Showing posts with label Kim Jong-Un. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kim Jong-Un. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Forthcoming COMIC NOVEL by U.R. Bowie "ONE TON," Synopsis



U.R. Bowie

One Ton: the True and Heart-Rending Tale of a Fatboy’s Triumph

Brief Synopsis

Tone and modulation taken from Kubrick’s “Dr. Strangelove,” with humor over the top, One Ton is a rollicking satire on the state of the world in the twenty-first century. The story focuses primarily on the problem of obesity worldwide, but the novel also satirizes politics and makes many a wry commentary on fallible human nature.

As the action begins, Leland (The Blob) Lebeau, age 22, resident of Waukesha, Wisconsin, has become so fat that he cannot walk anymore. Desperate to lose weight and overcome the agony of obesity, he is grasping at straws. At that moment he is approached by a wheeler-dealer type, P.T. Terwillinger—carny huckster, former assistant to Col. Tom Parker of Elvis fame, the natural son of P.T. Barnum—who promises to get him into showbiz, a career as hunger artist. “Not only will you be skinny, son; you’ll be rich.”

P.T. reinvents what once was a popular tradition in Europe in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. In those days hunger artists performed before large crowds, doing essentially one thing: starving themselves to see who could go longest without eating. P.T. puts his extensive public relations skills into practice, introducing Leland Lebeau to the world as The Boy Wonder, The Grand Pinguid, and The Artist of the Un-Eat. 

Performing as a kind of freak show in the Barnum and Terwillinger Circus, Leland The Blob travels America, starring in his act of hunger artistry. First bulking his artiste up to a thousand pounds (one half ton), P.T. promises the world that in six months The Boy Wonder will go from 1000 down to 105, thereby being the first man in history to lose nine-tenths of himself.

The concept of hunger artistry catches on with the American people, always ready to embrace a new fad. Leland performs to large crowds all over the country, and soon hunger artistry catches on worldwide. New hunger artists appear in Europe and Asia, competitions are organized between fasting artists. Eventually a Commission on Hungery is established, and the first ever international games in hunger artistry are held in Sochi, Russia. 

After various problems and setbacks, Leland is unable to compete in Sochi, where President Vladimir Putin of Russia, manipulating the rules right and left, coaxes his best artist to the championship. At this point Leland, the originator of modern hunger artistry, is no longer on the cusp of the game, his fire having been stolen by other, better artists.

Never one to say die, the ebullient P.T. takes this low point in the career of his hunger artist and turns it into a high point. He makes a decision to give up on hunger artistry and go in the opposite direction. Leland will now be what P.T. terms an “un-hunger artist,” The Ultimate Artist of the Eat, the first man in the history of the world to attain to 2000 pounds: ONE TON. The rest of the book describes how “un-hungery” catches on all over the world and how Leland Lebeau moves inexorably toward his goal.

As Leland goes on eating more setbacks and vicissitudes overtake him. He plods on, eats on, continues performing in food courts at malls, while un-hungery catches on everywhere. Artists now compete in massive gorging competitions, attaining to unheard-of weights. It soon becomes apparent that to compete at weights surpassing 1500 pounds, an artist must risk his life. Many un-hunger artists die in performance. Others are forced by ill health to retire from the game. A multitude of nations ban the sport of un-hungery, but so fervid are its fans that illegal performances are staged even where banned.

The Grand Pinguid plods on toward his goal of being the biggest man who ever lived. The action culminates at the First Ever Competitions in Un-Hungery, held in Los Angeles in April of 2017. Will Leland be competitive against the best un-hunger artists worldwide? Can he defeat the champion from Saudi Arabia, the Humongous A-rab, and the Russian favorite, Borka the Shoemaker?

Among those featured in the plot of One Ton are Vladimir Putin, Donald Trump and Kim Jong-Un. Many other political figures, as well as showbiz personalities, make cameo appearances in the novel. Among other episodes, the reader is treated to the first phone conversation between “The Trumpster” and “Vlad the Impaler,” shortly after the new American president takes office. Later on The Blob and The Trumpster cross paths, after the President—bored with the tedium of his new job—opts for a side career as professional wrestler, under the name “The Big Orange Pussy Snatcher.”


Both world leaders take a big interest in hungery and un-hungery. They attend the grand international un-hungery games in L.A., as does the Sun of all Suns, the Boy Leader of North Korea, and they are involved in clashes, fireworks, and outrageous nonsense. There are laughs—not just tiny teehees or gentle guffaws, but huge rumbling belly laughs—on practically every page of One Ton. 




Friday, March 10, 2017

PUTIN AND TRUMP ON THE PHONE (Selections from forthcoming comic novel by U.R. Bowie, "ONE TON")



My new comic novel, ONE TON: THE TRUE AND HEARTRENDING TALE OF A FATBOY'S TRIUMPH, is scheduled for publication in the next couple of months. This is the funniest thing I've ever written, HAR, HAR, HAR (I can't stop laughing).

Composed in the spirit of my favorite movie, "Dr. Strangelove," the novel tells the story of Leland (The Blob) Lebeau, hunger artist extraordinaire--who aspires to be the first human in history to attain to the weight of 2000 pounds.

