Heaven-Bent HUMOR: The DEAN Adventures
NEWLY UPDATED!
Whether Dean backpacks with Bigfoot in Bermuda, time-travels with movie stars, or inadvertently destroys worlds beyond ours, this guy knows how to have fun! Enjoy his crazy, quite possibly insane, adventures!
What will Dean do with the billions he makes by his books? Find out inside! And encourage billions of others to do so too. Especially if they buy them all and pay full price!
Inventive, funny, suspenseful, each story provides a mini-vacation away from the burdens of your day. So get your ticket to fun now; and start reading. Destination: Comedy! Guaranteed to make you laugh.*
Before you buy this book, take a Look Inside!
Check out the Table of Contents! Depending on how you define adventure, the actual “adventures” don’t start until “The Perfect Plan: Foiled!” or “My O.B.E.”. We included a few “non-adventurous” pieces to lay the groundwork for the adventures, or because they related somehow, or we just thought they were funny. Or simply to pad the book to make it look more impressive!
Although most of these crazy, intrepid, and entertaining tales stand alone, they still tie together to build to a shock ending.
Snippets
Proof that this is a work of fiction: I did not put peanut butter on the brownies. If you see me eating a brownie without first applying peanut butter, that is not me, but an evil clone, an alien cyborg, or a shape-shifter who must be destroyed! Or given a jar of peanut butter.
Don’t forget to wrap your head in aluminum foil too, so those intergalactic fiends can’t read your mind. Otherwise, no one else in the field of extra-terrestrial relations will take you seriously.
The pinwheel hat is optional.
My secret sources on this matter are uncharacteristically convoluted and unclear about the exact details. But why would somebody post something on the Internet, if it’s not true?
The “handsomest” of them resembled Bigfoot. Only with ZZ Top beards and a Snidely Whiplash mustache. Strange race indeed.
And that was just their women!
I don’t want to be remembered for that! Instead, remember me for my sense of humor, thoughtfulness, and great legs. Best of all would be being remembered for being Katharine McPhee’s trophy husband!
They had the dumbest entertainment too! Some dude in a designer pinstriped suit waved a pocket watch back and forth while chanting repeatedly: “You will do as I say. You will do as I say.”
Never thought I’d wind up in jail.
An asylum? Sure. It’s a such crazy world, you’d be nuts not to go insane.
Don’t fall in love with a psycho; she’ll only break your heart. Or cut it out and feed it to the pigeons.
I’m too exciting for most women. The majority of them want someone boring. It’s true. Their date ads say they don’t want men who play games.
But I say, what’s wrong with Pictionary?
It’s like charades on paper!
Good times to be sure. But if Andy Warhol’s words are true, about each person getting his/her own 15 minutes of fame, I’ve still got another 14 minutes and 57 seconds coming!
Photo Source:
The photo of the author running from a Monster Crab
(a.k.a. Crab Cake Gone Wild)
is a mock-up still created by Brad Hudson using footage
from his film project “The Bad Clam”.
Bonus Excerpts:
If you wish history hadn’t been altered; and you’d rather live in a world
where every meal requires copious clumps of ketchup, then blame me.
I just wanted to hang out and be cool with the Holly Boys.
I thought for sure at least one of them would hook me up with a bikini supermodel.
One with a heart of gold, of course, because I’m not shallow.
Too bad Travolta broke my time machine. Still intent on riding a pterodactyl,
he thought he could push any button he wanted as long as he imagined
where he wanted to go. He even tried clicking his heels together and chanting:
“There’s no place like the late Jurassic period. There’s no place like the late Jurassic period.”
in a secret underground vault, along with the cures for cancer, rickets, and hiccups;
as well as the formulas for Coca-Cola, KFC original recipe chicken,
and the ingredients of a Big Mac (although a double agent released that information
to the public in the 1970s via a catchy jingle).
Or as soon as they could decide which to do first.
Had it not been my execution, I would’ve explained how hanging
gives the shooters a moving target as the body flails around.
But the only suggestion I offered was, “There’s a new way to execute traitors.
You fill them with chocolate, until they smile to death, or burst apart.”
--“Shut up!” yelled the seedy-looking lad. “I don’t mind a moving target.
But a yapping one makes it hard for me to think.”
“Oh really?” I asked. “Yes!” I called out, “Everyone yap!” Constable McBrody talked about how he joined the force so he could make a difference. Captain McSquint, for some odd reason, blathered on about split ends and his inability
to find satisfactory hair products that could handle the salt air. Even Nessie clicked, clacked, and whistled in that way that she does.
No one else could interpret, except me, so I knew she forgave me.
She knew I’d never muck up so royally on purpose. Whereas I bemoaned the fact that I never got to marry a supermodel heiress
to a chocolate fortune. She wouldn’t even have to juggle or play the ukulele.
Those talents were just options. Not necessities. She’d still need a heart of gold though.
Or she’d have to be a super dee duper supermodel. With a heart of silver or bronze.
At the very least nickel or copper. Possibly pyrite, but only if she’s a contortionist too. Somehow blocking out our auditory distractions,
the seedy-looking lad got me in his sights and pulled the trigger.
Kablam! Ow! Why did he shoot me?! I’m the funny one!
Aren’t I?
No comments:
Post a Comment