Jack Winters is in a bit of a pickle. Things started out just fine. He had a decent job and a few friends. Then he met the woman of his dreams. They go out on a date and things go really well. That’s when things go south. The morning after turns out to be a week later and the world went ahead and ended itself while Jack was far away in dreamland. Now he’s awake in a post-apocalyptic world with no family, no job, and worst of all, no girlfriend. Along with his friends and some other random tag-alongs, Jack will journey cross country to find the woman of his dreams against zombies, heavy metal horsemen, pirates, and a power so immense and evil it will put his very soul to the test.
Targeted Age Group:: 18+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I’ve had the idea for Apocalypse Wow for well over 10 years so the inspiration is long lost to the unrelenting constancy of time and failing of human memory. Possibly fruit roll up?
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
The characters in Apocalypse Wow are slightly inspired by people I know, but only vaguely so.
Book Sample
Chapter One:
Good Morning, Miss Bliss
Chapter Track: Early Mornin’ Stoned Pimp – Kid Rock
7:51 a.m.
My alarm went off at the same time it always did. It prattled out its god awful, incessant whine like it’s prone to doing as if I actually cared about its existence. I reached a hand out from under the blanket and slapped the snooze button with a little more gusto than I probably should have. Maybe it’s just me, but putting a little extra mustard on that snooze button in the morning gives me a feeling of satisfaction, like it’ll think twice about bothering me again if I just smack it hard enough.
I rolled over and went back to sleep.
8:00 a.m.
The alarm blared back into life. Who decided nine minutes was the standard amount of time for the snooze feature on an alarm clock? Was there some kind of study done at some point that found that people only needed nine minutes of extra sleep at a time? Personally I would think fifteen or twenty minutes would be more appropriate. Again, maybe it’s just me.
I pushed the blanket back and lurched onto my feet. The room was spinning ever so slightly. That had to do a little with standing up too fast, and a lot to do with being hung over. I clicked the snooze button on the alarm with the big toe on my right foot. Everything in my room was on the floor. I didn’t own a traditional bed. It was just a futon mattress lying on the floor, so everything had to be at ground level allowing me to easily reach things. I was trying to adopt a Japanese style of living.
All right, fine. I just couldn’t afford real furniture. Are you happy now that you got me to admit that?
I felt an overwhelming sensation to drain my bladder. The tequila from the night before was trying to push its way out of my body like a baby rhinoceros trying to push its way out of its mother’s womb. Yikes. Maybe that’s not the best analogy. Needless to say, I had to pee. I stumbled out of my room, still trying to get my bearings. I gripped the door jamb to steady myself and flung myself into the nearby bathroom in some sort of slingshot maneuver. It was pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. I didn’t bother turning on the light, I had to pee too bad. I flipped the lid up on the toilet and let it flow. It was such a close call I barely got myself clear of my boxers before it started flowing.
Once I had drained a few ounces, I stumbled back into my room. I loved that room. I had spent years making it my own personal lair of awesomeness. The walls were lined with posters of some of my favorite movies: Dumb and Dumber, The Matrix, Major League 2, Total Recall, The Fifth Element, Hudson Hawk, and The Last Boy Scout. I have to admit, I have a bit of a man crush on Bruce Willis. The man has saved the world more times than Jesus, how could you not love him? There was a bookshelf against the left wall that was filled with X-Men and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures. Another bookshelf sat next to that which was filled exclusively with some of the most insanely righteous action films from the 90’s and early millennium. To put it simply, this bedroom was a shrine to the single greatest decade in the history of the world.
I noticed the time on the clock, 8:15. I had to be at work by 9:00 and it was at least a twenty minute walk from my apartment. I took off my boxers and tossed them in the pile of dirty clothes in the corner I considered a laundry basket. I stepped back into the bathroom and turned on the light this time. Strictly speaking, I tried to keep the light off in the bathroom. Turning on the light just reminded me how much I needed to clean in the tiny closet sized room. The sink was covered in tiny black hair from my electric razor and dried up toothpaste. The bath mat covered nearly the entire floor, effectively creating a makeshift carpet in such a small room. It was nice in the winter when the floor would normally be too cold to touch, but it was also collecting every bit of moisture that would have normally dried on the linoleum. As such, it smelled like mildew and a few spots made a squishing noise if I stepped on them. I turned on the shower and turned back to the sink to brush my teeth. The shower usually took a few minutes to heat up, so I took the recommended full two minutes to clean my teeth.
Once I had washed the toothpaste froth from my mouth, I stepped into the shower. The shower was one of the more disgusting parts of the bathroom. You’d think since there was a lot of cleansing substances going around the shower when it was in use, that it would stay clean. That does not happen to be the case. There was a pretty thick layer of soap scum on all the three walls, a disgusting collection of old, nasty soap in the soap dish, and a small colony of mushrooms had sprouted on the wash rag that was balled up in the corner. Frankly, I just didn’t have the heart to kill the only other living thing that I knew about in my apartment. I think you can understand, though, why I choose not to turn on the light all that often.
When I’d finished showering, I toweled off with a beach towel that somehow seemed to never dry and hung it back up on the rack. I walked back to my bedroom and pulled a clean pair of boxers out of the stack that sat on a shelf on the top of my closet. They were white with shamrocks, and I had considered them my lucky boxers since the night I was wearing them and I hooked up with Heather Hudson. That was probably one of the greatest nights of my life. That girl was terrifyingly good in bed. Anyway, I digress. I slid on the boxers and pulled a pair of jeans off of the floor. They were the same pair I was wearing the night before, and, in fact, were the only pair I currently owned. The additional pair I used to have were destroyed in a game of drunken freeze tag. It’s a long story. I had clearly gotten sloppy drunk the night before, because the jeans were still a little damp and smelled like alcohol. I slid them on, shuddering at the feel of moist, grimy denim and made a mental note to spring for another pair of jeans. After my jeans were on I pulled my favorite shirt off of the hanger and threw it on. It was a t-shirt, but it was designed to look like the Green Ranger’s costume from The Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers. Wearing that shirt always made me feel like roundhouse kicking something into oblivion.
