This book was a fun story that placed individuals with disabilities front and center in the story. While the superpowers allow them to do things they wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise, it is what they choose to do with their powers that makes all the difference. Also, even with their superpowers, their initial disabilities aren’t erased, which I think is important. I liked to development of the characters and how they interacted and supported each other; I only wish the book had been longer so I could have spent more time with them. I am glad that there’s a sequel already published, and I look forward to reading/listening to it.
I had a great time reading Zombie Turkeys. Andy Zach creates a hysterical, fun world where turkeys are at the top of the food chain, right before Thanksgiving. Time for a little Turkey payback and the new sound of terror is gobble.. gobble.
But after being thrown into the void, Thorn finds himself stranded in a strange world filled with even stranger creatures.
Together with his cute battle pet, the mysterious god beast Hati, and a sentient AI named Eve, Thorn must forge a place for himself in this new world. Unfortunately, the local guilds all have other ideas.
Oops. Protagonist Thorn has just ascended to a higher magical world–but the wrong one.
That’s good, for the Empress is out to kill or enslave him.
Meanwhile, Thorn is on a deadly jungle planet where the animals are all more powerful than he is, the magic works differently, and most of his past abilities don’t work here. Thorn focuses on just surviving, until he can get to civilization.
He gets there and faces the fact he has no money and no resources. He does have blacksmith skills, however.
Based on the title and the cover, I originally thought the detective was going to be a zombie back in the 30s or 40s. That wasn’t the case, but it was still a hilarious amateur detective story and I loved the absurdity of it all.
It’s a short read (or listen, since I listened to the audiobook), but is packed with Sam in crazy situations with all sorts of zombies. His string of good luck is as unlikely as the conundrums he finds himself involved in, but somehow it works for him.
Phil Blechman was the perfect choice for Sam’s character. Lauren Testerman did a great job channeling Lisa, the poor woman who has to manage Sam and all his antics.
I read through the Bible every year. I just finished Hosea, a small prophetic book. Genres of Bible books are always unclear: you have your choice of history, theology, prophecy, and poetry. Often, they’re all combined in one book. Still, the next book is remarkable.
Wow! Even if you don’t want to read the Bible, this book is interesting.
Set in the waning years of the kingdom of Israel, just before its deportation to Assyria, the prophet Hosea is told by God to marry a prostitute! As an author, I love that kind of hook! Hosea obeys and has some children by his wife, Gomer. Each one has a symbolic name. Altogether, his marriage to a whore, his children, and their names are a final message and warning to Israel, before death and captivity.
The message? Israel, married to God since Mount Sinai, has been like a prostitute to Him. The children’s names? Judgment or Vengeance–for God will judge Israel. ‘No mercy’, for He will not show mercy to them. ‘Not My People’, for Israel will not be His people anymore.
Then, following this stern message, God adds:
Yet the number of the children of Israel will be as the sand of the sea, which can’t be measured nor numbered; and it will come to pass that, in the place where it was said to them, ‘You are not my people,’ they will be called ‘sons of the living God.’ 11 The children of Judah and the children of Israel will be gathered together, and they will appoint themselves one head, and will go up from the land; for great will be the day of Jezreel. (‘God Will Sow’ this is a valley in Israel where the city of Megido is–or the valley of Armageddon).
And that’s just the first chapter of 14!
Highly recommended. Read it now, in any translation. It’s a one-sitting read.
Accidents happen. Especially around zombie turkeys. Then you add zombie humans, and problems proliferate. Mix in some ill-planned genetic engineering, and things get crazy.The insanity continues, from the story where zombies are merged with cucumbers to the one where two basement-dwelling nerds gain access to all video content from the past two hundred years—from aliens.Andy Zach pulls out all the stops on his imagination as he serves up this smorgasbord of silliness. Try it. Laughter is good for your soul
One queen saw the problem more clearly than anyone else. Her king and prince had both drowned only a short distance from the shore because no one saw them signing for help. The queen sat vigil all night long, and in the morning she sent heralds with large signs in every language to all the humans, elves, dwarves, fairies, leprechauns, and even a dragon. She pled with all to find something that would let creatures communicate without signs or gestures when they couldn’t see each other. She promised she would give whatever was in her power to whoever could accomplish this.
