gaffe.)

One of our famous stare past-times is the Amish. The Amish fascinate and titillate a majority of people. It’s why Witness was such a hit in the 80s and Weird Al’s Amish Paradise made us all laugh in the 90s. Attempts on cashing in on other groups, like those in Hasidic Judaism, did not bear as delicious fruit (hello, A Stranger Among Us), and I have yet to see a sexy film or song dedicated to the Quakers.

Overdue for a book deal.

Yup, the Amish have that somethin’ somethin’. Which is why it should come as no surprise that the novel Plain Fear: Forsaken takes one part Amish, and adds another part VAMPYRE. Really, there have been murmurings of the idea, farcical or not, for quite awhile. The Twilight series is practically one long summary of Mormon ideals, so why not continue using blood-thirsty monsters as a platform for religious inspiration and morals? Frankly, it’s no surprise someone has finally taken a bite into it (zing!).

This book is not about Amish sex ghosts. Sorry.

So. Forsaken. It’s over four-hundred pages long. What could possibly take up over four-hundred pages in a vampire-Amish-inspirational-paranormal romance novel? Quotes. Quotes from Shakespeare, Wordsworth and of course, The Bible.

We need to get this out of the way: The Bible is never sexy. Even though it is full of sex, it is not sexy. It’s like you grandmother Irene dancing around in her underwear. Sure, she has experience, but it’s not sexy.

Therefore, Forsaken leans much more on the inspirational side, and less on the butter-churn groping romance side. There’s some chaste kissing, and at one point, someone’s rib gets felt up (that’s like–half base?), but it’s as sexless as Liza Minnelli and David Gest’s wedding night.

Let’s get to the plot. The novel opens with a prologue, and the character Jacob, blah blah blahing about his trip to New Orleans. As a young Amish person, he is taking his rumschpringes (also known as Time Out). But he’s had to take a break from swilling yards of alcohol and selling his virginity for Mardi Gras beads to run away from a vampire! He hopes he lives so he can return to his true love, Hannah. He is in the midst of thinking about how great and perfect she is, when he finds a drunk homeless man and wonders if he should rescue him from the vampire:

“Could this old drunk be a sacrificial lamb? His salvation? Could he serve as a decoy? The decision came easily. Too easily. Jacob took one step away. Then another. Rationalizations paved his escape. Who would miss this drunk? No one would blame Jacob for abandoning him, leaving him in the path of those who were coming.” (3)

Jacob sounds like a great guy!

Two years later, it turns out Jacob is dead. Or missing? Probably dead. Boo. Hannah is really sad about it, not knowing that Jacob is a self-involved, homeless man abandoning douche. (Okay, fine, he does save the homeless guy. After he thinks about how disappointed his father would be in him. Nothing like a potential hero who does good deeds so other people don’t get pissed off and take away his horse buggy.)

Hannah works part-time at a bakery, which makes sense because she smells like one, “he couldn’t get enough of her. Of her kiss, her sweet, apple-turnover scent…” (323).

Other than being a walking pastry, Hannah is standard, run of the mill, pure and virginal boring heroine who does nothing but grieve over her dead Amish fiancee, yearn over her unrequited secret desire for his brother, and agonize over the vampire lurking in the fog behind the barn. If Hannah were a tree, she’d be a pine (zing!)

The vampire in question is Akiva. Akiva wears a black leather jacket and kills racist homophobics. This means he is a just killer, and we should sort of like him, because that guy deserved it! Why, I love driving through KKK meetings in a monster truck, smashing everyone. Yup, murder is totally justified if you’re killing someone because of their beliefs.

Her dead fiancee’s brother is Levi. He has a strong jaw and secretly loves Hannah and one time saved her from drowning in some creek but her dead fiancee took all the credit. Wow, Jacob is really something. Too bad he’s dead. (Or missing?)

