In San Francisco, the souls of the dead are mysteriously disappearing — and you know that can't be good — in New York Times bestselling author Christopher Moore's delightfully funny sequel to A Dirty Job.

Something really strange is happening in the City by the Bay. People are dying, but their souls are not being collected. Someone — or something — is stealing them and no one knows where they are going, or why, but it has something to do with that big orange bridge. Death Merchant Charlie Asher is just as flummoxed as everyone else. He's trapped in the body of a fourteen-inch-tall "meat" waiting for his Buddhist nun girlfriend, Audrey, to find him a suitable new body to play host.

To get to the bottom of this abomination, a motley crew of heroes will band together: the seven-foot-tall death merchant Minty Fresh; retired policeman turned bookseller Alphonse Rivera; the Emperor of San Francisco and his dogs, Bummer and Lazarus; and Lily, the former Goth girl. Now if only they can get little Sophie to stop babbling about the coming battle for the very soul of humankind…

This is the anarchic comedy of one man who realizes his secret ambition to get into the music industry - managing a band called Gandhi's Hairdryer, but he's soon to find out something very odd about the band - something other-worldly.

Рецензия на вымышленную книгу. Что произойдет, если тайное оружие «антисекс» вырвется на волю? Не приведет ли отмена основного инстинкта к исчезновению человечества?

© v_by

‘Just because you can’t explain it, doesn’t mean it’s a miracle.’

Religion is a controversial business in the Discworld^®. Everyone has their own opinion, and indeed their own gods. Who come in all shapes and sizes. In such a competitive environment, there is a pressing need to make one’s presence felt. And it’s certainly not remotely helpful to be reduced to be appearing in the form of a tortoise, a manifestation far below god-like status in anyone’s book. In such instances, you need an acolyte, and fast. Preferably one who won’t ask too many questions…

Annotations collected and edited by Leo Breebaart. http://www.lspace.org/books/apf/small-gods.html

‘Just because you can’t explain it, doesn’t mean it’s a miracle.’

Religion is a controversial business in the Discworld^®. Everyone has their own opinion, and indeed their own gods. Who come in all shapes and sizes. In such a competitive environment, there is a pressing need to make one’s presence felt. And it’s certainly not remotely helpful to be reduced to be appearing in the form of a tortoise, a manifestation far below god-like status in anyone’s book. In such instances, you need an acolyte, and fast. Preferably one who won’t ask too many questions…

Annotations collected and edited by Leo Breebaart. http://www.lspace.org/books/apf/small-gods.html

Once upon a time (or last Thursday, as its sometimes known) the wicked queen had a fully functioning, if antiquated, Mirrors system and all was well in the kingdom. Then the humans hacked in and the system failed. Fairytales may never be the same again.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a policeman taking a holiday would barely have had time to open his suitcase before he finds his first corpse.

And Commander Sam Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch is on holiday in the pleasant and innocent countryside, but not for him a mere body in the wardrobe. There are many, many bodies and an ancient crime more terrible than murder.

He is out of his jurisdiction, out of his depth, out of bacon sandwiches, and occasionally snookered and out of his mind, but never out of guile. Where there is a crime there must be a finding, there must be a chase and there must be a punishment.

They say that in the end all sins are forgiven.

But not quite all …

With all the hassle smokers get nowadays, it's hardly worth it. It's time to move on to something else. Something which doesn't bother anybody else.Yes, snuff is about to make its biggest ever comeback. And the guy who came up with that one is going to be a very wealthy individual.

The quest continues in the fourth volume in the ever-popular Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series. Against all odds, at the eleventh hour, and in the unlikeliest place of all, the intrepid Arthur Dent finds the girl of his dreams. After eight years and about 100,000 lightyears of intergalactic travel, he is looking a little down-at-the-heels himself, and she is heavily sedated because she thinks she is a hedgehog. She is also in the company of a brother that Arthur wouldn’t wish on a Vogon. But they are both in search of God’s Final Message to His Creation, and hey, this time they might actually find it.

