Critics Are Raving About Hold the Beetroot!

Critics Are Raving 

About 

Hold The Beetroot!

Yes, the reviews are in! 

Destined to be a children’s classic, a colossal bestseller, blockbuster motion picture and pirated download… 

HOLD THE BEETROOT

by 

Rusty Pliers 

Here are just a few of the ravings from the minds of friends, family and lawyers about HOLD THE BEETROOT;

“It’s my son’s finest work,” said the author’s father. 

“It’s also his first, and am I proud!”

“I almost laughed out loud!” mimed Marcel Marceau.

“Really, I’m asking,” said his father again. “Am I supposed to be proud of this stuff? Half of it never even happened! What a liar! He doesn’t get it from my side of the family!”

“Reminiscent and imitative of Groucho Marx, only grouchier and not as funny!” claimed the lawyers of Groucho Marx’s estate. 

“We thought the same thing!” agreed the Samuel Clemens estate lawyers. “Only nowhere near as funny!

“We also thought the same thing!” said the Harpo Marx lawyers. “But we didn’t want to say anything.”

“We also also thought-a the same thing!” said the lawyers of Chico Marx’s estate.

“It’s almost funny in places, sometimes,” counterclaimed the author’s overworked lawyer. “I dare you to stay awake through it long enough to locate the plagiarisms! And that’s good enough, under the law!”

“Yeah? Under the law, eh? We wish he were under something… like the wheels of a truck!” counter-counterclaimed the lawyers from every Marx Brother’s estate.

“We won’t dignify this crap with the courtesy of a response!” said the heirs of Robert Benchley. “You’ll hear from our lawyers!”

“How come you didn’t plagiarize me?” wondered David Sedaris. “I’m every bit as funny as any Marx brother you can name. Except maybe Zippo! And I’m still alive!”

“You have to say this for HOLD THE BEETROOT, there’s nothing else like it in the marketplace today!” promised the author’s publisher. “And it’s strong on subtle, effective product placement!”

“Reading it made my eyes hurt,” effused the author’s ophthalmologist.

“It made me wish I were dead,” sighed Doctor Kevorkian. “Or Mr Pliers was!”

“It’s long, isn’t it?” queried the author’s brother, when asked to read it.

“It’s a daring concept for a humorist! Over 350 pages long, and only fourteen of them are funny!” said the author’s best friend, who declined to be named.

“I thought it was the funniest book I’ve ever read,” claimed the author’s wife. “At least the few pages I read were! Of course, I’m not much of a reader. I prefer yoga.”

“Tell us more about this Yoga fellow,” demanded Groucho’s lawyers. “Or did Mr Pliers shoot him in his pajamas, too?”

“I love HOLD THE BEETROOT! It couldn’t be better!” gushed the author’s sister. “A true masterpiece! Now, where’s my fifty bucks?”

“I couldn’t put it down,” raved Miss Sherman, the author’s former sixth grade teacher. “It stuck to my fingers like wet shit to a blanket!”

“He passed the sixth grade?” wondered the author’s third wife. “I thought he was illiterate!”

“That’s not true!!” objected his father. “I was married to his mother!”

“I never said he passed the sixth grade!” corrected Miss Sherman.

“A thousand monkeys on a thousand computers couldn’t come up with stuff this good,” said the author’s editor. “We’re gonna need more monkeys.”

“Its only weakness is the beginning, the middle and the end,” uttered Joseph Conrad via the crystal ball of a Gypsy fortuneteller. “And you will meet a tall, dark stranger… or soon take a long sea voyage, one of those.”

   I could go on, but why bother? 

All the reviews are as good as these.

Thank you.

And enjoy HOLD THE BEETROOT!

Prologue with Señoritas

I’ve always been a lucky son-of-a-bitch. 

Ask anybody. 

For instance, they paid me eight-and-a-half thousand dollars to write this prologue, and I haven’t even finished reading the manuscript I’m supposed to write the prologue for.

Wouldn’t you say that was lucky? 

Or at least admit that I’m a son-of-a-bitch?

My publisher finally tracked me down at El Gato in Madrid. “Where’s that prologue?” she demanded over the phone. “And keep it under five-hundred words this time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied sarcastically, trying not to let her hear me laughing with glee.

“Who’s that with you?” asked my publisher, somewhat annoyed. She thought I should always be writing, not enjoying myself in some tapas bar with the señoritas.

I covered the mouthpiece with my hand. “Shhh, she can hear you,” I said to Glee and the others. “Stop that! Please girls! I’ll be with you in a minute. Order me another Mahou and some croquetas, will you?” 

“Is that your wife?” asked another, reaching for the phone. “Let me talk to her.”

“He’s married?” asked a third. “He sure doesn’t act like it.”

“Shhhh,” I hissed at them. “Quiet girls, please!” 

“There’s nobody here with me,” I lied into the mouthpiece. “I’m writing.”

With any luck, of which I have plenty, I’ll knock this prologue out by siesta time, I thought. Then maybe go uptown, get a bite to eat. I know a great little place just off the Calle de Alcala.

“I need it by Friday,” said my publisher. 

“What’s the hurry?” I asked. “It’s just an autobiography by a broken-down old animator, isn’t it? How interesting could that be?”

“The Company thinks it has great potential,” she answered.

“He named it Hold the Beetroot, for fuck’s sake,” I said. “What does that even mean?”

“Remember, Rusty. By Friday please.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “Bye.”

“Don’t you hang up on me!”

“Eureka!” I answered. “Inspiration has just struck! Gotta go.” 

“Inspiration my ass! Listen, you no-good, lazy …”

I hung up.

