The Awesome Amsterdam Adventures of General Zoe and Admiral Hubby, Part the Fourth

Oh hell, it’s the travel journal that wouldn’t die!

But it’s okay, this time the book takes a turn toward Gonzo journalism after a bit too much alcohol and pot.

[Page 28]

August 4th, 2009, 1:48 am

I’m still thinking about my previous bit of ranting on fantasy, and I think the real problem boils down to trend humping publishers.

I’ve read paid writers talk about rewrites and how books are “tweaked” to fit into certain supposedly hot markets.

Why with some tweaking, Wendy could be YA. But why do this? Why must the books be coded to fit market tastes?

I imagine that a lot of dark fantasy writers have stories they can’t publish because “This book is too dark,” or “The protagonist is unlikable.”

Maybe we need that as a people sometimes. Maybe fantasy needs more of the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and little less of the same old formulas.

[Page 29]

Image title: The Evil Lone Ranger In Hell – Episode I: Under a Musical Sun

The sun sings: Good morning bad man! The sun says hello! I twinkle above you! You glower below!

The British dragon says: Allo allo!

The sun busts out with some phat jams: Bob a doop Loopy! Oo-pa-doo Poopy! La la la la la la!

The Lone Ranger critiques: I hate that fucking sun.

The rock lays in the background, burning bitterly over not being given a punch line.

(The artist was under the influence of beer, tonic, and a breed of pot called “Amnesia.”)

[Page 30]

Something else I got today was a “one-hit” pipe and a wooden dug out box. This is my preferred way to smoke, but I gave up my box in Texas before my first trip to Italy.

The guy at the shop smiled and said, “Nobody smokes that way anymore. It’s old fashioned.”

I smiled back and said, Yeah, that’s me, an old school hippie smoker.”

_____________________________________________________________

<– Blurb for the book “The Evil Lone Ranger In Hell”

The Lone Ranger dies and find out he’s going to hell for killing hundreds of criminals, thus violating “thou shall not kill.”

Unable to accept his punishment, he makes a deal to hunt for strays in the nthteenth circle of hell on his trusty steed, Varsuvius.

Now that would be a fucked up story!

[Page 31]

11:59 pm

We didn’t get much done today. I went to the sex shop to find a silicone dildo to replace my main dilator. This may come across as TMI, but my fascination with dildos is not a case of me being sexually obsessive. Being a post-op transsexual I NEED to dilate as a routine or my “gash” will close.

I haven’t been good at keeping up my routine because the hard plastice dilators HURT. (>_<*)

Well anyway, today I gought one and tested it. The price was around forty euros cheaper than the shops in Italy, and

(Mid page spiral writing reads: .This is not a portal to hell, sorry. Instead, I’m going to tell you a story about a boy, a girl, a tube of lubricant and many battery oper–wait!

Lots of checkered boxes, mostly intended as filler. And then: Oh poop.

[Page 32]

The feeling was MUCH nicer. So tomorrow I’ll be picking up one last larger dildo, to complete my dilator set.

But seriously, I WANT customs to check that bag. HA!

(sketch)

Bottom caption: Our x-rayed bag.

Bag caption (From top left to bottom right): Box of Cuban cigars, Absinth,  Venus flytrap in a can, bag of tulip seed, Hemp vodka

Top caption: Why yes! We did stay in Amsterdam! Why do you ask? Heh.