Yes, This Is How I Spend My Free Time

I posted this a couple of Easters ago,  but had enough fun with it that I'm bringing my Peep drama back.  Hope you enjoy!

War and Peeps

by Lucy Woodhull

Every year the same thing. Damn the humans and their thirst for Peep blood! Er, marshmallow! Captain Peeter Peecker of the Twenty-First Peep Infantry spit out the last of his cigar and sauntered to the stair banister. Usually he was able to fight the human scourge with a clear head, but this year, this year was different. This year, this year they had captured his girl, Peeptunia.

"C-c-captain Peecker?"

"Yeah, Private Peenaski?"

"The kitchen is clear. I recommend we go in immediately. I heard the humans go upstairs and turn on the Barry White, sir. They should be up there for three, four minutes. Maybe less."

Peecker leaned against the cool metal rail. "Sure, Private, sure." He had seen many a Private like Peenaski. Young, eager, green. But they didn't know shit from shinola.

Peecker leaned against the cool metal rail.

Sure, war seemed glamorous at boot camp. I wonder why they call it boot camp, he thought. We can't wear boots. We have no feet.

In the real world, war was hell. H-E-double-hockey-sticks hell. He spit. Bah! He was a soldier, not a philosopher.

He had seen many a Private like Peenaski. Young, eager, green.

And today he had the most important mission of his life. He must save Peeptunia.

His Peeps assembled, he led the column down the stairs to the linoleum floor of the kitchen. Peenaski shimmied to the countertop and down again. "C-c-captain!" he panted. "I see her. She's on the chopping block!"

"Yes, I know! The human lash is long, indeed."

The Private rolled his eyes. "Um, I mean literally, sir. She's sitting on a chopping block.”

“Don’t be a dick, Peenaski.”

“Sorry, sir. Several other of our Peep brethren are there, too. They... they didn't make it."

“Don’t be a dick, Peenaski.”

Peecker sneered heavenward. What kind of God would allow such brutality? Surely not one made of food coloring and... whatever else Peeps were made of.  He spit. Bah! He was a soldier, not a theologian.

He scaled the cabinets and struck a dashing pose against the dishwasher. Once that was complete, he crept across the counter.

"Peeter!" Peeptunia called. Her shining pink skin looked like sweet sugar candy to his hungry eyes, er, eye. "Peeter! Help me!"

Hurrying to his girl's side, Peecker gasped to behold the carnage he beheld. So many good Peeps - murdered in the evil humans’ game. To what purpose? Many Peeps were killed by the giant ones, yes -- ripped head from body and eaten. But this slicing and dicing? It was butchery! It was the kind of sick experiment that had cost him his eye back in Easter '08.

It was butchery!

Peeptunia clung to him, quivering. "Let us escape, my big, strong Peecker!"

The Captain flexed his 'mallow and called, "Private Peenaski!"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Take Peeptunia to safety. I'll meet up with you back at base. I need to investigate what treachery is afoot, er, aPeep here."

"No! No, Peeter, you must come with us!" Peeptunia clung to him. Peecker gave his best chick a long, hard kiss. Reluctantly, he let the Private drag his protesting girl to safety.

Peecker gave his best chick a long, hard kiss.

No more time for mushy stuff.  He was a soldier, not a porn star.

Peecker crept along the sink to the far side of the kitchen. He could see something in the distance -- maybe a dish of some sort. I have a bad feeling about this, he thought. Or maybe that was the goulash he had for lunch.

He pressed on.

At the edge of the plate he took a deep breath. Rolling up to the very front of his marshmallow belly he saw... he saw... some really bad shit. [Ed. note -- He’s a soldier, not a writer. Give the guy a break.] He yelped and drew back in horror. Then... voices!

"Wow, Ricky. That was an amazing two-minute romp."

"You were wonderful, Lucy. When'd you get so flexible? You're the most beautiful woman in the world, and that's counting Angelina Jolie."

