Bongo & Delilah Break Daytona: B&D Capers, #1

By Winnie Winkle

Wildly hilarious, unique, and refreshing… a place where space, snark, and booze mix into a perfect adventure!

 

Location: Earth. Bongo needs a serious break from life. When her best friend, Delilah, offers her a chance to go on a surprised road trip to Florida, Bongo isn't about to turn the offer down. What she doesn't expect is to find an alien hitching a ride in the back of her pink pickup!

 

Blleburbk's arrival outside a Pennsylvania bar was completely unplanned. Seeking refuge in a brightly-colored transport seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, all he has to do is charm the two Earthlings he has attached himself to and find more Earth volunteers without blowing his cover. Lucky for him, Delilah has a solution.

 

On the run, Blleburbk will need all the help he can get! Can this trio of misfits, along with the help of a few extraordinary individuals, outsmart the bad guy and make it to the mothership in time, or will poor Blleburbk end up as dissection fodder? Tune in for their first redonkulous caper.

 

REVIEWS:

 

D. Antonio

5.0 out of 5 stars Hilarious

Reviewed in the United States on October 27, 2022

Verified Purchase

Check your brain at the door, remove all breakables from the area and make sure you won't disturb anyone; then kick back and enjoy this fun filled laugh out loud romp. I giggle snorted my way through this tale of accountants, rednecks and aliens. ET has nothing on Blleburbk. And amidst all the laughter there is a really important story about sustainability and acceptance. I adored this book and can't wait for future adventures.

 

Leslie Moore

5.0 out of 5 stars Alien Glamour

Reviewed in the United States on November 5, 2022

This tasty start to a new series has it all. Glitz, glam, a deeply satisfying friendship , a stern warning and an alien in drag. I found that this delightfully chaotic, eyebrow lifting, adventure bent my mind in all the right ways. Aliens need to recruit the people of earth and found the right partners in a couple of snarky ladies on vacation with a flexible view of life! Couldn't put it down!
 

Jennifer T. Conaway

5.0 out of 5 stars Fun, fun, fun!

Reviewed in the United States on November 1, 2022

There is nothing not to like about this book. It is a fun romp through a very entertaining situation. Don't take it too seriously, folks--this is definitely a book to be read for pure laugh out loud enjoyment! I am looking forward to the next installments to see where this madcap tale travels! And when you are done, follow the author and check out her other books. You'll never regret it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Winnie Winkle
• Release date: Oct 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985961027

Winnie Winkle

Winnie Winkle is a fabulous Central Florida broad who swills bourbon, likes dogs and cats, and practices yoga, but not with any degree of grace. Supporting live local music is a pretty big deal to Winnie, so if you pass a gravestone that admonishes, 'Go see the band and hit the tip jar', it's probably hers. But, since she's not dead yet, she'll keep penning fun stuff to rock your reading chair. Winnie has lived in Florida for 30 years and splits her time between South Daytona Shores and the Mount Dora area. She prefers writing beach-side as much as she can because, if we’re baring our souls here, the ocean is a mighty muse and there’s only so much that coffee can do. Winnie writes humorous fiction with a new series, "The Record" releasing three titles in 2021 )Boogie Beach, Slat Shaken, Speedo Down). She also released a literary fiction, "To Walk in the World: Twin Tales of Inception in 2021. Winnie also writes (6 books so far)  paranormal and sci-fi romances for the series "The Worlds or Magic, New Mexico".

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Where to start? Convention says the beginning, but after a falling out with normalcy, that I’m still recovering from, I’m winging this story. Buckle up.

Once upon a time, (how’s that for normal, hmm?) I married Steven, then delivered two kids in a single, memorable event that involved me slugging a nurse in the face. A total accident; I was aiming for Steve. She applied an ice pack and asked where I worked out, so Planet Fitness for the win.

Steve started a partnership making widgets. I focused on beating a baggy belly into submission with reasonable success, soccer-mommed my ass off, and the twins managed to graduate high school. They left for college, pursued acceptable amounts of dope and partying, and nobody called me for bail. All worthy of landing in the plus column. In the minus column, Steve lost his damn mind, decided that if dudes on TV could build a log cabin and live off the land, it’d be a perfect post-children, pre-apocalyptic lifestyle for our maturing marriage. Plus, his company wanted to buy his half out, and the money was considerable. A plan, conceived by Steve with no input from me, hatched.

Then that ass bought me a fucking apron.

I bought a lawyer. Twenty-two years is a good run. If Smokey the Boyo wants to sashay his bear snacks in the great timberland, I won’t deny him his dream. That said, funding it? Not happening.

Steve grew somewhat irritated to learn his money pile for purchasing supplies of Deep Woods Off and bacon were half of the original amount, but I assured him that if he bought land with LOTS of trees, he could save a ton on lumber costs. I’m not mean.

After swapping his truck for a four-wheel-drive number with a trailer hitch the size of his enormous feet, he attached a pop-up camper, emptied the garage of tools, and absconded with the groceries. I came home to a beerless fridge and a note.

You should have tried adventuring Bongo. You’re gonna end up old and unchallenged.

~Steve

Everyone ages out if they’re lucky, Steverino, but challenges? I’ve risen to plenty. And your lack of appreciation sucks.

