Jeff Lee: the ad man turned author who doesn’t scare easily because he’s back as my Guest Author
Jeff Lee is once more my Guest Author
with a sample of his latest hilarious offering which goes live on Amazon on May 16th…
He doesn’t scare easily – scroll down to the end for links to his first interview with me.
I love his writing because he makes me laugh out loud.
Here is Jeff’s bio according to… Jeff:
Born in New York and raised near San Francisco,
I’ve been a copywriter and creative director for some of the country’s most creative ad agencies.
Won a lot of silly awards for my creativity and wise-ass sense of humor.
And I’ve been writing in L.A. since before KC even HAD a Sunshine Band.
So, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that, given half a chance, this city can be a never-ending cavalcade of rib-tickling fun — and funny — things, people and approaches to this thrill ride we call life.
Like phony televangelists who produce biblical-themed porn for the faithful.
Bat-shit crazy showbiz moms.
Defrocked talent agents posing as Reality Show producers.
The Rose Parade.
It never freakin’ ends with this place.
There’s always something — or someone — to gape at and giggle over.
I tell ya, you’ve just GOT to love this town!
It’s the law.
Jeff’s latest book is SCROTUS and is very topical.
I’ve really enjoyed Jeff’s take on life in La La Land and have laughed out loud at the antics of his fabulous and unforgettable characters.
I’m sure I have worked with and have had lunch with many of them or their cousins!
Scrotus back cover:
“Fish” Fishbein and his girlfriend, Shawna Kretschman, have a nice, quiet life. He’s L.A.’s repo man and bounty hunter to the stars, and she runs the police force on a South Dakota Sioux reservation.
Then, the President of the United States comes to town. And her quiet life turns upside down when she has to arrest him for trying to forcibly exercise his ‘executive privilege’ on her in the back of the presidential limo.
Shawna wants the tiny-handed prez to stand trial for his assault and a handful of other violent felonies. But first, she and Fish will have to take on a corrupt Attorney General who wants to dismiss all charges, and an army of private security contractors out for blood.
And down in the White House Situation Room, the supremely unqualified, corrupt and wealthy members of the president’s cabinet are negotiating with the Russians to invade the country and free their woman-groping boss.
If this goes on much longer, someone is going to have to step in and save Shawna, Fish and the American people from their own government.
They say that politics makes for strange bedfellows.
In SCROTUS’ case, very strange. Very fast-paced and very funny, too. With more Alternate Facts than you can shake a White House Press Liaison at. Imagine All the President’s Men meets Jason Bourne and The Three Stooges.
It’s bigly. It’s beautiful. You’re gonna love it.
It’s a done deal.
5th book in “Fish” Fishbein’s Adventures in La-La Land series.
Humor, Satire, Crime, Murder, Political Thriller, Offbeat & Quirky Commercial Fiction,
Hysterical Explicit Sex.
Think: All the President’s Men meets Jason Bourne & The Three Stooges.
Other books by Jeff Lee:
If you’d like to read on you can enjoy a sample of Scrotus – be warned there is some ‘fruity’ language…
Ordinary people can – and often do — go to some pretty extraordinary lengths, and do some seriously whacky things for love.
Just ask “Fish” Fishbein, L. A.’s repo man and bounty hunter to the stars.
A few hours ago, he was chillin’ on his patio in the North Malibu Clifftop Barrio. Bagging some rays, knocking back a Corona and listening to the whales down below in the cove. Rehearsing their cover of Gene Chandler’s old Doo-Wop hit, Duke of Earl.
But now, he and his two partners in bail enforcement, Kenny and Einstein, were half a continent away.
Shivering in the pre-dawn cold and darkness, and all decked out in their fugitive apprehension finery.
Outside the door to room seventeen at the End of the Trail Motel. A clapped out, former roadside attraction in Harmony, South Dakota that had seen better decades.
They were there to grab up a Superior Court failure to appear, who was sleeping off an epic bender on the other side of the motel room’s door.
And it was the second time that month they’d flown in to South Dakota to help corral a court no-show for Fish’s buddy, Sonny Matoska. A bail bondsman from the state capital, over in Pierre.
All of which was part of the compromise they had all hammered together. So that Shawna Kretschman, a blond-haired force of nature and the love of Fish’s life, would feel free to accept the Sioux’s offer to be Chief of Police on the Pine Creek reservation.
On Fish’s signal, Kenny hot-footed it around the building to cover the bathroom window with the paintball gun he was packing. Locked and loaded with a full complement of delicate little spheres of law enforcement-grade MACE and pepper spray powder, just in case their no-show decided to bolt.