Now that I was fully dressed, I slipped on a pair of blue and white checkered Vans and walked to the kitchen. No day can possibly start right without a hearty bowl of Cap’n Crunch with Crunch Berries. I’m pretty sure that’s in the Bible somewhere. I took a clean bowl out of the cabinet next to the fridge and poured a heaping pile of delicious sugary cereal for myself. My fridge was divided into three categories assigned to each of the three shelves. The top shelf was reserved for everyday use items such as milk, eggs, and butter. The middle shelf was home to a series of take-out containers that had been systematically arranged Tetris-style one night when I was drunk and jonesing for a real world Tetris experience. I never had the heart to rearrange it. The bottom shelf was for beer. Cold, delicious beer.
I grabbed the milk from the top shelf, filled the bowl with a generous amount, and put the jug back into the fridge. The clock on the microwave was telling me I had just over twenty minutes to get to work on time, if I cared to do so. Luckily, I didn’t, so I ate slowly, enjoying every last crunch berry and washing it all down with the remaining milk that now tasted fruity and wonderful. I rinsed the bowl out in the sink and left it there for later. I walked around the kitchen counter and into the main room of my apartment.
This was my ultimate entertainment room. The focal point of the room was a sixty inch flat screen television mounted perfectly on the wall. Below the television was an entertainment center filled with an original Nintendo Entertainment System, a Super Nintendo, a Sega Genesis, and a Nintendo 64. Each game console was hooked to a switch box which ran to the back of the television. There was simply nothing like playing Goldeneye or The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past on a high definition TV. The television fed into a surround sound system that allowed for maximum enjoyment of some of the greatest games that have ever existed. Lying on the chipped, scratched coffee table in front of my threadbare, beat up, thrift store sofa was my iPod. I scooped it up, put the earphones in my ears, and shook it to randomize the tracks. Sliding the iPod into my right pocket, I walked to the door and grabbed my keys from a small table that sat just to the left of the door. A pile of mail was next to the keys. It was nothing but people wanting money for this or that. $16 a year for Playboy? What am I, the Monopoly guy?
I walked out the front door and locked it behind me. My iPod was currently helping me get jiggy wit’ it with the help of Mr. Will Smith. I don’t know what getting jiggy wit’ it means, but, damn, does that song make me want to do it. I hopped down the steps to the parking lot of my apartment complex. My car was parked right out front. It was a beautiful sky blue 1987 Chevy Nova complete with missing muffler, blown shocks, and furry seat covers. The driver’s side window could roll down, but wouldn’t come back up if it did. It was a real pain in the ass if you planned on hitting up a drive-thru. There was a mysterious chocolate stain on the backseat that looked suspiciously like Boris Yeltsin. I have no idea how it got there. I must have been drunk when it happened, which is bad because it meant I was also probably behind the wheel. Oh well, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that. When I bought the car, there was a bumper sticker slapped directly on the paint of the back end that simply read MOFO. After a while, everyone just started referring to the car as The Mofo. It made me laugh, so I didn’t contest it.
I wasn’t planning on driving to work today, though. Actually, I never drove to work. The Mofo was not in the best shape which I’m sure surprises you based on my previous description, so I only drove it when it was necessary. I walked to work because west coast mornings were simply beautiful, and there wasn’t much that could contend with a little sunshine and fresh ocean air. Besides, I could always use the exercise.
My route to work took me past a park that had fallen by the wayside and was now in a state of disrepair. The slide had been eaten away with rust and now had a gaping hole right where you’d typically glide down with enjoyment. Most of the chains for the swings were snapped, the seats dangling uselessly in the air. A public restroom was in the far corner of the park. It was covered in graffiti, the most noticeable of which claimed that someone named Stacey was a rather large slut-faced ho-bag. I always wondered if it meant she slept with a lot of random guys, or if she was fat as well as promiscuous. I had never actually seen anyone in the park, but there always seemed to be fresh garbage every day when I walked by. It was mostly beer bottles which lead me to believe the neighborhood teenagers came here at night to drink and do drugs. Bunch of hooligans.
Today was different though. A man who could best be described as homeless was standing in the middle of the merry-go-round as the metal saucer twirled slowly around. His clothes were filthy, and the hair that stuck out the bottom of his tin foil hat was matted and disgusting. In his hands he held a piece of cardboard that was about three feet by three feet with black writing that read: THE END IS NEAR. For some reason, I couldn’t help but stand and watch the man slowly rotate over and over again, reading the sign each time it came around. I found myself wondering three things. First, why was he standing in that abandoned park instead of on a street corner that people other than me frequented, so that he may spread his message? I would think that everyone would like to know that the end – whatever that entailed – was near. Second, why do all homeless doomsday prophets have to be so vague? Don’t they think we’d like a more exact date on when the end would occur? A time, a day…something? And third, just how in the hell does a homeless guy afford markers to make a sign anyway?
I decided to let the more important mysteries of the universe figure themselves out and continued on my way to work. After all, the only apocalypse I cared about was the PlayStation game of the same name starring none other than the incomparable Bruce Willis. Man, that guy rocked my world with his unrelenting machismo. By the way, I’m not gay. I just thought I’d clear that up. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
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