Still, it rankled, so I drove to Marty’s Bar, parked, and swung open the big red door. Marty’s is a quintessential old time dive bar. Worn reddish leatherette stools tucked under a long, pitted oak bar, a smattering of four tops filled the center, with a pool table. The dart board had so many holes in it, I doubted a stiletto would stick. and a few listing booths struggled along the back wall. If I’d endured forty years of beer farts, I’d list too.

Bongo! Girl, sit here and spit it. I saw Steve rolling his backwoods thunder on Delancey Street earlier. Are you OK?

A definition which changes hourly. Right now? Meh.

Not certain it’s hit me yet. The basics? Money, sure.

Good Lord, Bongo. Shut up and drink this. A Jack with a splash slid my way.

Delilah and I went to high school together, and our 25th reunion loomed. I’m tall, driven, and sarcastic. I love Pearl Jam, Nirvana, and Soundgarden. Delilah, or Deelio, moved up from a godforsaken town in the deep South just in time for ninth grade. A tiny blond with huge hair, big round boobs, and dark blue eyes, she would have slayed in the 80s. It’s unfortunate she ended up wandering through the school’s halls in flannel. Britney Spears was a fucking godsend for Deelio. I clung to the Foo Fighters and cried over grunge’s demise.

We bonded over what, since that night, we referred to as the incident. Mandatory air quotes. How a rowdy bitch like me and a southern fried Barbie in need of a growth spurt formed a lifelong friendship in the clusterfuck of high school is nuts, but Delilah was the real fucking deal. She may resemble a Dolly Parton knock-off, but she’s bone-deep smart. Which, I suppose, was the same as Dolly. People play her for a bimbo. Those people are idiots.

Gimme your keys, Dee’s hot pink tipped fingers snapped, and I fished my ring and slid it over, watching them disappear into her little blinged-out clutch propped against the back of the bar. Drink whatever you want; your tab is on me. Just don’t barf in my truck.

Dammit Dee, I’m forty-two years old, I protested. It’s been at least five years since I mismanaged my booze.

We’ll see if that record gets a reset. Delilah plopped a bowl of crunchies next to the Jack and headed to the far end to refill the Bud Light boys. Marketing in action, those two. Drive or die Bud Light drinkers, they pitched a fit when it wasn’t available, just total tools. Raging prima donnas over crap beer, reminding any unwilling listener in earshot they’re every inch ‘accomplished’ gentlemen who know what constitutes a good brewski. Their wives sure hauled in a pair of big fish.

Thanks to copious amounts of crunchies, I was buzzed with a caloric base by 10:00 pm. The kids—partiers in their 20s and 30s who drink until 4 am, then arrive for their workday with ninety minutes of sleep—rolled in to lay their pre-club buzz. Marty’s was a cheap start for the clubs. They came in, drank the shit out of the $7 shot and tap beer special in their sparkling clothes, and eased out to munch ecstasy, dance for hours, and hook up in bathrooms I’d never want to clean. Ah, youth.

Excellent tippers, though, so Deelio swapped the music over and turned up her sassy patter. Most worked in hospitality at some point, and it showed. The rest of the regulars sat, people-watched, and nursed our drinks. By 11:30, the crowd moved out and NSYNC arrived, ready to dance with Delilah. I’m drunk enough to nod along, a sure sign I should switch to beer, but a fresh Jack lands with a quick hand pat.

God, I love this woman. And that’s not the bourbon talking. She gets it. Steve fucking hurts. It’s a big ass rejection of US. He wasn’t bummed to close this door. I won’t show a sad face, but inside, my whole life requires reorganizing. In our marriage, I looked good; I paid attention. Invested? Check. All in? Yup. Committed for the entirety. Steve never tried to change me. Until he did. And that, for him, was it? When I didn’t go along, it was ‘Bye, Felicia’?

Fuck you, Steve.

Delilah raised an eyebrow. Guess we’ve reached the internal monologue goes audible portion of the evening. To be fair, a place where I make my most entertaining decisions.

Midnight found me needling the Bud Light guys with a bottomless Jack. BL-One tells me I blew a good thing by letting Steve go and how he knew why I was so fucking uptight. This, I correctly parsed, was an opening gambit to see if a pity fuck might happen. I held my long fingered hand palm to palm with his stubby fingered one, and said I was confident he was a disappointment to women both real and fictitious. BL-Two whipped his hand up, and I shot a side-eye that should have melted his balls.

Do you think I’m considering either of you married ding dongs? That’s a hard nope.

With an elaborate over my head wave, I returned to the general vicinity of my crunchies. After a miniscule stagger, I plunked my ass on three quarters of the stool, corrected, and grinned at Delilah.

Jack’s making me happy. Those two aren’t any prettier when I’m loaded.

Small favors.

My money’s on very.

Delilah glanced at the dwindling crowd. Last call!

She ran tabs while I swirled my bourbon and mulled the long road ahead. The twins were good. After college graduations in May, they were off to jobs and futures. I was fading in the rearview. Each would resurface, but I remembered my first few years of freedom. Mom was not on my radar. I wouldn’t be on theirs, and I was cool with being sidelined. Steve too, I guess, since he was en route to hang with bugs and poop in the woods. I assumed he’d show up for graduation, but it turns out he’s no longer my headache.

Time? Yeah. That carried the harbingers of a major problem. I liked math, and math returned the favor. I kept books for a variety of small businesses and handled audits and