The Big Dog nodded to Einstein, who removed the economy-sized can of extra-strength Mace clipped to his utility belt, shook it a few times and released the safety.
Then Fish knocked on the door.
He knocked again, louder.
This time, the lights came on inside the room.
“What the Hell is it?” demanded a loud voice that sounded like it was in some severe discomfort.
The pained voice belonged to all six feet, five inches and three hundred twenty-five pounds of Timothy “Rushmore” Mikkelsdottir. A local pipeline worker with a nasty temper when he was just plain sober.
But get him this hammered, and the common wisdom around these parts was to simply nod and reply, “Yes, sir” to any syllables that made it past his pie hole.
“Pizza delivery…” Fish answered at the door.
“I didn’t order no fuckin’ pizza!”
“Sorry, Buddy. Says here you did.” Fish unfolded the failure to appear warrant and read from it. “Timothy Mikkelsdottir, End of the Trail Motel. Room–” He looked over at the cheap metal numerals nailed to the door frame. “Seventeen. That’s one extra large, deep dish Hawaiian. Says here, you also wanted extra anchovies.”
“Wasn’t me!” The pain and the annoyance in the voice coming through room seventeen’s door had definitely risen a few more notches. All the way to where the Air Force usually moved the threat level up to DEFCON 3, just as a precaution.
“Now…GO AWAY!! Leave me the fuck alone!”
“Sorry, Pal. No can do. Hey, if you don’t pay for this pizza, then my boss is gonna make me buy it. And I’m allergic to freakin’ anchovies.”
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY DOOR! NOW!!”
“Wish I could, man. But the company manual is really clear on this. If you don’t pay, then, I gotta. I can’t afford it, and fish makes me break out in hives.”
“Your trip to the ER’s gonna cost you a lot more than that freakin’ pizza..!”
Mikkelsdottir was sleeping off a bender that had started three nights earlier. After hearing on the radio that the president of the United States was coming to his town to inaugurate a new section of that petroleum pipeline that had been in the news so much lately. Being the loyal Republican he was, Timothy felt like doing a little celebrating.
And now, three days later, the sun wasn’t even up yet.
The Prez was due in a few hours.
It felt like somebody was trying to force his head into a length of 6-inch diameter drain pipe, using a 5-pound sledge hammer for a little persuasion.
And some clown with a serious death wish was pounding on his door about a stupid-ass pizza?
Rushmore drove his fist clear through his room’s cheap, hollow-core door
“IF YOU AIN’T GONE IN FIVE SECONDS, I’M GONNA DO THE SAME THING TO YOUR FUCKIN’ FACE!”
“So…that mean you’re gonna take the pizza?” Fish chuckled. “Uh, listen, Timmy…there’s just one thing. You got small bills, man? All they gave me is a couple of ones.”
Mikkelsdottir pulled back and punched three more fist-sized holes in his door. Then he screamed every obscenity his hung over brain could access as he pushed his head through the opening he’d created.
Somebody was about to die.
Fish nodded to Einstein. “Hose him down.”
Twenty seconds later, their target was lying on the floor of his motel room, with a face dyed fluorescent green from Einstein’s spray can, and looking a lot like the old Jolly Green Giant.
Mikkelsdottir was still royally shit-faced.
But now, he was also coughing, crying and puking into the wastebasket next to his bed. While a pair of stout zip ties held his fists together behind his back, preventing them from assaulting any more building materials.
Or pizza delivery people.
And the Big Dog was seated on the backs of his Failure To Appear’s legs, further keeping the inebriated hulk from trying to escape, while he read out loud from the arrest warrant.
“Timmy, Timmy, Timmy…C’mon, it ain’t that bad, man. Look, you go into court…tell the judge how sorry you are about standing him up. The two of you’ll swap a couple of jokes, maybe grab a brewski and play a round of golf together after work…and that’ll be it. No harm, no foul. You with me so far?”
Mikkelsdottir nodded silently.
“Good. So, then…how about you and me take couple of minutes here, to talk about our lord and savior, Lord Valdemort?”
Jeff’s Social Media links:
Amazon Author Page: amzn.to/ 20j8CQp
Facebook Author Page: on.fb.me/1QPczqQ
Farewell Tour’s Amazon link: amzn.to/1KEN8U3
Chump Change’s Amazon link: amzn.to/1LDs9VS
Hurricane Kreschman’s Amazon link: amzn.to/2uMECTk
SCROTUS—So-called Ruler of the U.S. Amazon link: bit.ly/tinyfingers
Jeff was my guest author in 2016 and you can enjoy his interview with me again by clicking here:
It would be fabulous to have your comments – so do leave them for Jeff or any questions you’d like answered. Thanks so much for your visit, we both appreciate it.