Jack's Not So Nimble
According to court records, Jack B. Nimble was recently apprehended by Detective Goldie Locks of the New Never City Police Department after he allegedly stole a van filled with puddin' & pie on its way to The Georgie Porgie Cafe. Witnesses told police Jack was seen running away following the crime.
Outrage Over Inter-Species Marriage
Outrage over inter-species marriage draws hundreds of flies to local church where the inter species marriage took place later Saturday. One opponent of the marriage declared, "Fiddle Dee Dee, a fly has married a bee. What's next? Adam marrying Steve?"
Oddly enough, Adam and Steve decided to elope.
Do Brits Stink?
Fee! Fie! Foe! Fum! I smell an Brit!
According to the latest research by the Giant Institute of the Beanstalk, despite the long held belief, the blood of people of English decent does not in fact smell any worse than any other nationality.
Prince Arrested
Local prince, Charming, was recently arrested at the New Never City Famous Slipperwear shop when a clerk complained the prince had sniffed a female customer's shoe. The prince denied the allegation, claiming, "I was merely admiring said slipper...with my nostrils."
Police gave him a $50 fine sent him to bed without his porridge.
Aladdin Caught Rubbing His Lamp
Local entertainer, Aladdin of Aladdin's Playhouse, was arrested last night during a police sting at a local 'movie' theater. Apparently, the star was a bit...handesy with a certain...object during the movie, Your Carpet or Mine.
The lamp in question refused to press charges.
Dancers Wanted
Help Wanted:
Old Mother Hubbard's All Bare Cupboard is currently looking for dancers to work the morning shift. Ugly stepsisters need not apply.
WANTED: Someone to Row a Boat to Shore
Help Wanted:
Now hiring for a boat rower to go gently down the stream. Must think life is but a dream.
Apply today.
Greatest Oil Spill in New Never City History Blames on Michael
Ten years ago today, Michael rowed his boat ashore, causing one of the greatest natural disasters in New Never City history, as twenty billion gallons of cooking oil coated the beachfront. Many worried that the local economy would never rebound, yet, the New Never City townsfolk hefted their pitchforks, and got back to work, changing the landscape into a haven for fans of all fried foods.
Hallelujah.
One Dead After Accident on Grimm's Highway
Traffic snarled on Grimm's Highway earlier today after a mid-morning accident. Police blame the accident on some rather strange circumstances. It seems a group of birds with similarly colored plumes began flocking together under the Over the Moon Underpass causing the dish and his mate, the spoon, to veer off the highway and crash into a brick wall where a young egg sat. The egg did not survive the fall.
Little Bo Peep Arrested in Sting
Little Bo Peep was arrested last night at Old Mother Hubbard's All Bare Cupboard for exposing it all during her on-stage performance. Police sources confirmed that Peep was arrested after engaging in a for-profit peep show. She will be formally charged this afternoon for public peeping.
Tolls to Rise
According to the New Never City Highway Department, our fair city's bridge tolls will soon rise. Why one might ask?
To pay for those in our city who refuse to pay their own way. Namely, GOATS. The toll bridge operator, Troll, explained, "Those cheap bastards (referring to goats) refuse to pay the tolls. And worse, they're gruff when the refuse too!"
Thank you for reading.
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THE FAIRYLAND MURDERS
Book 1 in the Deadly Ever After Series
Not all endings are happy...
Blue Reynolds knows the darker side of New Never City--the side that's hopped-up on fairy dust and doesn't care if your house gets blown down. Rent's due and his PI business is all but make believe. But even Blue shudders at having to chase after Isabella Davis, a freckle-nosed redhead five feet tall on her tip-toes...if you don't count the pretty pink wings.
Izzy is tough, and sneaky, and not too thrilled with the idea of being the new tooth fairy. The last six have been most gruesomely extracted. But Blue has a feeling that whoever is killing the tooth fairies is worse than your standard big bad psycho. The fairy council is hiding something. The Shadows are moving out into the light. And Blue is saddled with a shocking power that could take out half of New Never City...
