He was all action and no talk. Now his talk is making him question his actions.
Coolman is living his best life as a bona fide action hero, waving his gun all over Beam City while blasting vintage techno from the speakers of his Camaro. He’s certain everyone loves him for it.
But Coolman’s identity starts to crumble when his best friend, Peter, is killed by the Geeked Gangsters: a group of jailbirds he thought he could drop with a flip-flop.
When Coolman goes rogue, he realizes that the geeks have ties to the FBI and that Triggerland is going downhill. Even worse, he starts doubting whether he’s the cold-hearted badass he always believed himself to be.
It’s time to find out whether an old action hero can learn new tricks. Triggerland depends on it!
“A book that out-magnifies the competition but doesn’t waste our time with inconsequential details. Highly recommended for Action/Adventure fans who want a chuckle.”
– Airborn Press
The Coolman Series
– Fast and silly books inspired by ’80s action movies
Sit back and enjoy a quick and entertaining ode to ’80s action movies. A pastiche that brings back kitschy fights and gonzo dialogue, the Coolman series packs cringy but unforgettable one-liners into bite-sized reads. You can tell it’s written by a guy who loves the ’80s, is from the ’80s, and isn’t too ceremonious to admit that he really is just some guy-dude.
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“You’ve killed your last clown,” Coolman said.
“Fuck I have,” said Foolish Fred. “Clowns are aliens. They’ve come from another planet to kill us all.”
The villainous Fred tried to drag a poor mime clown away, threatening to blow the victim’s brains out.
Screams resonated in the garden. Poor children—dressed up for the pirate birthday party—ran for their parents. Moms sipping wine came strutting toward the scene, big sunglasses protecting their eyes from the afternoon sun.
“What’s . . . what’s going on here,” a lady said, burping.
Foolish Fred paused, trying to get a grasp of the situation.
He looked like a human amoeba with protruding eyebrows and a few teeth in his mouth.
“Are you stupid?” he said. “I’m saving these little shitheads. You invited a fucking alien to your party. Look! Now he’s trying to get away, using that damned magic!”
The mime clown—running out of options—was pretending to hold onto an invisible rope, which somehow held him in place.
Foolish Fred threw the gun away and took out a knife. While he tried figuring out where to cut the rope, the mime clown took flight.
But Fred’s knife hit him in the thigh. He fell down and rolled into a table full of cake and candy.
The moms dropped their glasses, screaming. Chaos ensued as they each tried to find their respective mini marauder.
“It’s just a dude wearing a costume,” Coolman said, running after Foolish Fred. “You can’t keep ruining kids’ childhood memories like this.”
“But those clowns ruined mine,” Foolish Fred shouted. “Don’t you get it? Dad took me to the circus, some clown put him in a box, and then he disappeared forever.”
He grabbed the mime clown by the neck. The victim stayed in character, pointing at his throat while letting his tongue hang out.
Or perhaps he was actually choking.
“Your dad obviously left you,” Coolman said. “You’ve been wasting time killing clowns instead of accepting he was an asshole.”
Foolish Fred stomped the ground. “Daddy wasn’t an asshole! He let me smoke. He let me drink beer. He even let me watch full-volume horror movies when those freezing ladies came over. Now go back to that station full of pigs and leave me alone!”
Foolish Fred took the knife and put it to the victim’s throat.
There was no time to waste. Coolman sprung forward and kicked Foolish Fred’s head.
The enemy let go of the mime clown, who gasped for air, then quickly pretended to descend a staircase that wasn’t there.
Foolish Fred looked at the clown, then at Coolman. The villain’s face grew red. “Look what you did. We’ll never catch him down there.”
Coolman gazed at the clown, who was making himself smaller and smaller, trying to keep up the illusion.
“You seriously think he’s going downstairs? On a lawn?”
Coolman turned toward Fred but met the bastard’s customized baseball bat instead. He raised his arm just in time, but the rusty nails buried themselves into his skin. He clenched his teeth and shoved away the bat.
The sight of his own blood made him angry. “Alright, asshole, the gloves are off!”
He did a front kick to Foolish Fred’s groin while the bastard laughed.
The maniac bent over, panting. He raised the knife. “Okay, you fucking pig, I’ll show you just how awesome Daddy was. He let me practice with weapons before I could even walk. You’ll end up like those funny inflatable women we had lying around.”
Coolman tried avoiding the weapon, but Foolish Fred was quick, and Coolman soon felt like a damned carrot on a grater.
“You should have listened,” Foolish Fred said. “Now you’re going to the circus—in hell!”
But as he lunged, Coolman grabbed the knife blade with his bare hands, bending it, so it pointed toward Fred.
“You think I’m that easy to kill? You came to the wrong show.”
Coolman did a back kick, sending the bent knife into Foolish Fred’s chest.
Foolish Fred looked down, baffled. He fell to the ground.
“This can’t be real,” he moaned. “That’s not how it was supposed to go.”
Coolman helped the poor mime clown up from the imagined stairs.
“That’s what all you criminals say when you meet me. But most of you don’t live to tell the tale.”
Foolish Fred’s eyes grew hazy. Before he closed them, he whispered, “Who . . . who are you?”
Coolman looked at the children hiding around the garden. Then at their mothers, some of whom were already playing with their hair and sending him longing eyes.
“I’m Coolman,” he said. “The best cop in the fucking world.”