Hollywood Buckaroo by Tracy DeBrincat
There’s a Death Clock on the Internet that determines your expiration date. I enter my birthday (March 19), sex (M), height (5’9” in shoes), weight (178 on the right day), and consider the pre-determined personality “mode” options. Let’s say I’m feeling pessimistic. In that case, I’ll officially kick the bucket Friday, July 16, 2016, with 249,869,065 seconds left to live and counting. If I pretend my mode is optimistic, my last day on planet Earth reconfigures to Saturday, June 7, 2059, with some 1,619,220,588 seconds before I croak. That’s a whole 43 additional years. Over a trillion seconds. With just one little lie, I could live longer than I’ve lived already, and then some. - p. 9
“Let’s make a connection, Sander. Come on!” I refused, staying at the table and ordering myself another martini as I watched her congratulate that douchebag, watched his tumescent eyes lean into her cleavage while he pulled her toward him to whisper something in her ear, watched the light and shadow play on her white throat as she threw back her head and laughed deliciously.
- p. 56
Death -- though I would hate to actually know when I die! Then some sexy flirtation, no matter if he's a douchebag. How can this be boring? Hollywood Buckaroo looks like a riproaring read! What do you think?
What's on Amazon:
"Hollywood Buckaroo will have a joyous ring of truth to anyone who has toiled (or tried to) in the crazy, silly, and ultimately bizarre world of show business that is brought to life so wonderfully within these pages."—Ron McLarty, best-selling author of The Memory of Running and Traveler
What can happen to a director on a failing shoot? Plenty, as all aspects of life are thrown his way. Amid his efforts to save the doomed project, eccentric locals crack open his heart and jumpstart his creative juices.