FROGGY STYLE
Book 2 in the F***ed Up Fairytale Series
Part of the hot trend of revamped fairytales—from the films Mirror, Mirror and Snow White and the Huntsman to hit TV shows Once Upon a Time and Grimm—J.A. Kazimer’s second raucous and irreverent book in the F***ed-Up Fairytale series puts a new spin on a French-kissing frog looking for his princess!
Less than two weeks before he turns thirty, Jean-Michel La Grenouille—the Frog Prince—must find his One. Only by marrying the girl who originally turned him human can he keep from turning back into a frog. When Jean-Michel is introduced to Beauty, a beautiful blonde with a sleeping disorder, he’s convinced she’s the One and proposes. But after a drunken night out in Cin City, Jean-Michel discovers that there’s a hit out on Beauty. If she’s killed before they get married, he’ll return to his lilypad forever. He sets out to find the assassin and stop him—but it seems Beauty isn’t too keen on getting married either. And to make things worse, a sexy tattoo artist has Jean-Michel’s heart hopping…
CURSES! A F***ed Up Fairytale
Book 1
I'm no hero. In fact, up until a couple of days ago, I was the villain. Kidnapped maidens, scared kids, stole magic tchotchkes--until I got into a little scrape with the union. Now I'm cursed with the worst fate in New Never City--no matter what I do, I gotta be nice.
So when a head-case princess named Asia barges into my apartment and asks me to find out who whacked her stepsister, Cinderella, I have no choice but to help her. And I'm more than willing to head back to her parents' castle and do some investigating if it means I can get into her black leather cat suit. Except this twisted sister has a family nutty enough to send the Biggest Baddest Wolf running for the hills--and a freaky little curse of her own. . .
"More than f***ed-up. Demented. Hilarious." --Mario Acevedo, author of Werewolf Smackdown
About the Author
J.A. Kazimer is a writer living in Denver, CO. Books include The Junkie Tales, The Body Dwellers, CURSES! A F***ed-Up Fairy Tale, Holy Socks & Dirtier Demons, Dope Sick: A Love Story, SHANK, Froggy Style: A F***ed Up Fairy Tale, The Assassin's Heart, and The Fairyland Murders. Forthcoming novels include The Lady in Pink and The Assassin's Kiss.
When Kazimer isn't looking for the perfect place to hide the bodies, she spends her time surrounded by cats with attitude and a little puppy named Killer. Other hobbies include murdering houseplants, kayaking, snowboarding, reading and theater. After years of slacking, she received a master's degree in forensic psychology, which she promptly ignored and started writing novels for little to no money.
In addition to studying the criminal mind, Kazimer spent a few years spilling drinks on people as a bartender and then wasted another few years stalking people while working as a private investigator in the Denver area. You can find her online at jakazimer.com.
CURSES! A F***ed Up Fairy Tale Excerpt
Back Cover Blurb:
I’m no hero. In fact, up until a couple of days ago, I was the villain. Kidnapped maidens, scared kids, stole magic tchotchkes—until I got into a little scrape with the union. Now I’m cursed with the worst fate in New Never City—no matter what I do, I gotta be nice.
So when a head-case princess named Asia barges into my apartment and asks me to find out who whacked her stepsist
er, Cinderella, I have no choice but to help her. And I’m more than willing to head back to her parents’ castle and do some investigating if it means I can get into her black leather cat suit. Except this twisted sister has a family nutty enough to send the Biggest Baddest Wolf running for the hills—and a freaky little curse of her own. . .
Prologue
Once upon a time (about nine minutes and forty-seven seconds ago) in a land far, far away (the corner of West Fairy-Second Street and Sugar Plum Lane, to be precise) stood a beautiful princess, a woman without compare in beauty or sweetness. Every man, woman, and child in the land loved her, from the most villainous villain to the wickedest of witches.
“Hello there.” The princess smiled at the bluebird pecking at a bit of cocoa on the sidewalk. “Aren’t you a pretty bird?”
The bluebird chirped, dancing around the beautiful princess. Its tiny claws scratched against the pavement as it bopped figure-eights around her trim ankles.
