by David Beem
Meet Edger (Ed-jer), a twenty-six-year-old gadget retail dork destined to become the world’s first superhero!
His superpower: the ability to channel the Collective Unconscious, a psychic network connecting the living and the dead. In his arsenal are the skills of Bruce Lee, the strength of Samson, the wisdom of the ages…and the dancing chops of Michael Jackson—including that one twisty foot move, crotch grab, and fedora tilt.
But there’s a catch…
Like every psychic superpower to get administered through a hypodermic needle, this one comes with a prick. Someone seems to have misplaced the booster necessary for stabilizing his superpower. Without it, Edger has three days before his brain turns to pudding.
Join our Dork of Destiny as he overcomes the world’s greatest butt, two rival Cluck-n-Pray gangs, an evil cow, a Green Bay Defensive Tackle, rifle-toting assassins—and a pair of stoners who inadvertently create the world’s first supervillain after a wild night on Twitter!
Read an excerpt-
Wang and Shmuel at the Q
Wang ducks behind the postcard rack in the gift shop. Once the two security guards race past, he spins to face Shmuel, who is wearing a pair of Chargers sunglasses, a Chargers ski hat, three Chargers chain necklaces, and four Commemorative Chargers rings on each hand.
“What the hell are you doing?” snaps Wang.
“Put all that stuff back!”
“Imma get me some gold front teeth,” says Shmuel, grinning into the mirror at the top of the sunglasses rack.
“Dude, we don’t have time for this! Those guys are going after Chicowgo right now!”
“They are?” Shmuel takes off his shades and puts them back on the rack. “Now? How do you know?”
“I heard it on their radios. Chicowgo is in the visiting team’s locker room.”
“Well, that’s right over there.” Shmuel points without looking over his shoulder in the correct direction. Wang bites his lip, then drags Shmuel around to the other side of the sunglasses rack, so they’re obscured from the guard sitting next to the door with the big letters over it that spell: OFF LIMITS. Shmuel pushes Wang’s blocking arm down and peers around the sunglasses rack to where the guard is finishing his lunch from a Cluck-n-Pray bag.
“Is that…is that one of our brownies?”
“Well, that’s convenient,” says Shmuel, his eyebrows going up. “I mean, the one guard we need to sneak past to get Chicowgo back just happens to be eating one of our Very Special Brownies?”
Wang turns around to face him. “What’s your point?”
“Just doesn’t seem very plausible is all I’m saying.”
“Plausible? Plausible?” Wang frowns. “The fuck are you? A movie critic? Look. Just chat him up for five secs. I’ll slip by, take the elevator down, and get your damn cow back. How’s that sound?”
“I think it doesn’t sound very plausible?”
“Yeah? Well, that’s what they said about Donald Trump, and look how that turned out.”
“Shit, dude. You think the Russians are gonna make the Green Bay locker room great again?”
Wang’s eyes narrow. “Can you do your part of the job or not?”
“Chat up the security guard while you get Chicowgo back? Sure. But I don’t think it’s such a good idea to talk politics? I don’t know who he voted for.”
Wang shoves him toward the security guard. “Big fucking surprise. You don’t know who you voted for either, now get going!”
David Beem enjoys superhero movies, taekwondo, and flossing. He lives in Djibouti with his family and crippling self-doubt. Help actualize David’s inner confidence. Visit his website today, and buy all the stuff.