As long as I'm ranting and raving, I have another bone to pick, only this time it's with our illustrious strangeland's author Ray Weeks.
Now Ray is a drunken chain smoker with the eating habits of a bear in a trash dump, so really he's a man after my own heart and I don't like to harsh him too much. Especially since he and I are probably in a neck and neck race to an early grave, and I'm hoping that if he gets there first he'll put in a good word for me, but by gum, enough is enough.
So, he starts this "challenge". "Two heart beats from falling blah blah blah".
Near as I can tell, it's about some kid having trouble gettin round the bases during his first at bat. Trouble with the bra, insecurities, hair, heavy breathing, etc.
Finally, after much bad noise directed my way, I pick up the gauntlet. Only I'm sick of all this whiny can't get down her pants stuff so I spice it up. I give the story a pack of super-intelligent killer canines and a circus complete with the burning clowns Ray more or less forced me to write into the thing.
What does he do?
Uh huh, that's right...*shudder*... he moves it five years further down the line with the same kid and the same dame and it's all about the kid still trying to get round the bases, only this time he throws in some tidbits about shopping!
Now Ray, I know you're in Love. It happens to the best of us, hell it's wrecked my life on a regular basis, but why don't you do us a favor and crawl under your couch and see if you can find those testicles you seem to have misplaced and throw us some good blood, gore and guts and get this end of the world thing back on track.
Course, that's just my two cents...