"I know. It’s a burden. And now my darling, I have something to show you."

The humans approached Captain Peecker. He dove behind the platter of slaughter.

"Voila!" said the female one. "It's Peepshi! Peep sushi."

Rolling up to the very front of his marshmallow belly he saw... he saw...
some really bad shit.

"Awesome! Lucy, you're the best wife ever. You're never annoying or anything. And you'd never make me dress Peeps in costume and take infantile pictures of them."

"Of course not. What kind of freak spends Easter morning doing that?"

They began to feast upon the eviscerated bodies. Peecker could do nothing but wedge himself under the edge of the serving dish in terror.

"Look at this one," said the man.

Peecker looked up in slow motion. It was happening -- just like his recurring dream, the one that always ended with him dressed in drag and singing "La Marseillaise." The man's humongous hand gripped Peecker's helpless body. Peecker struggled, but could not fight the monstrous strength.

"Uh, oh. I guess I missed one," said the woman.

"Not for long." The male one laughed, the sound more menacing than Peeptunia giving him a marriage ultimatum. Peecker flew through the air for one split second, every fiber of his marshmallow wobbling in dreadful anticipation, until CHOMP!

The end.

Ragnar VS. Ragnar: The Epic Battle!

Vikings do it in the ocean.  But they always use protection.

The hero of my first book, RAGNAR AND JULIET, is named Ragnar.  (SPOILER!)  It recently came to my attention that the History Channel has totes stolen this brilliant idea and has named the hero of their (pish!) TV show, Vikings, Ragnar as well.  I tuned in, friends, to see what they had gotten up to with MY *ahem* name.  I noticed that there were several key differences between the Ragnars.  I shall elaborate below so that my dozens of fans do not get my book mixed up with a big-budget television show.  Which is totally a thing that could happen!

Let's start with the sames.

Same 1:  Both Ragnars have pretty blue eyes, the better to bat them at... well, my Ragnar bats them at the heroine, Juliet.  Vikings Ragnar tends to bat his at his hallucinations, er, visions.  He enjoys wandering off along the shore, gazing at the sky and dreaming of what's across the ocean.  (Sea monsters?  Clothing with zippers?  Who can say?)

Same 2:  Both Ragnars have ships.  My Ragnar zooms about in a spaceship, because my book is set in space, and that sort of vehicle helps you not die in the cold, airless cosmos.  Vikings Ragnar has secretly built a ship for to travel west across the ocean to look for zippers, or whatever.  It will help him not die in the cold ocean.  It is possible that there will be space ships in future episodes of Vikings (perhaps for May sweeps).

Same 3:  Both Ragnars have taken up with kickass women who subdue would-be rapey assholes, which means the menfolk have excellent taste in ladies.  Take note, men!

The diffs:

(That's cool-speak for "differences."  I think.  I'm not very cool.)

Diff 1:  Viking Ragnar begins his story by gutting some unfortunate dude with a sword.  He doesn't even introduce himself!  It's all wham, bam, oops your guts are on my shoes now.  My Ragnar starts his book by having a cocktail.  If I had my choice of being gutted by or drinking with a sexy, blue-eyed fellow, well, I'd choose booze any day of the week.  But maybe I just really enjoy my Whiskey.

Diff 2:  Both the Ragnars' women are awesome warrior-types.  The main difference between them is that Juliet would never wear the long skirts that Lagertha does.  I mean, Juliet even wears a gynecologist-approved miniskirt when she impersonates a nun!  She ain't got time for no old-fashioned, knee-covering modesty sacks.  And that's why, at least comparing book 1 of the Ragnar and Juliet series to episode 1 of Vikings, Juliet gets laid way more often.  Take note, ladies!

Diff 3:  The Viking Ragnar has no tail, seeing as he is a human being.  My Ragnar has an adorable devil tail that likes to trail up your skirt, as he is an alien.  Thankfully, they both have the usual other male appendages.  I assume, anyway.  Viking Ragnar has not shown his off because he lives on basic cable.

