Eats Poo is politically incorrect and at times blatantly inappropriate, but it is amazing. I’m fairly certain that enjoying this novella as much as I did may send me to hell, but I’d also bet that it was worth it. If you are easily offended, this novella is probably one you’ll want to skip, but I think you’d be missing out.” ~ Booksessed
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Please continue reading for an excerpt from My Mormon Crush, My Dog Eats Poo.
You can also continue reading for an excerpt from Fourteen Days Later, a romantic comedy by Sibel Hodge that was short listed for the Harry Bowling Prize 2008 and received a Highly Commended by the Yeovil Literary Prize 2009. Written in a similar style to Sophie Kinsella and Marian Keyes, it is My Big Fat Greek Wedding meets Bridget Jones. Fourteen Days Later is available from Amazon.com and all the online retail stores.
My Mormon Crush, My Dog Eats Poo
Chapter One
“All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.”
~ Tinker Bell
J.M. Barrie (Peter Pan)
Well . . . that’s what Tinker Bell said.
I say, “All of Utah is made of Mormons, arid deserts and seagull poo.”
Monica and I were leisurely shunting out of the school compound when a seagull swooped down on us. Heroically, I pushed Monica to the ground and yelled, “TAKE COVER! INCOMING! MORMON BOMBER!”
The Mormon Bomber went Splat Splat Splat, firing its mess all over Monica. Then the pigeon on steroids zoomed off into the cotton clouds.
I glanced down to assess the damage. Phew! I sagged with relief; I’d gotten off scot-free. Then I checked out how Monica had fared.
Crapola! She was drenched in seagull poo.
I snorted loudly. “You’ve got seagull shadoobs all over you,” I pointed out. And then I went, “Bwarhahahahahaha.”
Graciously, I handed Monica a Kleenex.
She grabbed it and huffed, “Why the balls is Utah teeming with seagulls when there are no friggin’ oceans nearby? And they’re supposed to bomb the Mormons. Not us!”
I gave a slight shrug. “I think according to them (ze Mormons), God sent the seagulls to eat up the grasshoppers that were destroying the crops in the 1800s.”
Monica stared at me as I were an alien from planet Kolob. Um, planet Kolob is where ze Mormons believe God lives.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I squawked. “I’m just repeating what I’ve heard.”
A crooked woman with a crooked walk must have caught snippets of our conversation, because she stopped in her tracks and tutted, “Oh yes, those grasshoppers are also known as Mormon Crickets and those bugs terrified the pioneers. And with a lot of prayer, God worked His miracle and sent the seagulls to save us all.”
Then she handed us a copy of The Book of Mormon and hobbled off with her crooked stick.
We gaped at her, openmouthed. Dumbfounded.
Typical.
I’ll just add this to my bajillion copies of The Book of Mormon.
Welcome to Salt Lake City, Utah, where the Mormons preach, “Our Jesus is better than your Jesus.” Where you can buy Polygamy Porter, a beer with the infamous slogan: Why have just one?
Helllllllp! Somebody get me outta here!
Monica and I were still strolling home from school and the sky was still teeming with seagulls.
Glug. Glug. I heard Monica’s belly rumble.
“Dammit!” she cursed under her breath. “I want a pork Barbacoa burrito.”
“I want to marry a pork Barbacoa burrito,” I moaned.
“My mom makes the best Barbacoa burritos. I can have her make some next week,” Monica offered, “and I’ll mail it to you!”
“You mean like a mail order burrito husband?” I tripped over a crack on the sidewalk. “Not from Russia, but from Mexico?”
“Oh snap! That’s heaven.” Monica released a dreamy sigh. “And he will have Mexican Monterey cheese hair.”
Half an hour later, we breezed into the best Mexican joint in Utah—Cafe Rio. While scarfing down our Barbacoa burritos, Monica proffered, “Weight Watchers is watching us.”
I giggled. “Who’s watching Weight Watchers?”
Monica sipped her Coke and seemed to ponder this for a bit. “Why, Acai Berry, of course.”
When I got home,