Tag Archives: twilight parody

Pride and Prejudice and Vampires is FREE today and tomorrow!

19 Oct
Click here to download my tasteless, tacky and crude parody for FREE on Kindle today and tomorrow.
PJ Jones doesn’t just take fiction and make it funny. First she bludgeons it, butchers it, pulverizes it, and then regurgitates the indigestible parts onto the page. So if you are bold enough to click on that purchase button, just be warned; if your laugh-o-meter is set to prude, not crude, and you have high literary standards, or ANY standards at all, you will be sadly disappointed, plus you may vomit a little in your mouth.

If you are ready to take a jaunt through low-brow inane prose, join Elizabeth Bennet and her vampire family as they disgrace a once-esteemed novel while feasting on toad-faced suitors, servants and orphans. Mmmmm.

Thank goodness for Mr. Darcy, who tries to steer Elizabeth back on script, and preserve whatever dignity is left of Jane Austen’s good name, while at the same time, salivating over Elizabeth Bennet’s huge breasts.

Included in this shameless satire is more rip-snortin’ good fun, a collection of eight short paranormal parodies: The Guide to Immortal Sex; The PMS Vampire, Werewolf and Zombie Handbook; Melvin the Vacuum Salesman Zombie; and a few other nameless, tasteless short stories.

What are you waiting for? Either buy the book or get out now before you suffer permanent brain damage.

*** Praise for Pride and Prejudice and Vampires ***

From Jane Austen: This book motivated me to return from beyond the veil of mortality so that I might smack PJ Jones upside the head.

From PJ Jones’ neighbor’s dead cat: I can’t believe I wasted one of my nine lives reading this book.

From Melvin the zombie: Brains. Books. Brains.

From the flasher in the Safeway parking lot: Come a little closer. I’ve got something else for you to read.

From the sanitation truck driver in PJ’s neighborhood: I knew there was a strange smell coming from PJ’s house.

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Books that Don’t Suck!

19 Jul

Hi, I’ve been busy writing, trying to finish up my latest parody. Please join me at The Eclective for a Books that Don’t Suck post where I review, Milligan and the Samurai Rebels by Simon Alexander Collier, a must read book for enyone who wants a good laugh.

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In the meantime, here’s another scene from Pride, Prejudice and Sparkly Vampires.  

Lydia and her sister Elizabeth stood on the street corner as they hungrily eyed the redcoats who were swarming their village like flies to a corpse. After last night’s fiasco, Lydia was no longer allowed to patrol the town without at least one of her sisters, which totally sucked because neither Jane nor Elizabeth were as slutty as she. Lydia hoped Elizabeth didn’t plan on ruining all of her fun today.

Though Lydia’s stomach was full off the blood of two sick elderly people and a stable boy, her desire was still not sated. She pulled down her tight bodice to expose generous amounts of cleavage, hoping her brass invitation would draw in soldiers. It wasn’t long before Lydia’s plaything, Denny, happened by, along with another fine looking officer.

“Denny,” Lydia squealed, “over here.”

When Denny spotted Lydia and Elizabeth, all the color drained from his face and he looked as if he’d turn and run.

Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and bore down upon him with her, red, demonic gaze. Denny’s shoulders fell and he sulked across the cobblestone road toward the sisters. Much to Lydia’s satisfaction, his sexy friend followed alongside him.

“Oh, hello, Miss Lydia,” Denny said through a shaky voice as he dropped his gaze to Lydia’s feet.

Lydia pointed to the ground and screamed. “On all fours when you address me!”

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia.” Denny immediately fell to the ground.

Lydia leaned over and nudged Elizabeth. “Told you I’ve got him wrapped around my finger.” She kicked Denny once in the chin for good measure. “Who’s your friend?”

“M-miss Lydia and Miss Elizabeth,” Denny cried as he spit out a wad of blood and tooth, “I’d like to introduce you to my friend, George Wickham.”

George Wickham was a fine specimen to behold—hair as black as a raven’s wing, eyes the color of midnight, high chiseled cheekbones and full lips set above a square jawline. But what was most striking about George Wickham was the prodigious bulge beneath the front of his form-fitting breeches, leaving Lydia to wonder if he’d just taken a huge backwards shit, or if he truly was hung like a horse.

He bowed ever so slightly and planted a delicate kiss on each of their hands. “A pleasure to meet you both.” When he righted his posture, Lydia could not mistake the wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Aren’t you a sexy piece of man meat?” she cooed.

“Look, Lydia,” Elizabeth growled into Lydia’s ear, “there’s Mr. Bingley and his douchewad friend.”

Lydia snarled at the two men on horseback riding through the street. They stopped only to tip their hats at Lydia and her sister. But they completely ignored Lydia’s other companions.

“Oh, how rude!” Lydia hissed. She was so angry, she kicked Denny between the legs. He fell to his side and clutched his groin like a dirty dog.

Elizabeth gaped at George Wickham. “Did that dicknozzle just give you the cold shoulder?”