If you found a magic box that fulfills wishes right in your room—do not start making wishes at once.

Be careful what you wish for. You never know who might be listening.

There’s no getting away from it. From whichever angle, Death is a horrible, inescapable business. But someone’s got to do it. So if Death decides to take a well-earned moment to uncover the meaning of life and discover himself in the process, then there is going to be a void of specific dimensions that needs to be occupied, particularly so when there is trouble brewing in Discworld. There aren’t too many who are qualified to fill Death’s footsteps and it certainly doesn’t help the imminent cataclysm that the one person poised between the mortal and the immortal is only sixteen years old…

Annotations collected and edited by Leo Breebaart. http://www.lspace.org/books/apf/soul-music.html

A sourcerer is born - a wizard so powerful that by comparison all other magic is just mucking around in pointy hats.

And his very existence brings the Discworld, which is of course flat and rides through space on the back of an enormous turtle, to the very verge of all-out thaumaturgical war*.

All that stands in the way is Rincewind, the failed magician, who wants to save the world, or at least that part of it which contains him. More new characters join the Discworld adventure: Conina the barbarian hairdresser, Nijel the Destroyer (whose mother still makes him wear woolly underwear) and possibly the first yuppie genie, who's into lamps as a growth area.

This time the adventure goes east, or hubwards, or whatever. It doesn't simply draw heavily on "Omar Khayyam", "Raiders of the Lost Ark", the "1001 Nights" and every Arabian B-movie ever made, it scribbles on them as well. . .

* A bad thing

A sourcerer is born - a wizard so powerful that by comparison all other magic is just mucking around in pointy hats.

And his very existence brings the Discworld, which is of course flat and rides through space on the back of an enormous turtle, to the very verge of all-out thaumaturgical war*.

All that stands in the way is Rincewind, the failed magician, who wants to save the world, or at least that part of it which contains him. More new characters join the Discworld adventure: Conina the barbarian hairdresser, Nijel the Destroyer (whose mother still makes him wear woolly underwear) and possibly the first yuppie genie, who's into lamps as a growth area.

This time the adventure goes east, or hubwards, or whatever. It doesn't simply draw heavily on "Omar Khayyam", "Raiders of the Lost Ark", the "1001 Nights" and every Arabian B-movie ever made, it scribbles on them as well. . .

* A bad thing

Life is tough on the space station Belvaille. Not for the aristocratic nobles that call it home, but for the poor slobs like Hank.

Hank is considered a “celebrated cutthroat” and the oldest living person in the city. His occupation is to be hired muscle for those people who don’t want to get their hands dirty but still want dirty things done. He possesses a mutation that allows him to be bulletproof and weigh thousands of pounds, two helpful traits in his line of work.

When the wife a City Councilman approaches him about spying on her husband, Hank worries he’s flying too close to the flames for safety. When the husband is assassinated, he’s sure of it.

Hank has to keep himself from getting framed for the murder while he finds himself increasingly manipulated by increasingly powerful people as the machinations of the City Council start to spill into his daily life.

NOTE: Sequel to Hard Luck Hank — Screw the Galaxy, Hard Luck Hank — Basketful of Crap, and Hard Luck Hank — Prince of Suck.

Too tough to be aborted, Super Fetus fights back!

He’s a fetus growing in the womb of a whiny white trash whore of a mother. His problem: she wants to have him aborted. But what this bitch doesn’t know is that she isn’t pregnant with some mild-mannered developing human form. Heck no. This is Super Fetus. He has an attitude and he is deter mined to be born, whether she likes it or not. Doing push-ups in the womb day and night, until he becomes amazingly buff, this little fetus is prepared to fight off the onslaught of vacuums, tongs, coat hangers, and scalpels. Once that sonofabitch doctor comes for him… he’ll be ready.

A horrific and humorous romp with strange characters, stranger sex scenes, and one kick-ass musclebound fetus.