The princess laughed a high feminine laugh of pure delight. The bird paused, and then continued its acrobatic tricks. The princess bent down to run her manicured hand over the brightly plumed bird. The bird fluttered its wings, edging closer to the busy avenue. A taxicab blaring a bibbitybop version of “Some Day My Prince Will Come” whizzed by, a little pig at the wheel.
What a lovely day, the princess thought, watching the bird rise into the cloudless sky as it chirped a familiar tune.
Yes, it was a lovely day.
Too bad it was also her last.
Sadly, the princess never saw the crosstown Fairy-Second Street bus.
Chapter 1
A delivery kid stood in front of me in the pastel hallway of my four-story walk-up on the edge of the Easter Village. His hands juggled a grease-stained bag. My own arms juggled a week’s worth of junk mail. I shoved an official-looking paper toward the kid. “This is bollocks.” The kid shrugged.
I waved the paper under his nose. “The union thinks I need a vacation. That I’m suffering from some kind of post-villainous-related stress.” My eyes bulged and spit flew from my lips. “What kind of crap is that?”
“Whatever,” the delivery kid said. His spiked green hair land facial piercings gave him a clownish appeal. The aroma of red curry noodles from Villainous Van’s Corner Bistro wafted in the air between us.
“What are they thinking?” I shook my head, counted to ten, and ran a hand through my already rumpled black hair. “Mandatory mental health leave? Are they afraid I’ll go postal or something?” This made little sense since I didn’t even work at the post office. “Come on. I’ve suffered greater defeats and managed to pull through.”
“Listen, Mac,” the teen said to me. My name wasn’t Mac, or anything that resembled Mac. Some people called me RJ at least to my face.
“The total’s ten bucks,” the kid said. “Either pay me or I’ll feed your dinner to the rats.” The kid motioned from my dinner to the furry creatures dressed in tiny felt hats that roamed my darkened hallway like a demented version of Dancing with the Villains rejects. I rolled my eyes, muttered something about kids today, and dug into my jeans for some cash.
“Don’t forget my tip,” the kid added.
I’ll give the little shit a tip. I smashed two fives into his palm and snatched the bag from his hand. My boot kicked the door closed with a loud bang. The kid yelped, sending me into a fit of villainous laughter.
A few seconds later, the kid said, “Thanks, mister.“
He sounded happy, which made me unhappy.
Shit.
Yanking a wad of bills from my pocket, a wad consider ably smaller than it had been a minute ago, I pulled open the door and watched the teen practically tap-dance down the hallway, a hundred-dollar bill clutched in his hands.
My crisp hundred-dollar bill.
”Darn it,” I yelled, booting the door closed again. “I can’t take much more.” I’d been out of work, suspended without pay, for six days. Six long days. Six days of fluffy bunnies and happy thoughts. All due to one little slipup and the union’s subsequent curse. The worst part was, now, no matter what I did, it turned out . . . good . . . nice.
Take yesterday, for example. I’m walking down the avenue, minding my own business, when a little old lady calls out, “Son, would you mind helping me carry this package? It’s a basket of cookies for my granddaughter. She’s five....”
On and on she went.
Rather than telling her to shut up and snatching her cookie basket, I found myself lugging twenty pounds of pastries four blocks up Avenue XYZ while exchanging recipes with the demented old dame.
What kind of villain does that?
I hated being nice, even more than I hated helping people. And I hated that more than curds and whey. But the union had voted, and I would remain cursed, forced to be nice to any idiot around, until they deemed me mentally stable enough for bad-guy duty.
Feeling sorry for myself and hungry to boot, I stalked across my living room and dropped down in my favorite chair.
My favorite chair screamed in response.
“Wha-?” I jumped up and flicked on my lamp.
A redhead in tight black leather glared at me from my seat. Her vivid emerald eyes sparkled with anger, and just a hint of something else. Something not very nice, but infinitely more interesting than a basket of cookies.