George heaved a resonant sigh as he turned baleful eyes upon Elizabeth and Lydia. “So you noticed. Yes, Mr. Darcy’s animosity for me is quite tragic, really. He’s the reason I was forced to join the regiment.”

“Look.” Lydia held out a silencing palm. “I’m going to be blunt here and tell you that I’m really not interested in your pathetic backstory.”

“Oh, pray tell me what interests you?” George Wickham folded his arms across his massive chest and then he did something remarkable. He licked his eyebrows.

Lydia gaped at George Wickham for a long moment before turning to her sister. “Did you just see that?” She pointed at Wickham’s mouth. “That. That interests me.”

ROMANCE NOVEL is FREE on Kindle today – Download your trashy parody now!

19 May

Will Smella and Deadward find true love, or will Smella’s fish tacos ruin the moment? Is Flabio a real cover model? How many landfills can a vampire fill in an eternity? Find out in ROMANCE NOVEL—the unabridged, unauthorized comedic look at the bestselling vampire series that will leave you wondering who the hell ever believed vampires could “sparkle.” And you’ll laugh…all the way to the bathroom!

Here’s a scene from chapter 11:

Then music from the loudspeakers overhead came to an abrupt end, and the faint echo of Native American pan flutes reverberated throughout the arena.

Smella scanned the crowd for Snake, knowing he must have made his entrance.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea. He was standing at the far end of the arena, a soft breeze ruffling his tall headdress and long dark mane, his bare chest glistening under the glow of the artificial lights overhead.

Slowly, he made his way toward Smella, the breeze picking up slightly, as his hair whipped wildly about his face. The harmony of pan flutes grew louder.

He continued on, the feral gleam in his eyes, making him look like a lone wolf stalking his prey.

Smella gulped, hard, knowing she was the object of Snake Long’s desire.

The current of wind, which was strangely blowing inside the confines of the stadium, strengthened, blowing Snake’s headdress off his head. Shielding his eyes with his hands, Snake trudged on against the gale and onslaught of pan flute music, until finally he’d reached Smella.

The wind and music simultaneously died down as he sat beside her.

Snake took a moment to catch his breath, fanning his face with his hand.

Smella grabbed his large forearm, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot down her spine at the feel of his hot, sweaty skin on hers. “Are you alright?” she asked.

Snake held up a silencing finger. He pulled out an inhaler from the front of his doeskin pants, and breathed in several puffs of medicine.

With a steadying hand on his chest, he finally spoke. “My dad gave me a nickel to tell you to tell Deadward, we’ll be watching you.”

Smella quirked a brow. “A nickel?”

“It’s a tough economy right now, Smella,” he berated her with a condescending tone.

“Alright,” she answered, a puzzled expression in her otherwise vacant eyes.

“Anyway, you should stay away from Deadward.” Snake poked her chest with an accusatory finger. “He’s bad news.”

Smella jerked her head, snickering. “He’s also rich and white.”

“You’ve got a point.” He shrugged. “But just be careful.”

“Oh, Snake,” Smella cried, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face against his lean, hard, sweaty chest. “What would I do without a friend like you?”

Snake pulled her closer, roaming the length of her back with his large hands. Then he cupped her buttocks and squeezed.

Smella moaned against his throat before tracing his collarbone with delicate kisses.

With one swift movement, Snake had pulled her up on his lap.

She straddled his thighs, wrapping two long legs around his back. They groped each other while making out with lots of spit and tongue action.

The room fell hush, but they were heedless of anything else but each other.

With Smella’s assistance, Snake had pulled her shirt over her head, and he was busy struggling with the clasps on her lacy black bra.

After the distinctive sound of Deadward clearing his throat behind her, Smella retracted her tongue and fought against the suction of Snake’s lips.

Wrenching her lips free, Smella came up for air, her body heaving as she panted like a dog in heat.

She wiped a prodigious amount of saliva off her face and angled her head toward the fuming Deadward behind her.

Batting long lashes, she feigned innocence. “Oh, hi, Sweetie. I was just having a chat with Snake.”

“Yeah,” Snake spoke in between gasps. “We were talking about the weather.”

It was then that Smella noticed every cowboy and cowgirl in Pitchforks was standing behind Deadward, eyes as wide as saucers as they glared at her half-naked body.

Smella could feel her face turning ten shades of red. Everyone was staring at her tits, and she was wearing the bargain brand bra she’d gotten from Wal-Mart, not the second skin satin from Victoria’s Secret.

But it was too late to run home and change bras now. So she slid off Snake, retrieving her shirt from behind his broad back, and then quickly dressed.

“I’ll see you later, Smella,” Snake called as he made a hasty retreat through the crowd.

“Yeah, nice talking to you,” Smella called back with feigned disinterest before turning her gaze to Deadward.

He was standing there, blood-stained mouth agape, with a large diet soda in one hand and a popcorn in the other.

“Oh, thanks!” she squealed, taking the snacks from him. “I’m famished.”

Shaking their heads in disgust, the crowd returned to their dancing. Smella could have sworn she heard the women snickering about Wal-Mart lingerie.