Pirates . . . Ghosts . . . Zombies . . . and Other Things That Make Me Smile

By Mark Whipple

A series of short humorous stories about the world of Pirates, Ghosts, Zombies, Comedians ,Travel Agents, Aliens, a Snooty English Professor and the Grim Reaper - not to mention some zombies pretending to be actors.
This series of short hilarious stories is sure to please and has something for everyone.

Written by writer,producer, director Mark Whipple

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Whipple
• Release date: Nov 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310602207

Mark Whipple

Mark Whipple is a film director, screenwriter, novelist, philanthropist (gave his favorite bowling ball to charity), songwriter, stage writer, an all-around nice guy who loves the short story, (reading or writing) and an inter-galactic — inter-dimensional space historian.His loves include his lovely wife Joni of 24-plus years, his wonderful, brilliant and beautiful children and a pick-up basketball game. Although he fears heights, Mark likes spending his spare time on roofs—he finds the air and the view fresher there.In 1984, Mark had finished his fourth screenplay, SPIKE, IKE AND FIFTYTOES, it is a story of a bunch of ghosts who are tired of being dead, so they decide to get their old band back together. The screenplay landed him his first Hollywood agent. The agent told Mark that this screenplay was an “Overnight seller.” Upon clarification of the term “Overnight”, the agent promised to have it sold in three months. So while Mark waited for the overnight sale to happen, he continued to write and write—throw boomerangs, and write. He has written three novels, two collection of short stories, one and a half stage plays, twenty-nine feature length screenplays, (one of which, Kosmic Karl, he filmed) and a few songs—some of the songs are featured in Kosmic Karl (available on Amazon.com. He has also thrown countless boomerangs 173,562 times.

Book preview

PIRATES . . .

GHOSTS . . .

ZOMBIES . . .

and other things that make me smile

by

Mark Whipple

Copyright © 2010, 2016 by Mark Whipple

I slept very deeply, dreaming about werewolves, vampires and raccoons all playing catch with stinky diapers, until I was rudely awakened by a very loud voice yelling, Who’s your Daddy!

I sat up quickly and said, Who said that? But no one was there. I assumed I must have dreamt that, too. I looked down at my feet: they were under the blanket, but something seemed to be under there with them—and whatever it was, was moving. I whipped back the covers to expose my feet. The big toe on my right foot hurt and was twitching and seemed to be much larger than normal. It was very red and was beginning to swell. It got bigger and bigger—so big it looked like a balloon being filled at an amusement park. It continued to swell and throbbed as if it were being run over by a dump truck. The toe started to turn around, and as it did, I saw a face on it. It opened its eyes and started to yell, Who’s your Daddy? Who’s your Daddy? I was dumbstruck as it just kept getting bigger and bigger.

And then it got weird.

(From For Sale, One Haunted House)

Other works by this author:

Adventures of Rabbitman

Bizarre but True Tales from the Twenty-third Dimension

Rabbitman II, the Second of Scott

Also available:

Kosmic Karl (a feature film available on DVD)

Kosmic Karl (screenplay, in print)

www.iawriters.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, (semi-or really-really dead), business establishments, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

No part of this work may be reproduced in whole or in part or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission of the copyright owner unless such copying is expressly permitted by federal copy right law. With the exception of nonprofit transcription in Braille and the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

PIRATES . . . GHOSTS . . . ZOMBIES . . .

and other things that make me smile

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: The Reaper Cometh

Chapter 2: To Life with Love

Chapter 3: The Organist

Chapter 4: Who Killed Livingston?

Chapter 5 Cliff Hanger's Quest

Chapter 6: The Ocean Bloom

Chapter 7: For Sale, One Haunted House

Chapter 8: I Married a Space Alien

Chapter 9: The Funniest Novel in the World

Chapter 10: Zombies R Us

Preview of Bizarre but True Tales

from the Twenty-Third Dimension Intro.

Jackie Chan and the Great White Hunters

About the Author

For JJenkks who makes everything a little more interesting and worthwhile.

CHAPTER 1: THE REAPER COMETH

I was sitting alone in my apartment with the stereo on. Jazz was playing. I really don't care for jazz all the time, but tonight was different. It was great. The D.J. was playing cuts from the ’30's and ’40's, all performed by the early artists. I loved it.

Someone knocked. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I thought that it could have been John, my roommate, forgetting his key.

I opened the door and was startled by a huge person standing there. He was dressed in black. Everything was black, except his face, which was white—really white. He held a scythe.

I didn’t recognize the person, but I knew John put him up to it. He's such a dip, sometimes.

I am the Grim Reaper, he said

What an actor. Brilliant! The voice was perfect. I even felt a chill go up my spine.

Well then, come in have a seat. You're probably thirsty.

I'm fine, thanks. He came into my apartment, leaned his scythe against the wall, and sat on the single chair near the television.

You a jazz fan? he asked.

Well, kind of . . . tonight I am.

I like it, too. . . . It has soul.

Who put you up to this?

To what?

To dressing up.

I’m not dressed up. I’m the Grim Reaper.

It was John, wasn't it?

John who?

It was him. I'm supposed to be scared, right?

No, I am the Grim Reaper. I've come to take you. I guess a lot of people do get scared.

You know, once I had a date, and John filled my car with newspaper right before I was to pick her up. What an idiot.

You don't believe me.

Yeah, I believe you. Why not, I thought. It's a hard life for actors, especially tall actors.

I can see that you don't. He stood up and looked towards the parakeet's cage. His eyes turned weird, kind of glassy, and a wind began to blow from nowhere. He raised his arm, then moved it, like Moses would, parting the Red Sea. The parakeet wobbled on his perch, then fell to the bottom of the cage.

Oh my! You really are the Grim Reaper!

Yes, I am. He sat down.

You did that to the bird?

Yeah, birds and goldfish are a breeze.

I can't believe that you're the Grim Reaper.

Would it help if I were Jewish?

No, it's not that. It's just that . . . oh, I don't know, it's crazy. You know, if John thought that I had anything to do with killing his bird he would kill me.

That would be convenient. He smiled. His teeth were white and very straight.

Why are you here?

For you.

No, this isn't right. Death just comes.

Like a stranger in the night?

Yeah. No. Not like that; it comes to sick people. Especially old, sick people.

You're not well.

I feel fine. Great, even.

It's your time.

He stood again. His eyes got weird and the wind started to blow. He held up his arm and looked at me.

No, no! Hold it.

What? The wind stopped as he put his arm down.

I'm not ready.

No one ever is. He raised his arm and again the wind started to blow.

Wait, you're a gambling man.

The wind still blew.

I mean, rumor has it you'll play chess or gin rummy or something.

Okay, he said. He put his arm down. The wind stopped and his eyes became normal again. A quick game of chess never killed anyone. He smiled.

I don't play chess. We don't even have a board.

Fine: gin rummy it is.

I went for the cards.