I left the air-conditioned comfort of the taxi, and the sights, sounds, and smells of the old bazaar in Jeddah assailed me: a robe-clad man on camel plodded by, an adjacent fishmonger added his smell to the fresh dung in the street, and the hawkers yelled their wares.
I could only speak Arabic at a middle school level, but as I strolled through the bazaar, I heard “Fresh dates!”…”Highest quality rugs!”…”Finest gold jewelry!”… “Ancient books! The rarest in Saudi Arabia!”
My head snapped around. A bald, stumpy man in a white caftan saw me look and said, “Books? You want ancient books?”
“Yes.” I spoke carefully, knowing my poor accent. “Can you speak English?” I didn’t have much hope.
The scene was chaos! I knew immediately I was in a different country, judging by the languages I couldn’t understand. I had also determined this was no modern city—I seemed to be on the outskirts of town amid a swarming crowd. Men were shouting and women were crying; meanwhile, I was still trying to figure out how I had gotten there and where exactly I was. Several seconds later, however, that question was answered.
Now, what was he going to do? Brice Butterworth’s boss just told him to double the productivity of Vegan Inc.’s pickle strain they used for their Kilwowski Pickle brand. That was completely impossible.
But keeping his job required it. Brice was the low man on the genetic engineering totem pole at Vegan Inc., the last one hired and the first one to be fired if another recession hit.
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t face this. So he cruised the internet. “The origin of zombie turkeys? I didn’t know they’d found that. Hmm, a Midley Beacon exclusive, the foremost zombie news source,” he read out loud.
“Whatcha doing, Brice?” asked my boss Wilma O’Reilly after sneaking up behind me.
I jumped. As usual, I was cruising the internet, bored with my job. How awkward.
We worked at Vegan Inc., an agricultural conglomerate. I was their lead geneticist in charge of enhancing the qualities of the corporation’s vegetable products through genetic modification.
He woke up staring out his windshield at the green grass of the highway median. Dully, Anthony listened to the sound of his car’s engine cooling, ticking like a clock. He didn’t know why he was here or how he got here.
“Hey, are you okay in there?” came a voice from outside the car.
Turning his head toward the sound, he realized he was upside down, supported by his seat belt and his legs, which were strangely numb.
“Uh,” he croaked.
* * *
“We’re going to cast your leg,” said the nurse in the ambulance. Her name tag read Louise Tall, but she didn’t seem tall. “What’s your name?”
“Uh, Anthony. Anthony Jones.”
“Do you know your height and weight, Anthony?”
“Five-eleven. Two ten. I need to lose some weight. Ow!”
I need to tell you about my own zombie story. It’s about how my parents became zombies.
As soon as the zombie turkeys appeared in Illinois, I started cultures of their zombie turkey bacteria in petri dishes. When other animals, squirrels, rabbits, and cows began turning zombie, I added cultures of their bacteria. I sought the ultimate source of animal revivification. It was my PhD thesis and my life’s work.
I’ve always wanted to revive animals from the dead. It seemed the secret was through the special bacteria for each species. Naturally, when humans became zombies, I cultivated their bacteria too.
He was dead. At least, his business was. And without his business, his wife would leave him and take their new baby. Then he might as well be dead.
His dad had run the Elysium Fields Mortuary for thirty years and had made a killing at it. The first and only mortuary in their small town of Hillvale, everyone got buried there. He charged normal prices, he was friendly, and he helped their community. His dad said to him when he was a teen, “Irving, after you get your college degree, go to mortuary school, and when you come out, I’ll hire you and then turn the business over to you. You’ll be set for life.”
The Taser hit me in the back. I convulsed uncontrollably, shocked out of sleep.
“Okay, wakey, wakey. Time to go model for your mistress,” squeaked a high tenor.
The bearded hulk who guarded us held his Taser ready, in case Lulu and I weren’t fast enough. He was so hairy, I couldn’t tell where his beard ended and his chest began. We donned the haute couture apparel set before us. He nodded his approval and gestured toward the door. He always followed us with his Taser.
