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First Edition Design Publishing - Paul Garmisch

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101 pages

English

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Jake Collin, a modern day cowboy in western Montana, "was" the town's most wooed after "hunk-of-hunks", until a stranger wandered into town, Nan, who had sexy and friendly dialed up to a full blown 10+. Jake & Nan married, and at the start, life was peaches & cream... until lately. Nan did a 180 change, took up residence on the living room couch, and now does nothing except bitch, eat, brood, watch TV... but supplies extra helpings of rolling in the hay. Truth is, Nan is a behaviorally modified clone, sent to coerce Jake into a very large illicit placer gold mining deal. Nan's 180 is a malfunction in her microchip implants... caused by her human instincts of love for Jake, and life away from her creator. A wild plant growing in the Amazon is at the story's root. The plant IS the tree of life... cures everything... and makes cloning humans easy. "The Creator", the story's top evil genius, holds the secret of the plants location from the world, and uses its powers to perpetuate his business ventures... like cloning suicide bombers with explosives implanted into their bodies that can be telepathically implemented. The free world wants the Amazon plant and to end The Creators business. Jake's Couchwife is the catalyst for that end because her human side for true love battles against The Creator's controls. This gives NSA spies clues for operations which saves Jake's life, but he violently loses everything, except his mother's will, His old girlfriend Eda, and a miraculous new life that includes farming the Amazon plant for humanity.

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Adventure (Guyana)

Adventure

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Publié par	First Edition Design Publishing
Date de parution	01 avril 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781622878871
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0420€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Couchwife

Written By
Paul Garmisch

First Edition Design Publishing
Sarasota, Florida USA
Couchwife
Copyright ©2015 Paul Garmisch

ISBN 978-1622-878-87-1 EBOOK

April 2015

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r or publisher .
Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE - Flesh and Blood
CHAPTER TWO - Getting in Bed
CHAPTER THREE - Something’s Fishy
CHAPTER FOUR - Quick Work
CHAPTER FIVE - Mixed Blessings
CHAPTER SIX - Hell Storm
CHAPTER SEVEN - The Road Home
CHAPTER ONE - Flesh and Blood

