Items related to Cooking Bacon Naked
Synopsis
Drinking, fighting, and cheating on her. Whatever! She ll take him back like she s done so many times before, right? As long as he can stay alive and out of prison long enough to prove he loves her. Stephen, a connoisseur of 7-Eleven merlot and wild women, has the perfect life for a guy who is overloaded with prescription medications, suffering from rage and bipolar disorders, and on probation for the premeditated assault of a seedy porno producer. "…Red wine is served at room temperature and the floor around my bed is always room temperature." Liza, his off-again, on-again fiancée is the only good in his forsaken life. She is book smart, but street dumb and willing to do anything to break into show business. Her poster-girl good looks and country-girl gullibility made her a perfect target for Nikolai, an aged porn star turned porn producer. Nikolai has tricked Liza into believing she is just filming a raunchy soap opera. He allowed her to fake-sex her way through the first half of the film, leading her to believe that fade-to-black means no real sex. Liza learns that in porn films, there are no special effects and the gooey white stuff isn t dishwashing liquid mixed with baking soda. When she refuses to have real sex with the block-away ugly actor from a banned porn film called Really Big, she s given a life-threatening ultimatum, and Stephen may be the only man who can save her.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
Review
A latter-day Henry Miller. His narrative voice, rife with street slang and genial humor, is oddly appealing. -- Jon Hurley—ForeWordreviews
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
All men want a more beautiful woman and if you say you don’t, you’re lying because your woman is standing right next to you with her Marilyn Manson makeup and horror flick hairdo looking to you for approval. Hey, it’s not your fault; you warned her that her forehead was too big for that new haircut, but no, she forged ahead anyway.
The beauty industry does its billion-dollar hustle filled with tongue-in-cheek promises that disappear when your face rises from the pillow. If you want to talk about absolute beauty, however, then we have to talk about my Liza. She’s always beautiful, even in the early morning with blanket lines and dribble on her face. At the makeup counters in the mall, the salesgirls never pitch Liza their rehearsed pipe dream spiels that are reserved for a bunch of ogres with ovaries. Instead, they stare in awe and point her to lingerie, an area with which Liza seriously needs help. Even Liza’s sister is beautiful, and her fat ass desperately needs to go into Twinkie Rehab. With the astronomical sums of money spent to help women look like Liza, I figure she’s got to be worth major money if I ever attempt to cash out.
Liza is my woman and the biggest problem I have with her is her beauty; it keeps me in trouble. When we’re out, most men will gawk or make rude insinuations, looking past me as if I’m invisible. For what reasons, from ego to ignorance, I have no idea. Hey! If you have game, then go for it! Take her off my hands, you’ll be doing me a favor, but do so the correct way, quietly and behind my back. Don’t disrespect me. I’ll say it again and louder, so you can’t say you didn’t know as you’re rolling your I.V. pole to the bathroom, while wearing a hospital gown with your crack showing, DON’T DISRESPECT ME!
I’m sorry about the threats. I’m working to get past that through therapy and the wonders of Valium. I keep telling myself that I am not any more jealous or insecure than the next guy. The way I see it, Liza is a woman that every man desires and it makes me proud to be with her. The problem is, I’m what you’d call old school - I mean really old. I have no proof, but I know that in a past life I was this cool, chivalrous duke wearing men’s wigs and tights, and was real handy with a sword (you would have to be if you’re a man walking around wearing a wig). Each time I entered a room, they had to announce me, and I sat around drinking wine out of those big barrels.
Hey, don’t run with the "tights comment."
I think I’m too caught up with honor and respect, so when I see a man walking down the street with his woman, I speak only to him, if I choose to speak at all. I take in as much of his woman’s beauty as my eye can manage without looking directly at her. I’ll give him the secure-man nod of appreciation and if the tables are turned and he chances upon me in the same situation, he damned well better do the same.
What burns me most about my Liza is she’s so naïve. I mean she’s first-day-in-the-country naïve. Liza’s a sucker for any guy selling anything. I waste lots of time either giving the stare-down to some guy at a department store, or chasing away men from Jehovah Witness who hand her pamphlets with their home numbers on it. Men are either parasites or predators and know in an instant which women are approachable and which are not. Guys hate rejection, but with Liza, you can tell that she’ll be pleasant even if she’s not interested. She’s the woman who guys keep asking out in the hopes that she’ll break down and change her mind. I swear they must practice their lines on her before taking a shot at those women who look a guy up and down, and then scald him with bad attitude.
Married or single, they could care less. Men look for the path of least resistance, and my woman is on that path. Liza listens to every guy, except the one she should - me. Let a guy tell her that she should be a model or an actress and he’ll become her Pied Piper. If a guy says he’s a movie producer, she’ll never think to look for a camera, which is a dangerous character flaw. Even Francis Copolla can’t film a major movie in his motel room with a camcorder and a couple of Polaroids.
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
(No Available Copies)
Search Books: Create a WantCan't find the book you're looking for? We'll keep searching for you. If one of our booksellers adds it to AbeBooks, we'll let you know!
Create a Want