“We’ve been here weeks and we don’t know your name. What shall we call you?” I ventured. I had some vague hope of putting him at his ease so we could escape.
He laughed. “Call me Gronk.” He wheezed when he laughed.
So I got him to laugh. Maybe that was progress. Maybe not. He also laughed when he tortured us with the Taser.
“Let me check you, Sharon,” Lulu whispered. She examined my back, where the Taser had hit my sleeping form. My muscles still ached. “No marks.”
Breeding zombie corgis wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Heather Mallorn sighed as she reviewed accounts for Her Majesty’s Corgis in Hanna City, Illinois. Certainly, she made plenty on each zombie corgi she sold. Normally, corgi puppies went for $1,200. She earned double that for zombies. The zombie corgies were invincible guard dogs, and cute too, with bright-red eyes. They were no harder to train than regular corgis, just slightly more aggressive. Well, a lot more aggressive.
Kayla Verdera, disabled 7th-grade student and superhero
“Oh no! Did you hear what I just heard?” Aubrey said as soon as she and I rushed up to Jeremy and Dan coming off their bus in the morning at Maryville Middle School.
“No!” Jeremy said, rolling off the bus in his electric wheelchair. Jeremy Gentle was a spindly kid with cerebral palsy. I’d never looked twice at him when I was the most popular and smartest girl in the school. Then I lost my speech and balance to spinal meningitis last year, and I was put in the special-needs class. After we were together awhile, I learned he was as smart as me.
“Of course I heard,” said Dan, who walked behind Jeremy’s wheelchair while holding the back of it and carrying his white cane. “Do you think I’m deaf as well as blind?”
Enough talking! I sent the thought to them all, using my telepathic power. This is too slow!Our math teacher’s car was stolen last night. Mr. Williamson went to play basketball downtown, and when he came out, his car was gone.
I like my friends, but I wish they’d get to the point. We all attended a special disabled class at Maryville Middle School. Disabled kids used to creep me out. Now I, Kayla Verdera, was one of them.
How fascinating! Dancer thought. This book says there are libraries where hundreds of books live. It also says the fiction books are in order by author name.
Dancer scurried off Your Sixth Year Reader to look at Jeremy Gentle’s bookshelf again. Jeremy was Dancer’s owner and unknowing educator. Ever since he’d taught himself to read by studying the newspapers lining the bottom of his cage, Dancer had craved reading.
He hadn’t figured out why he’d started reading. One day he’d noticed patterns in the markings. He saw they repeated themselves in clumps. Then the clumps formed more patterns. He also listened to his owners differently. They also spoke in patterns. “Jeremy” was always called “Jeremy” or “Jeremy Gentle” by his mother, and sometimes by his father.
Diane Newby, George Newby, Lulu Gutierrez, and Sharon Wyndham, privateers
“Arrrgh! Me hearies, eat hearty!” said a short, stocky pirate with an eye patch and a captain’s hat seemingly copied from Cap’n Crunch. The pirate gestured, with a hook instead of a right hand, toward an enormous banquet table laden with food. The one visible eye gleamed red.
“Arrrgh! Where’s the skilly and duff?” said a refrigerator-sized bald pirate with an enormous mustache. His eyes also shone crimson.
“Arrrgh! That be the tacos and enchiladas,” said a small, beautiful pirate with dark hair bound by a red bandanna and smiling blood-red eyes. She pointed with her cutlass toward the Mexican section of the smorgasbord.
“Arrrgh! You be a Mexican pirate?” said a blond pirate with broad shoulders and a Cockney accent. She wore her hair in a long queue emerging from a bloody headband around her forehead. She also had glowing ruby eyes.
“That’s your problem, isn’t it? Try the local apartments. Look for rooms to rent on the internet. It’s not that hard to find a place in Ohio.”
I could tell by his grim expression he was serious this time. He’d been nagging me for nearly a year to move out and “set up housekeeping” ever since I’d graduated from the state university with my BA in video game art and my minor in computer science. I’d managed to wheedle him out of it and delay the date. Until now.
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