Nuclear Jellyfish

If you don't like over-the-top violence, random mayhem, senseless sillyness and excessive drug ingestion, just move on. This book isn't for you, mkay?

If you think Jim Hall is too serious, S.V. Date is only writing non-fiction anymore, Charles Willeford died too soon, Randy Wayne White is spending too much time in his bar, Carl Hiaasen has mellowed with age, and Vicki Hendricks just doesn't write enough... it's time to pick up a copy of Tim Dorsey's work!

As we join Serge Storms and his hapless sidekick Coleman, Serge has begun blogging. Just what the blogsphere needs! Another OCD/anal compulsive blogger with a disdain for his audience. Lord knows, there's too few of those around. (Note: for you close readers, who actually retain facts from earlier installments; Yes, Coleman did technically die at the end of Florida Roadkill, but if you -the author- kill off every character in your first book, it's hard to meet your publisher's demands of an on-going series. Let's just move on and accept this reality, shall we? Still confused? Perhaps this chronology will help.)

And just in case you suspect Tim may not actually research his novels, please look here.


I'm not going to give away the plot here, but if any of the following pique your interest, Nuclear Jellyfish is the book for you!

Strippers in the community college, the grudge match between coin and stamp enthusiasts, astronaut diapers, the NASCAR superstore, Lynyrd Skynyrd, guns, drugs, bloody crime scenes, a tragic tattoo parlor mishap, historically relevant sex, library quiet time, glow‑in‑the dark deformities, hotel drink coupons, a naked woman in a shark cage, and John Travolta.

Type that into a google search and there will be a knock on your door. Wouldn't it be safer to buy the book? Use the "ask the bookseller" button to request a signed copy.

UPDATE: Just got a note from Tim, and he sends along a teaser chapter for us!
Hey Tammy,

Great to hear from you and sorry we missed each other in Seattle. Still smiling about the Seattle Tour and bullet holes! ... I've pasted in the opening below. Hope all is well with you up there!

All the best,

Tim




Serge’s Blog, Star date 485.328.
First off, fuck the word Blog. I hate it and all who use it. “Lol,” “imo,” “Today’s mood: Introspective yet ambivalent.” Just shut up. The Internet was supposed to become the ultimate democratic forum. It did: Now everyone can be a porn star. Then there are these retarded blogs.
It’s been said that inside every life is a fascinating book, or at least a chapter. Wrong. Some people don’t have a freakin’ semicolon, like that woman in Delray who blogs everything her cat does, and her cat even has a blog and every word is meow. But you have to play the hand you’re dealt, and I can’t exactly stand on street corners with a megaphone sharing my Big Answers on Everything. That was my first choice, but a monkey wrench hit the works: a few itsy-bitsy little
incidents. Murder is such a charged word. You know how some people fixate and won’t let things go? They’re called cops.
So I guess I should be thankful for the Internet. Especially since my newly launched travel advisory service demands the latest cutting-edge communication technology! Who better to guide you around my fine state? Right, I know what you’re thinking: “Serge, without delay, give me an example with more value than I could expect to find elsewhere!” Okay, if you’re staying at a budget motel that has mandatory daily maid service, they have a meth lab problem. Or I can tell you how to extract yourself from the wrong bar with only a paper clip and a ballpoint pen. And if you’ve ever seen a motel room scanned with one of those ultraviolet semen cams, your head would never hit another pillow. Does William Shatner provide this kind of biting insight? I think we both know the answer. Before I debuted this blog, I applied to all the big established Internet travel sites, but they said they didn’t think their clients were interested in how to pick hookers who wouldn’t take all their credit cards. I said, “Look, you can spend the rest of your days scrapping it out in the web site ghetto, or you can make the roaming gnome your bitch.” I think there’s something wrong with my phone because the line kept going dead at that point. So until I
get proper sponsorship, I’m forced to put up my own wildcat site. Did I mention it’s totally free? What a bargain! Let’s get to it!

democommie was unable to help with this book report as he is outside, sitting next to his mailbox, waiting for his copy of Nuclear Jellyfish to arrive. If he keeps dumping out the mailman's bag everyday, "just to make sure", we may need to start another Bail fund.

And now a word or two from the author: