Posted by on May 4, 2016 in words | 0 comments

That Book of Death

…a novel by: M. Bookout © 2012

(Hi!  dear friendly reader: please to remember this book is rated ‘adult’ but no part of the first three pages posted here should in anyway be offensive to doggies, or kittens, or humans…..all is well.)

What Mandy the cat is saying about this book:  “Meow, Meow, it is all but peeeeerfect!”

What Taco the chimp says about this book:  “Give a man a typwritter and……”

What Spreckles the goldfish says about this book:  “Bubble, Bubble read it on the double.”


I wanted a perfect world to live in … some place safe, some place kind, entertaining and, I wanted a great sex life. But nothing seems to have worked out very well.

I mean; I would not be writing this book if things were ‘Ok’, Ya know? Writing this book helped me release all of the thoughts I had balled up in my mind…things I could not seem to unravel in any other way. And I suspected and, intuitively knew that if I did record my thoughts hard copy I would immediately become accountable for what I had written.

I needed, against my own better judgment, to write about my experiences in The Bo-Bo Grove and to publish what had taken place there. And those things which did take place in The Grove were things more unspeakable than death itself. I mean, death is a permanent thing … especially on this planet and it will be especially final when ‘They’ come to retaliate against me for having told the story I have entitled: ‘That Book of Death’.


Chapter One/The Interview

I don’t know how,  living an unfulfilled life equates to me having hired on to a Sacramento Area catering company for ten dollars an hour and no medical insurance provided. But here I am a flunky, caterer•helper-person kind of guy setting up tables and serving food for what I am thinking must be the freakiest All-Mens’ party on the planet.

Applying for a ten dollar and hour job should be a simple matter of filling out an ordinary job app, signing your name and then getting to work;  Think again.

My first visit to Caterer Unique consisted of me filling out a twelve-page job app and I was then led to and left alone in a relatively comfortable room with a television not turned on and no control device available. There were no magazines or anything like a bus schedule to read. And I had no phone. I have an I-phone but I was instructed to leave it outside the room in a basket with any other communication devices I might be carrying.

So I just sat and sat and, waited some more and, then some more.  And then the door to the reasonably comfortable room opened and a person introducing herself as Mrs. Chlorophorm walked in. Mrs. Chlorophorm was relatively attractive, well dressed, and spoke succinctly. Once she settled in her chair her first words were “Mr. Bookout have you ever been involved in any radical political groups; right wing or left wing?” I told her I do not vote. Mrs. Chlorophorm’s nose adjusted itself under her glasses and continued.

“Have you ever entertained the idea of harming another human being, say, for example, a person who holds different views than you do?” I said that I do not like terrorists  and hope our military hunts down all the murders of the 9-11 tragedy. I also said I hate the dog that bit me when I was six and left a scar on my right buttocks. I was willing to explain that the dog is no doubt dead now and that pretty much sums up my day-to-day angst for a desire to harm anyone.

Mrs. Chlorophorm’s nose twitched again and she simultaneously let out a sigh with her mouth. Mrs. Chlorophorm studied me intently while sitting on the edge of the expensively covered stuffed chair of purple synthetic cashmere. I notice such things as furnishings, and how people are dressed and the mannerisms they carry and express.

{My father died in an auto accident about the same time the dog bit my ass and to steady our family income my mother took up the trade she had begun before she had married my dad.   I used to accompany my mother who was a home interior decorator. We would travel to people’s  homes and I was forced to sit still and ‘not to twitch’ as she explained the products, colors and, textures available. The journeys with my mother where I could not twitch availed me an unintended education in decorating as we often times sat for upwards of two hours while the Mrs. ‘blank’ customer(s) made up their minds (my mother always suggesting the most expensive materials) which might work best for their homes.}


Mrs. Chloroform looked over my job app with a brief glance and asked me if I would be available to work in the month of August, most specifically the last weekend; if I was willing to travel a distance and spend two nights in a Holiday Inn Express motel sharing a room with someone whom may or may not be the same sex? I said simply “yes” and she stood up, as did I, and she shook my hand firmly, turned and, walked out the door, leaving me alone.

Chapter Two/ Freak-of-Sorts

Before I begin to share my experiences at the unbelievable “Freakiest ‘All Men’s Party” I will give you a bit of my background so we can be on the relative same page.

      One (1) ... My mother died two years ago of cancer: A great Roman Catholic woman, charitable, hardworking, caring and totally devoted to her family. “Have a great eternity Mom, you certainly earned it!”

     Two (2) I am divorced, no children, still talk to my ex when I see her at the farmer’s market with her new, handsome, wealthy husband and pretty new girl child.

     Three (3) I do have some money saved and I was given an inheritance but I still work at odd jobs to keep my cash flowing.

    #Four hundred: My dad was an atheist but together he and my mother instilled in me the basic tenants of morality and hard work.

   # Etc. I sort of have a girlfriend. And what I mean by ‘sort-of’ is the woman is married ...So, the bit about my less than perfect sex life is more carefully explained by saying that when we are together things are just fine, but we are rarely together due to the intricacies of marital affairs. And, the part about one of my basic tenants being ‘morality’ let us just say I am not perfect.

Now:…. Ready! Set! Go!!!