But wait! He’s not dead, missing, or even alive! He’s the vampire Akiva. And he wants Hannah to join him in the leather-jacket-wearing-undead life. At first she’s totally into it because he took her to a Vivaldi concert. But everyone is staring at them and she feels uncomfortable because people are always looking at her because she’s Amish. Akiva reveals he bought all the rows around them so she couldenjoy the music. He is so obsessed with Hannah and knows her inner most thoughts and feelings but forgot that the one thing she hates the most is being stared at by strangers? Oops! Think he’ll still get to half base?

You’re probably wondering: how did Hannah not know Akiva was Jacob this whole time? Well she was “coated with a haze,” (326) which means Akiva probably mesmerized her, or she was high. And if she works in a bakery, she is in for some fun times!

Oops, I forgot. There’s a detective. Roc Girouard. Roc is from New Orleans, so he has no idea what an Amish person is. All he knows is there is a dead girl’s body with a bonnet in his district, so she must be Amish (or her sexy nun costume went horribly awry). Also, Roc’s wife was killed by a vampire maybe? And this maybe Amish murder is similar? And someone else died? And some animals? So there’s a vampire out there killing Amish people and cop wives and animals?

“My wife reads them Amish romances,” explains one of Roc’s cop buddies  “She tells me all about them folks.” (19). Roc’s detective co-worker offers to loan Roc his wife’s books so he can learn more about the Amish. Instead of going to the library. Or looking it up on the internet.

Detective research.

“The Amish,” Brody cut him off, “don’t they live up in Pennsylvania?”
“Nah…My wife…she says they live all over. Ran out of land in Lancaster County seems. And they gots big ol’ honkin’ families. So they buy up land in other places.” (19)

LATER, IN LANCASTER COUNTY: Roc insinuates himself into Amish society. Translation: he hangs out with a bunch of Amish teens at the drive-in movie theater. If there is anything less suspicious than an Englisher mugging around your standoffish society, it’s that.

He then meets a mysterious, seductive woman who has pale skin, dark hair, and wears her sunglasses at night.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X2LTL8KgKv8

They exchange the following dialogue:

“You are one determined man.”
“I can be.”
“I like that in a man.”

Then the mystery woman licks her lips and trails her finger down between her boobs. This scene is the definition of subtle.

“She was stunning, striking, with her dark hair and skin that looked as silky as satin sheets and instantly brought to mind images of lingerie.” Roc’s favorite, in fact, were the Hello Kitty ones, bright pink and fluffy, so very soft against his hardened cop skin. When he slipped them on, he felt so pretty…

Turns out this very sexy lady, Camille, is a vampire! I’m shocked. She also turned Jacob into a vampire! I actually never discovered why she was after the Amish (and random cop wives), but maybe that’s because Camille mesmerized me. Or I’m stoned.

So! Levi, Roc and Hannah team up to destroy the vampires! Roc tells Hannah a very sad story about Hurricane Katrina and his wife’s death. He admits that after all the horrors he had seen, he had lost the will to live. Hannah replies “What does this have to do with Jacob? With Snowflake?”

Thanks, Hannah, for proving that no matter how pious you are, you can still be an asshole.

RIP Snowflake

Hannah sobs over Jacob/Akiva and a dead farm animal, then ends up between a bitter battle between Camille and Jacob/Akiva. Should they kill her or turn her? Kill her! Sadly, my vote doesn’t count and Jacob/Akiva decides to turn her.

But then Levi and Roc show up and kill both the vampires! See you guys, no matter what culture we live in, men are always here to save defenseless women sobbing over undead boyfriends and very dead ponies.

And that’s it! Roc returns to New Orleans, Hannah and Levi decide to wed, and everyone returns to their original places in the world, knowing that love always triumphs (412) and maybe something about how we should accept people for their differences? Oh, but we killed those people because they were murderers. Anyways, love always triumphs, you guys!

———-

Eileen would stake an amish vampire for a ice cream bacon burger right now. But hold the bacon. And the burger.