Toying with the fabric of reality, scientists have unleashed another unspeakable horror upon the universe.
When crossing dimensions of time and space, alien animals and soldiers are twisted into unreal and violent forms so distant that when they arrive they no longer retain their original natures.
Whom do we have to defend us? Our elected leaders aren’t what they seem, we’ve got a parking lot full of bizarre space ships locked up in a facility in the southeastern United States, and a Janitor caught in the blast with a body convulsing into a horrid monster form is on the loose.
Who can bring it all together before rubber monsters, swatting down flying restaurants, destroy the Earth?
Who is he? He’s the Man With Three First Names
I’m rereleasing by book The Man With Three First Names. It’s a very strange work of fiction, to say the least, but if you are into giant edible jelly dinosaurs and flying restaurants to the rescue as monsters from another dimension invade, then this is certainly your book.
The title is one I’ve had with me for a while. A friend of mine in High School had a last name that served as a first, and The Man With Three First Names was born. I liked the sound of it. It sounded like a great spy movie, but I’m not much for anything realistic, so I knew I’d have to make it an alien invasion.
Every four years, we give good old February, the runt of the months, an extra day. It’s supposed to keep us in alignment with the sun and make us feel like nothing changes galactically speaking, which I think we all know to be untrue.
I like the Leap Year day, because (like Groundhog Day, it’s not really a holiday, there’s no way to celebrate it, and I do a lot of feeling sorry for folks with February 29 birthdays, because I feel like they must get tired of getting teased and asked what it’s like to only have a birthday every four years, when we all know they got four years older, just like everybody else.
What I like the most is that it’s like an un-day. People don’t know what to do with it. In my mind, it’s left off calendars, and people wander around not knowing if it gets a day of the week or not, or if they should go to work or what. It comes every presidential election year in the United States, along with the Summer Olympic Games, so I tend to lump the three things into one concept. Maybe there’s a story in that?
Here’s a strange Segway, I know…