is the satiric story of an American wife of a deposed banana republic military dictator, struggling to deal with counterrevolutions, political intrigues, memories of UFO abductions, and a mind which has a mind of its own, all the while trying to maintain a sense of style and keep her nails freshly polished.
Follow the adventures of Jessica Lynn Kramer Carlo, her husband Don Juan Carlo, and the countless counterrevolutionaries, spies, and the occasional well meaning devil who parade through their lives. Watch them as they struggle to have a normal married life as a couple fighting to regain political control of a banana republic on the verge of complete social and economic collapse.
Sit back and enjoy the roller coaster ride Jessica calls her life, as her own mind takes bets on what will be the final outcome for her, Don, and the entire world.
Currently living in New Jersey, this gay, single thirty-seven year old writer also works as a Realtor--when he’s not interpreting and designing tarot decks and other metaphysical paraphernalia, or catering to the every need of his dog, Zeus.
Aside from holding a New Jersey Real Estate license, Robert also holds degrees in photography, journalism, metaphysics, and mixology.
Look for other works by R.A. Melos to be released later this year, including: Melba Ridge, Gender Bender Fairie Tales, and The Adventures Of Homosexual Man and Lesbian Lad.
The rain poured down from the giant leaves of the jungle roof and caressed the long narrow trunks of the sturdy tree supports which were braced against the sandy jungle floor where Jessica lie in an unconscious state.
Her life, as of recent, had not been a bed of roses. She had been fired from her job as a checkout girl at the Alpha Beta, her apartment building had gone co-op, and the 7-Eleven had been out of her favorite shade of nail polish.
Her ex-boyfriend, Biff, lost his license on a technicality--he didn't have insurance. Her pet boa constrictor, Snuggles, had contracted a rare skin disease and had begun to lose its scales. Her mother's second husband's sister's best friend, coincidentally her cousin, Jeannie, came out as a lesbian after the collapse of her seventh marriage to Jessica's best friend's cousin's sister's stepfather's gynecologist's adopted son. In general, Jessica didn't know a lot of happy people.
A droplet of highly acidic rainwater glided downward from the tip of a Malaka leaf and splattered across Jessica's nose. She began to stir and her eyes opened onto the surrounding jungle scenery.
Alpha Beta changed, she thought. The leader of her Independent Thoughts, known as Lou to it's friends, one of the many legions of Independent Thoughts existing in the minds of people everywhere, reached back and slapped her squarely across the jaw. Dumb ass, her Independent Thought thought.
The slap jarred her mind and the memory of the past seventy-two hours rushed back, in a whirlwind of the taxi, the plane, the raft, the pigmy. It was all too much for her to bear.
Why was the bald man with the green high-top sneakers chasing her? Why did she appear to be dressed as Marilyn Monroe in the "Seven Year Itch"? And why was the 7- Eleven out of her favorite shade of nail polish?
She looked up at the jungle roof and down at her fingernails. A faded Cool Mint Blue hue could still be seen on her thumb and index finger nails. Life is just too cruel, she thought.
At that moment, She wondered where Biff was? The last time she saw him he was busy avoiding her stripper friend, Debbie. At least, she thought he was avoiding her. Biff had been tied to a brass bed and had obviously hoped Debbie wouldn't notice him, when Jessica walked in on him.
The handcuffs had been a realistic touch but Jessica was curious as to why Biff was naked. She drifted back to her faded Cool Mint Blue nail polish.
Suddenly the jungle came to life. Screeches and screams filtered through the heavy undergrowth.
Jessica thought she recognized a slight disco beat but she was wrong.
The underbrush parted and a tribe of pigmies pranced through into the clearing, with their spears poised as they approached the tall white goddess. A sacrifice to Ned, they thought.
Jessica stood as the small dark skinned men, wearing banana peel g-strings, approached, mentally preparing for the ravaging, rape, abuse and other unspeakable atrocities the heathens would commit.
The chief, short by pigmy standards, pranced up to her. "I be chief." He pointed toward her and looked back at his tribesmen. "White b**ch fo' Ned," he proclaimed. The tribe cheered.
Jessica repeated the words to herself. "Hold on, Buster! Who are you calling a b**ch?!" The fact the pigmies spoke English seemed of little relevance to her. However, the secretary of her Independent Thought Collective tacked a small post-it note on the corkboard behind the desk area of her mind's office.