Montana
95 miles Northwest of Butte
March 26, 2011

With an anxious, yet apathetic attitude, Jake Collin watches his hefty, Husqvarna chain saw shave the final chips from the back cut. He quickly pulls his saw’s 32-inch bar from the kerf and then gives the already-in-place plastic wedges a couple hard raps with his ten pound hand sledge. The Ponderosa pine tips, heading for a traversing lie on the snow covered mountainside – Jake’s last tree for the day. Saw in hand, Jake does a hustled back step away as the 120-foot tall tree snaps from its stump and rushes through the air. The pine thunders to the ground and settles with broken, flying branches.
Jake strolls instinctively to the fallen pine, tapping the accelerator trigger on his saw as he readies to manufacture logs. Step one – clean the butt – a cosmetic surgery that will remove the ragged stump cuts from the sticks bottom.
All of Jake’s saws are souped for ultimate performance. Engine head gaskets are thinned to raise compression – more power. Carburetor ports are polished to maximize flow – faster RPM. The business end for the professional logger, the teeth on their 72LP saw chain, meticulously honed to razor sharp perfection with points like daggers and depth rakers filed dangerously shorter than factory recommended size so each tooth slices thick ribbons of wood – a vicious set of knives engineered for speed.
Jake’s chain bar hit topside on the tree’s butt as he revved his saw to full power. The saw digs in, lurches hard and a torrent of long, sticky wood chips rooster tails from the cut. Jake’s Husqvarna slices through the trunk in 12 seconds. A 37-inch disk of wood hits the ground – the butt is cleaned.
Time for step two - bumping knots – limb removal.
Jake scanned the tree and smiled. The first log would be a peach - no limbs, little taper, a clear pickle that would fetch a bundle at the mill.
A logger’s tape measure hung from Jake’s back belt loop. He grabs the hooked horseshoe nail at the tape’s end, stuffs the nail into the tree butt between wood and bark – the cambium layer – and then walks along the uphill side of the tree, tape measure unreeling behind him, idling saw in hand – ready to work.
Thirty-three feet – the first log cut. Jake grabs his tape, confirms the cut location and gives the tape a flip and tug dislodging the horseshoe nail. The spring-loaded tape snaps back to its reel as Jake’s saw roars into the tree trunk.
Cut done. A three ton log rolls quickly free from the tree, coming to rest against a boulder that’s twenty feet downhill from Jake as the remainder of the tree rocks and raises – lifted by its crown of stressed, needle covered limbs.
Jake stuffs his tape nail into the new butt and hops on top of the trunk, which is now airborne, held above ground by its springy branches. His corks - the spike covered soles on Jake’s boots – sink into the tree – traction for walking the log.
The trunk was still limb free for ten feet. Jake walked it, knees bent like a skier, revving his saw, preparing to duel the wall of branches before him. He drops his saw bar to the trunk’s right and hunches slightly. With an unbroken gait, Jake advances toward knot one – a bone hard seven-inch diameter limb. He taps his saw trigger to full power when the chain bar hits the limb. “Bahrap!” A sharp, throaty saw report and the limb cut flush from the trunk.
Jake had no need to push the bar through. Chain teeth are sharpened so they pull through on their own. A split second – that’s it – a knot is bumped. Works the same on a man’s leg.
“Bahrap!” Knot two – right side. Jake lifts the chain bar and drops it trunk left. “ Bahrap – Down swing hit. Up at forty-five degrees – “Bahrap!” Down right – “Bahrap!” Up right – “Bahrap!” Across the top – “Bahrap!” Again on top with a back swing – “Bahrap!”
Jake slows his gait as the gauntlet of needle-laden limbs thicken. He hit rhythm mode – “Bahrap!” “Bahrap!” “Bahrap!” “Bahrap!” “Bahrap!” A choreography for a logging show that produces familiar motions and sounds from experienced men as their tools of death collide with massive vegetation to be harvested. Every second, sometimes two in one, the saw from a seasoned sawyer reports a limb amputation. Jake was performing the waltz known to an elite, husky few who have mastered the skill of wielding large powerful chain saws as if they were Zorro with his sword.
“Bahrap! Bahrap! Bahrap!” The limbs fall in rapid succession. Some land on their assailant, but Jake, unaffected, simply brushes off the buffeting with rolling shoulders as he continues his unbroken charge.
Seventy feet – Jake stops, knowing without checking his tape that he’s gone far enough. The stick was five feet off ground at this end, eight inches in diameter and bouncing like a cheap trampoline.
Jake grabs his tape as he turns around. He walks back, confirms 66 feet and scuffs the spot on the log with the tip of his saw. Jake steps over the scuff, turns 180, squats, runs his saw bar under the log and carefully cuts a three inch deep kerf below the spot – a kerf that would let the crown fall fast and clean. Topside - “Bahrap!” - Jake lops off the tree’s crown, its head, and then surfs the swaying log – unsettled by the sudden weight loss.
The log calms. Jake now stood on a 66-foot long centipede – a log poised in air by its underbelly branches. Jake turns around, balancing, left hand holding his idling saw by its trigger grip, right hand holding his tape away so it can rewind as he walks the airborne log back to 33 feet – the spot for the final log cut.
As he walks – “Bahrap!” – “Bahrap!” – Jake cuts a couple missed limbs – limbs on the downhill side – limbs he can bump as he holds his saw with one hand – a common, but risky practice.
“Bahrap!”
“CRACK” The hanger shatters – an uncommon limb – a key limb supporting the brunt of the log’s weight. Hangers explode when nicked by a saw, blowing like hand grenades in unpredictable directions. Jake has hit several hangers during his career – unscathed experiences of indifference.
Wood splinters burst into Jake’s face. The eruption throws his roaring saw upward and its razor sharp teeth rip into Jake’s left shin. The saw’s chain brake bar plows into Jake’s jaw. Instantly, the chain stops – its brake tripped by the jaw impact. The log drops and falls downhill with a roll.
Jake leaps from the log! As he flies through the air, a dead, bony limb from the rolling centipede hits the back of Jake’s head. The hit dents Jake’s aluminum piss pot hard hat – a full brimmed forest service type from the 1960’s – a hat that his father wore. The piss pot sailed away as Jake crashed to earth with a groan – a wounded, adrenaline pumped creature.
Jake was on his back in the snow, idling saw in hand, tape measure looped around his body. For a moment, he gazed at the cloudy sky, listening to the centipede settle below him.
“Fuck me to tears,” Jake moaned as he flipped his saw’s ignition switch off. He knew he was cut, but it didn’t hurt much. Just a dull burning sensation. He didn’t want to see the wound, but he had to. Jake raised his head for a peek. His jeans were ripped from cuff to knee and there was blood – a lot of blood.
“Shit!” Jake snapped as he sat up for a thorough examination. He laid open his torn jeans and took a hard look at the 16 inch gouge in his shin.
Chain saws don’t cut flesh like a knife. They dig, shred, chew and leave ragged edges. Jake’s cut had the look, but luckily it was all flesh. The cut ran straight up the shin, an inch at its deepest, missing bone by a hair.
From the corner of his eye, Jake saw a dark flash hop through some brush twenty yards to his right. It was Mona – one of Jake’s dogs – a six year old, 110 pound black Labrador/German shepherd cross from a thick skinned, heavy-duty lineage.
Mona trotted toward Jake, cowering to a submissive, tail wagging posture as she slunk to Jake’s side, sniffing his chin, knowing he was hurt. She gave Jake’s cheek a quick lick.
Jake leaned away from the wet tongue and growled, “Ah – knock it off, Mona. Yeah, there’s trouble. We gotta patch up and get our asses into town. Turn right,” Jake ordered as he reached for Mona’s saddlebag-style dog pack.
Mona is a work dog. She carries 40 pounds of stuff for Jake in her pack. Stuff like water, food, chain oil, gasoline, tools, toilet paper, boxer shorts and a first aid kit.
Jake pulled a water bottle and the aid kit from the pack as Mona whimpered from concern. “Good dog,” Jake drawled. “Have a seat, and quit sniveling. It’ll be OK. Doesn’t even hurt much,” he said while opening the water bottle, preparing to pour it on the bleeding wound. “We’ll give it a quick rinse and ahmmmmm…!” Jake winced when the water hit. Mona sprang to cheek licking attention. “Yeah, yeah. That hurt, Mona. Thanks for being here,” Jake said consolingly, rubbin