Turning to the girls, I said, “Sorry ladies, I’ve got to get to work. Why don’t you meet me at La Paloma tonight about ten o’clock. Okay?”

The girls picked up their things and left, calling me a few choice names in Spanish.

That was okay. Luckily, I don’t speak Spanish very well, so I couldn’t be too offended.

The beer and croquetas arrived.

I picked up the manuscript and began to read…

New Year's Wishes from Rusty Pliers

Hello Everybody.

It’s me, Sam Ewing.

I’m the writer Rusty Pliers.

I’m writing this poem 

(Which does’t rhyme)

To simply say,

From Rusty and myself;

Thank You!

Thank you for reading Rusty Pliers this year!

We’ve come a long way together,

Or does it just feel like that?

Looking ahead to the coming year,

A cliche I found impossible to avoid

Even after three double martinis,

You might like to know that

Rusty has some good things cooking for 2016.

For instance, Rusty’s blog 

Will continue to post once a week. 

We think that’s enough Rusty for most folks. 

If you need more, let me know,

But I freely admit that 

At my age two or three times a week 

Is getting harder and harder to do.

[Pause for snickering?]

From time to time the blog will feature 

Rusty’s return to America in the 1980s 

And his subsequent career in big league animation.

I worked for Walt Disney, have I mentioned it?

Ha! Ha! Of course I have!

About a million times.

I like to brag about it. 

And in case that bores you,

Although I cannot imagine how,

There’ll also be the usual 

Shit you’ve come to expect

From the blog of Rusty Pliers!

“Oh yeah? I’ve slept in a garage, 

But that doesn’t make me an automobile!”

As my dad used to say.

I never knew quite what dad meant 

And he never explained it. 

But I threw that bit in

About him not being an automobile

To add depth and pathos to this poem,

Which sorely needs it right about here.

And to quash any rumors that I never knew who he was.

My father I mean.

Pathos?

I never knew him either.

Ha! Ha!

Funny, eh?

Touching too.

I’m touching myself right now.

If we get lucky 

And find a brilliant editor 

Dumb enough to work on spec 

(Like the rest of us do),

This coming year should see the launch of a few of Rusty’s books.

Order yours today!

Including a heartwarming masterpiece about a boy transplanted from California and growing up in New Zealand, currently entitled Hold the Beetroot.

There will also be collection of short stories.

And my first volume of Zen Poems.

I repeat, order yours today!

Maybe we can finally monetize this thing!

But I personally doubt it.

At the rate we’re going

I think the best we can hope for

Is that Rusty will finally get popular

Years after I’m dead.

Until then it’ll have to remain

What it’s always been;

Art for Art’s sake.

Rusty has plans to perform 

In person more often this year, too.

He wants to make new fans 

And connect with old ones.

He loves to wear the patch!

While consuming a few libations…

Before he falls off the stage.

Rusty has vowed that his performances

Will be 20% funnier this year.

Which shouldn't be too difficult,

Judging by last year

And a few of his odder readings.

But Rusty never promised,

While performing this act of his, 

To wear trousers, or refrain 

From so-called dangerous fire effects!

That’s a matter for the courts to decide.

Until then, why don’t you come out 

And see what happens

When Rusty reads?

There will also be a lot of creative nonsense posted to the internet

For a laugh and to build Rusty’s readership.

After all, frankly speaking,

That is our aim.

To have a laugh

And build Rusty’s readership.

We want to reach out 

And touch people

In a meaningful way.

But I’ve already mentioned the touching,

Haven’t I?

You might be surprised 

To have learned 

That we work pretty hard around here,

Me and the people who bring Rusty to life.

I know I was.

Yes! We’ve got stuff of all kinds in the works!

So please stay tuned 

To Rusty Pliers the Writer.

You won’t be disappointed.

I once had that whispered to me

By a beautiful Las Vegas hooker

In the bar of Caesar’s Palace,

And guess what?

She/he was right!

But that’s another story.

Sounds like a Rusty kind of story,

It being about Las Vegas.

It has a good moral too;

“Expect the unexpected.”

Aha! That Rusty!

He was born with a gift of laughter!

And a mighty thirst for the truth!

If it’s answers you seek,

He’s got the questions!

It doesn’t hurt that he’s a good kisser, either!

So I’ve been told.

You can find Rusty 

On Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, etc.

Please have a look

During your coffee break.

Or while you’re on the john.

But not while you drive, okay?

Because we love you.

It’s for you that we do 

All the crap I just mentioned.

That, and because we love nonsense

Of almost any kind around here.

So let me remind you please 

To enjoy your Rusty responsibly!

In order that I might sleep soundly at night,

And not be worried by what Rusty’s fans

Get up to on the roads

Or in the john 

Or elsewhere in this wicked world.

I beg of you be careful.

Rusty would not even exist without you.

Or he’d exist in my mind only,

Which would be a sad state of affairs,

And a sorry prison for Rusty Pliers.

Anyway, to end this non-rhyming poem

Where I began it, 

At the cliche-ridden bottom of 

The heart of Rusty Pliers,

I’ll say again;

Thanks for reading Rusty Pliers!

We love you!

Have a freakin 

Awesome 

New Year! 

And Good Luck 

For 2016!

Well, that about does it for my poem.

Time to put my work away.

I’m buying this round bartender,

Make mine a Harvey Wallbanger.

And please ask the boys in the backroom

What they’re having.

The drinks are on me!

(If you’ll accept my credit card.)

Bottoms up!

Er, excuse me miss.

You look familiar. 

Didn’t we once meet in Las Vegas?

Thanks for reading Rusty.

I love you.