In conclusion, if you enjoyed the butt-kicking in Vikings, you will probably like my books, too.  They are dirtier, anyhow, and that's always a plus.  However, my hero Ragnar never wanders off to spacey music and hallucinates.  You'll have to decide for yourself whether that's a good or a bad thing.

You Asked (?) for It — I Have Another Book Coming Out!

This summer, my first full-length contemporary rom-com THE DIMPLE OF DOOM will release in print and digital from Total-e-Bound books!

This book is very close to my heart for its heroine, who starts the book pretty much as a loser grappling with where failure has taken her.  (I can relate, ahem.)  Pizza Rolls and box wine are a fine way of life… but adventure with a hot anti-hero is always better.

Here’s the blurb~

THE DIMPLE OF DOOM by Lucy Woodhull

It may sound like common sense, but never hump an art thief. Turns out, Samantha Lytton’s Common-Sense-O-Meter is super duper broken.

Failed actress Samantha Lytton is getting along just fine in her lonely little life when a charming criminal called Sam or Nate or maybe even Richmond kisses her, square dances most provocatively, opens his not-so-wicked heart, and gets her in trouble with not one, but two international art theft rings as well as the LAPD.

She’s either gonna end up in jail or famous.  Maybe both.

Along the way, she fights for her life and falls for this funny, sexy disaster of a man… and learns that finding happily-ever-after with yourself is the first step to real contentment. A cute dimple is just the second.

Squuuueeeeeeee!

I'm a Recommended Read (again!) at Two Lips Reviews!Warning: Thar Be Spoilers

Title: Concubine Boogaloo Author: Lucy Woodhull Publisher: Liquid Silver Books Genre: Science fiction Publication date: August 27, 2012 ISBN:  1-595789-63-1 Pages: 90 Series: Ragnar and Juliet, Book 2 Reviewer: Icy Snow  Heat Level:   M/F sex, some graphic language Rating:

The review:

When we last left our two interspecies lovebirds, they had just escaped from King Bob the Nefarious’ pseudo-dungeon. Now in Concubine Boogaloo, the second in the Ragnar and Juliet series by Lucy Woodhull, Ragnar has openly declared his love for Juliet which not only leaves the lady speechless but in internal chaos for she has a secret she hasn’t shared with the talented-tailed Alutian. It doesn’t help that he decides then and there to take her to meet her possible future in-laws. That visit goes over like an iridium balloon, and when Juliet tells Ragnar her own private secret, she finds herself ousted from the house.

Our girl doesn’t fret losing the only man she’s actually ever loved (not much). She sets her mind to other tasks, to keep them off handsome pecs, cobalt blue eyes, and…of course…that tail named Torval. Juliet has decided to liberate the 500 concubines King Bob still has in his thrall. Unfortunately, she’s going to need help for that endeavor, so she enlists childhood friend Erit, who’s a wheel-dealer par excellence (as well as a snappy dresser) and…guess who? Ragnar, who’s not exactly happy to be drawn into a rescue mission by his ex and having to associate with one of her other exes in the bargain.

So there they are…three determined players in a desperate game, two of whom are angry, hating, and desperately in love with each other, about to launch a world-wide kidnapping attempt right under King Bob’s aristocratic and depraved nose…

Can they do it? Will they succeed? Will Ragnar and Juliet live to have another adventure filled with alien sex and smart-ass quips and puns? Or will Juliet find herself Concubine #501 as Ragnar heads back to Mom and Dad?

The only way to find out is to read the book.

This is a hilarious book. It is equal to the original in its wild characters, even wilder situations, and well-written dialogue. I laughed my way through the first one while wondering what was going to happen next. I did the same with this sequel and if there’s a third, I imagine I’ll do the same with it.

This is definitely a recommended read.