“Don’t you look before you sit?” The redhead’s lips curved into a frown, which only added to her beauty. She looked like sin, the dirty kind with plenty of sweat and saliva. Long copper hair curled down her shoulders, clinging to the outline of her C-cup breasts. The rest of her body was smoking with long, toned limbs and lots of pale skin.
“Who the heck are you?” I pointed the greasy bag in her direction. Before I could stop her, she snatched it from my fingers. I watched in amazement as the interloper dove into my curry noodles with the gusto of Goldilocks during a bout of bulimia.
“Hey.” I stabbed my hand in her direction. “That’s my dinner.” I would’ve snatched the carton back, but I was afraid of losing a finger.
After a few minutes of gluttony, she paused to glance my way. “Sorry, but I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since five.”
I glanced at my watch and frowned. “That was like forty-five minutes ago.”
“Really?” She cocked her head to the side, showing off the pale skin of her throat. “It feels like an hour at least.”
“While I’d love to chat more about the relativity of time, I’d prefer you tell me exactly who you are and how you got into my apartment.” With each word, my voice grew louder and my tone grew more dangerous. While I might have lost my villainous powers, I could still make one little redhead cry.
Or not.
“Do you have any soda?” She smiled up at me. “Maybe a Diet Pepsi? All that MSG makes me thirsty.”
With an eye roll I started for the kitchen, pausing to be,rate my treacherous legs for obeying her command. But I couldn’t help it.
Literally.
I did whatever anyone asked, my own will completely ignored, as long as the requestor’s intent was pure. Twenty-eight years of bad luck guaranteed any request made by a knockout redhead in black leather was as pure as Sleeping Beauty. Damn it.
Reluctantly, I opened my refrigerator and popped open the last can of mead. A rush of bubbles rose to the surface, foaming over the can and dribbling down my fingers. I sucked the foamy goodness from my thumb and grinned.
The mead would have to appease my uninvited dinner thief. I returned from the kitchen, sat down on the edge of my coffee table, and handed her the can.
She glanced at my saliva-soaked fingers and then at the can. “Thanks,” she said after taking a long drink. Tilting her head, she studied me for a moment. Her eyes examined every inch, from my scuffed boots to the top of my hair. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Oh, and what exactly did you expect?”
“Someone a bit shorter.” She frowned. “What are you? Six foot?”
I
nodded.
“What do you weigh? Sixteen stone?”
Again, I nodded.
She shook her head. “Puny.”
“Hey-” Six foot, two hundred pounds was not puny, not by a long shot. Moreover, I was as fit as Hey Diddle Diddle’s fiddle. In my line of work, it paid to be, with all that running from angry mobs with pitchforks and such.
“No offense.” Her lips lifted into a smirk. “Maybe you could bulk up for the job? Eat more.”
Rage flashed through my bloodstream like a boiling cauldron. “Eat more?” I strangled out, my eyes burning into my nearly empty carton of curry noodles and back at the redhead with a dollop of curry on her upper lip. What I should’ve said was, “Job? What job?” But I didn’t. I blamed my dropping blood sugar for the mistake.
The redhead grinned, lifting the nearly empty carton my way. “Oh, was this your dinner? There’s an egg roll left. ”
As she said those words, her eyes locked onto the greasy cabbage roll, as if debating eating it.
I grabbed the egg roll, crammed it in my mouth, and spewed leafy green strands at her as I repeated my earlier question. “Who the heck are you? And why are you here?”
“My name’s Asia.” She paused, her eyes boring into mine. Don’t say it, my brain begged, but just like a woman, she said it anyway. “I need your help.”
Chapter 2
“Asia . . . ” I tapped my finger to my chin. The vaguest of memories flickered at the edge of my mind. “Your name’s familiar somehow. Have we met before?” I doubted it. She wasn’t a Villain Vamp, as we called the girls who lowered their standards enough to date my kind. So how did I know her?
She blew out a long sigh. “My full name is Asia Elizabeth Maledetto.” At my blank look, she added, “My stepdad’s King Maledetto.” She paused long enough to roll her eyes. “King of the land of Maledetto. You know, the kingdom that borders the northeastern part of New Never City?”