Kid Codeen and the Jumpstart Cables
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Cue the opening reel...a small-town movie theater, shadowy figures sneaking in through the velvet-clad back row. As it rolls across the screen, the story yanks you into its pages, where absurdity unfolds..and then spits you out at the end of the ride, leaving you looking on as your story friends walk off into their reality, leaving you in yours... "Expect the unexpected. This is NOT the Spanish Inquisition, but it does look suspiciously red-frocked..." - The Sunday Review. "We do not recommend you read this book without a stiff whisky and a special kind of smoke..." - Women's Institute Weekly....
Cue the opening reel...a small-town movie theater, shadowy figures sneaking in through the velvet-clad back row. As it rolls across the screen, the story yanks you into its pages, where absurdity unfolds..and then spits you out at the end of the ride, leaving you looking on as your story friends walk off into their reality, leaving you in yours... "Expect the unexpected. This is NOT the Spanish Inquisition, but it does look suspiciously red-frocked..." - The Sunday Review. "We do not recommend you read this book without a stiff whisky and a special kind of smoke..." - Women's Institute Weekly. "A refreshing nod at real words in a sensible yet totally unexpected order on the page. And there I thought good writing was a dead art." - Sir Gerald de Bardot and his pet prawn, Simon. Saunter casually past the world of Kid Codeen and the Jumpstart Cables, whistling nonchalantly so nobody thinks you're up to no good. A ramshackle workshop and an engine block perched on a stack of stolen blue bricks becomes the least baffling thing you'll notice. Kid Codeen, Pig le Penn, and their hapless entourage of small-town misfits-including Meat-Head Harry (who suffers from a serious case of Inverted Intelectio Paralysis and can't work a bandsaw), Larry the Lounge Lizard (a gambling machine's worst nightmare), and Bullshit Barry (whose tales stretch taller than a giraffe on stilts)-navigate a series of increasingly absurd misadventures. There's a funeral parlor marketing "virtual life-after-death experiences," an unexpected resurrection, and the peculiar and particular mystery of a wall missing its top right corner. And that's just the bits that stick out. Will the crew ever fix the old truck? Will the bricks come back to haunt them? And why does everyone trust Johnny Fleetfoot, a blind poker player who mysteriously always wins every game, and whose dog wears sunglasses and drinks beer? Part absurdist farce, part philosophical ramble, and entirely ridiculous, this is a story of camaraderie, chaos, and the inexplicable logic of small-town life. So grab your whiskey, light a smoke, and settle in. But remember-whatever happens, never leave the shed door open. "Imagine Quentin Tarantino wrote a comedy...This book is not at all silly, except on Fridays ..." - Mrs Codeen. on a Tuesday.
