Before Bubba Ho-Tep, there was Bubba and the Cosmic Blood-Suckers.
Subterranean Press is thrilled to announce the novel-length prequel to the classic story, “Bubba Ho-Tep.”
About the Book:
Part of a secret government organization designed to protect civilians, Elvis Presley and a handful of hardcore warriors set out to save the world from an invasion of hive-minded, shape-shifting vampire-like creatures from a dark dimension who have taken up residence in a New Orleans junkyard.
Besides Elvis, among these righteous warriors is a hammer-wielding descendent of John Henry of railroad fame, a Blind Man who sees more than those with sight, Jack, a strategic wizard, and Elvis’s right hand man and journal writer, Johnny, all thrown in with Raven (real name Jenny) a female recruit who is also a budding pop star, and like Elvis, high on the charisma chart.
Their leader is none other than Colonel Parker, Elvis’s cutthroat manager, and a warrior himself, directly in contact with President Nixon, or possibly one of his doubles.
It’s an unnerving peek into a secret world, and a possible delusion. It’s what happened before Elvis, aka Sebastian Haff, found himself in an East Texas rest home, mounted on a walker, fighting an Egyptian mummy and worrying about a growth on his pecker.
Strange monsters, wild fights, sex with a beautiful ghost, a drug-induced trip into another dimension, and all manner of mayhem ensue, along with a Mississippi riverboat ride on a giant paddle wheel, and of course, there will be 3D glasses, fried peanut butter and ’nanna sandwiches, and a few hard working zombies.
Bring the kids, but plug their ears and blindfold them. This is one wild and nasty ride to the dark side, but with laughter.
Limited: 1500 signed numbered hardcover copies
Lettered: 26 signed leatherbound copies, housed in a custom traycase
FROM JOHNNY'S JOURNAL,
WRITTEN IN A LAS VEGAS HOTEL
Before I say much, before I say my name, let me make a statement and pose a question. Not necessarily in that order.
Do you ever dream that the life you’re dreaming is someone else’s life?
Do you wonder if you’re a figment of someone else’s imagination and that all you do has not been done at all, that you could be a creation brought about by trapped gas, that you could be the result of poorly digested green beans and bologna sandwiches? That you might be lying on your back somewhere in some run down place, slow-dying, and that you may not be you, or anyone at all?
Thinking about shit like that gives me a headache, but still, now and again I think exactly those things and think they’re true. And then I wake up and wonder, did I just wake up, or am I still dreaming, or is someone dreaming and I am part of that dream?
Do you think about things like that?
Probably not. Probably best.
Let’s get on with it and put that stuff aside.
My name is Johnny Smack. I worked for Elvis Presley. I was what you might call one of his bodyguards, though he was quite capable of taking care of himself, for the most part.
I was also referred to, from time to time by the jealous and the less polite, as a hanger-on. Something to that, actually. I mean I took advantage now and then. I’m the first to say so. But let me tell you, it wasn’t all glamour and hot women and wild parties, a toot and a snoot. Well, in The King’s case he took what he called his “medicine.” I think on some level he believed that’s exactly what it was. But that’s beside the point. What a lot of folks don’t know is we fought monsters.
I mean it.
Real ones. I got to tell you, civilians have no idea what’s out there, and when you get right down to it, it’s probably best not to know. If you knew a lot of those sounds you hear in the dark, those midnight tapings at your window glass, those scuttles underneath your bed aren’t always wild animals, tree limbs, rats or the house settling, you might not be able to function.
I used to jokingly refer to those monsters as Boo Buddies (something that caught on with Elvis) though I got to tell you, the term wasn’t any kind of joke. It’s the way we all dealt with it, making wisecracks. Cops do it. Firemen do it, and so do Monster Exterminators. No one ever actually called us that, Monster Exterminators, but I wish they had. It has a ring to it.
This part I’m telling you about happened before Elvis disappeared and that other guy came in and pretended to be him. No one was supposed to know, but I knew. You can’t work with a man long and close as I did and not know when he’s been replaced by an imposter. Where The King went when the imposter came in, I can’t say. He didn’t tell me that, and I won’t shit you, that hurt me a little, after all we had been to one another. But the fake Elvis, the one that died on the shitter, well, I left before that happened, packed up my troubles in the old tote bag, so to speak. I knew he was the wrong guy and the right guy was gone. I didn’t have any desire to stick.
But that’s not the story I’m telling you. This one is different.
|Free Shipping for Select Preorders||Yes|
|Authors||Lansdale, Joe R.|