Featured as characters in the book are, among others, Donald J. Trump, Vladimir Putin, and Kim Jong-Un.

Here is an excerpt, describing the first phone conversation between Putin and Trump, immediately following the latter's inauguration as President.


Over in Moscow President Putin was on the phone, making his first official phone call to the new President.
            --Hello, hello. Can you hear me? Is that you, Donald?
            --Speaking. How’s it going, Vlad? How’s it hanging?
            --Going good, always going good, hanging high. If it were going gooder or hanging higher we’d have good beyond mere good; we’d have the ultimate goodest of the good and the highest of the high hang (joked Vlad the Impaler).
            The Trumpster laughed wholeheartedly, though he didn’t get the joke. Russian humor (he thought). Sad.
            --Let me say first off, Mr. President . . . oh, is it all right if I call you Pussy Snatcher?
            --Sure, Vlad. That’s fine. All my friends call me that. The American people came up with that affectionate nickname.
            --Okay, well, first off, Pussy Snatcher, congratulations on being elected. When we first heard you were running, my people in the FSB said, and I quote, “That fat sap ignorant fucker don’t have a cat in hell’s chance of winning.”
            --Well, they were right. I didn’t. But I did!
            Now it was Putin’s turn to fake laughter. That must have been a joke, so I better laugh. The Trumpster joined in cackling, and the two laughed together for thirty seconds straight. Putin was the first to go on with the conversation.
            --So how has it been, being President for the first few weeks?
            --A lot of fun, Vlad. Fun, fun. Terrific.
            --Yeah. But then, the responsibility sometimes hangs heavy on your neck.
            --That’s what Obama told me: responsibility. But actually, I find the job kind of boring. They want me to read all these crappy intelligence reports. But if I did that it would take away from my tweeting time. And watching Fox News.
            --I see. What’s this about the courts putting the quietus on your anti-Muslim decrees?
            --No problem. It’s like swatting flies. So-called judges. Sad.
            --Strange country you got there, buddy, the way the court system works. Sticking its nose into presidential ukases.
            --How does in work in Russia?
            --Easy. No sticking of the noses. Then again, we have court trials, but the verdict is decided before, not after the proceedings.
            --Who decides?
            --I do.
            --Sounds like a good system. You and me, we got to get together and talk over that. Plus a few more things.
            --Like what?
            --Well, for example, we’ll be pulling out of NATO soon, those suckers don’t pay their fair share. It’s a bad deal. So you and I, we got to figure out what happens next. Like, for example, you can have Estonia back if you like.
            Putin narrowed his eyes and spoke now in a whisper.
            --What will you be asking in return?
            --Not much. Just your help in bombing ISIS back to the Stone Age, bombing all the Muslims in Iraq, Libya, Egypt. Stuff like that.
            --Sounds like a deal, Donald. You got it.
            --One other thing, Vlad. Might need your advice with some lying we’re doing.
            --Lying?
            --Yeah. We’re trying to figure out how best to bamboozle. We’ve come up so far with ‘alternative facts’ for every issue. Plus some doublethink and newspeak, you know? Maybe you could lend your expertise.
            --Hm. I’d like to help you, but lying was never in my lesson plan.
            --Really?
            --I’ve never told a lie in all my born days. I swear it on my mother’s grave.
            --Um. Okay.
            --HAR, HAR. Fooled you, fooled you, had my fingers crossed when I said that! HAR, HAR.  
Once again the Trumpster joined in with the laughter, although he didn’t find the joke funny. The two world leaders laughed together for another thirty seconds. Finally Putin spoke up again.
--Got to run, Mr. President. I’m on my way to help out some cranes.
            --Cranes.
            --Yeah, some sand-hill cranes are gearing up for their semi-annual migration, and I’ll be the guy in the crane suit, flying a tiny crane-looking aircraft and guiding them back to their nesting sites.
            --I see. . . . Well, have a good flight, Vlad.
            --Oh, before we hang up, I want to tell you something funny, Pussy Snatcher.
            --Right. Go ahead.
            --I looked up the word ‘trump’ in the Oxford English Dictionary, and guess what it said?
            --I don’t know. Trumpeter? Bridge player? Dealmaker? Brilliant mind?
            --It said, and I quote, “(slang) an audible act of breaking wind.”
            Vlad the Impaler went off into paroxysms of hearty laughter, while the Big Orange Pussy Snatcher sat bewildered, holding the phone in one tiny hand and staring off into space.
            --Oh, one other thing, Mr. President.
            --What’s that, Vlad?
            --Remember when you were in Moscow four years ago for the Miss Universe competitions?
            --Yeah. What about it?
            --Remember when we made a gift to you of Miss Uzbekistan, and Miss Chechnya, and Miss Tajikistan, and they went back to your room in the Metropole Hotel?
            --Sure. What about it?
            --Well, hate to spring this on you, Pussy Snatcher, but we’ve got videos of your bare ass. Real high quality stuff.
            --So what?
            --Just this. You do what we say from now on, or your bare ass will be on every TV screen and internet screen in the world.
            --That’s great, Vlad. Thanks!
            --Huh? What’s great?

            --It’s great for the notoriety. Then again, what a treat for the world! My bare ass is a beautiful sight. Terrific. Thanks again, buddy.