Palamades Publishing: Get your fix of poetry, ghosts, and soon…giant robots. That’s right: Giant robots motha duckas!

Me and Bitefighter (my loyal buddy and 10 lb. Terrier Extraordinaire) are running through a meadow, tumbling around, rasslin’, and just generally enjoying being a Dude and his Dog.  Suddenly we see a herd of wild goats coming toward us, all smiley and prancey and cute.  I stop and put my hands on my hips, panting and grinning as they come closer.  Bitey also stops, mirroring my grin and wagging, letting out a playful RUFF as the goats come closer.  So cool!  I get on my haunches to compress my outline and put the goats at ease, when suddenly they stop and line up into neat, drill-field precise rows.  Their expressions go blank and stoney.  What the hell?  Suddenly I hear a tiny voice scream, “NOW!”  The bottom of the goats tear open with a rough riiiIIIIPPP! and legions of snarly, fish-eyed chihuahuas come tumbling out.  BALLS!  TROJAN GOATS!  Hordes of these little ankle biters come charging across the field, and me and Bitefighter haul ass back to the road where I’ve parked my moped.  I get on the seat and fire it up, while Bitefighter jumps in the tiny side-car I’ve jury-rigged just for him.  I gun the engine and we take off.  Wind screams by and Bitefighter shouts, “ROWF!”  I lock eyes with him.  His mustache is flipping crazily about from the wind, and I scream, “WHAT?”  He raises a forepaw and points behind us:  The chihuahuas are pursuing us on foot…and GAINING!  I throttle forward, maxing out our speed.  At this velocity, there’s no way they can catch us, right?  Right???  I look back and see that their eyes are glowing Terminator red.  Oh God—cyborg chihuahuas.  I am SCREWED!  The distance between us goes from a hundred yards to fifty; they’re slowly but surely catching up to us.  One last chance.  I throw my head back and scream, “PALAMEDES PUBLISHING!”  Magic flash.  Suddenly Bitefighter’s side car detaches, and spins into a brief donut.  WTF???  I come to a screeching halt, almost flying off my moped as I hit the brakes.  I turn around and see that Bitefighter’s side car is glowing with a strange, arcane light.  Suddenly it begins folding in on itself, and I see it’s smooth, ergonomic exterior morph into a hard-angled series of armor plates, each one threaded with sleek lines of green-lit circuits.  They fold over Bitefighter’s little paws, and a neural interface helmet lowers onto his doggy dome, covering his eyes with a robotic visor that, in terms of coolness factor, would put Cyclops’s ruby visor to shame.  Bitefighter has become some wondrous mix of dog and machine:  half-terrier, half mechanized bike-weapon.  With dawning joy, I realize I’m no longer looking at Bitefighter—now he’s BIKEFIGHTER!  He rasps out a take-no-prisoners “Roof.”  A staggeringly intricate array of techno-organic gunnery sprouts from the flanks of his side car, and he begins laying into the oncoming horde of chihuahuas with hundreds of micro-missiles that weave through the air, leaving beautiful contrails of winding smoke hanging behind them.  A heavy ion repeater unfolds from the chassis of his armor and begins laying down a merciless chitter of laser-fire.  Spectacular explosions erupt among the chihuahua horde, and I send a silent Thank You to the Dark Knight—my tiny mustachioed friend has once again saved my bacon.

The not-dogs wait.  The not-dogs plot.  Soon, they will deploy from an innocent-looking herd of goats and attempt to bring you down with their evil cyborg ways.  Fight them off with a robotically enhanced terrier-mix that has an 83rd level intellect.  Palamedes publishing.  Check out their revolutionary Responsive Books software here:  Responsive Books.  Check out their poetry here:  Manhattan They are currently assisting me with the process of getting Echo Volumes 1 & 2 in paperback.  For now, get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here:  Vol. 1 on Kindle.  Vol. 2 on Kindle here:  Vol.2 on Kindle  Vol. 3 on Kindle here:  Vol. 3 on Kindle

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