Let’s cut right through the meat of the matter and get down to the bare, bloody bone—Zimbabwe Hustle is ferociously funny. Chuckles galore, as well as some full-fledged guffaws. If I was one of the cool kids instead of old enough to be a cool kid’s parent, I would cheekily say it made me LOL. (Wait, do cool kids still use that acronym now that even gray-haired grandmas know what it means?) Award-winning author Nate Granzow knows his way around thrillers and he’s released some quality adventure literature over the years, but never before has he tried his hand at anything this overtly comedic. Oh, there’s drug dealers and hot strippers and nymphomaniac widows and Yakuza henchmen and the mandatory fisticuffs and gunplay the genre demands, but the elements are served up at a skewed angle designed to tickle your funny-bone. With its myriad of moving parts that all converge violently during the climax and its frequent moments of off-kilter humor, it’s a novel begging to become a movie directed by Quentin Tarintino. Our agents of comedic chaos are a hard-drinking, braggadocios big-game hunting guide named Gabriel McCollough, and his nephew Callum Bailey, an ex-Hollywood stunt driver blackballed after erroneously eradicating an exotic sports car, now dodging projectile monkey dung as a menial zoo minion. They hatch a money-making scheme that seems so surface-level simple: tranquilize the zoo animals and allow rich wannabe hunters to be photographed with the sleeping creatures as if they had legitimately slain the beasts. The hunters get photographic proof of their machismo with which to impress their buddies, the animals get nothing more than a nice nap, and Gabriel and Callum get thousands of dollars richer. Except their first client gets crushed by a not-quite-sleeping elephant, and his flattened corpse kicks off a chain of misfortune that simply must be read to be believed. Granzow captures all the sordid, WTF moments with the skilled prose of a true professional, effortlessly juggling all the moving parts and smashing them together with the deft command of a genuine word-master. The so-called butterfly effect is in full swing here, where seemingly random, unrelated events wind up having a major impact when the brilliant climax is revealed. Granzow has branched outside his usual niche, no doubt challenging himself as an author, and the result is the best book of his illustrious career. Zimbabwe Hustle is vastly entertaining, one of the most amusing novels I have read in quite some time. The outrageous scenarios, colorful characters, and witty dialogue will have you grinning from the lion testicles on the first page to the poignant twist on the last page. Yes, I said lion testicles … read it now, thank me later. Because even if you had to run barefoot across the African plains while being chased by starving hyenas in order to obtain a copy of this novel, it would totally be worth it.
Adam Howe is the author I never knew I needed in my life. One minute I had never heard of him, and the next minute I read “Gator Bait” and immediately realized I had been missing a writer who could combine black-as-Beelzebub’s-bunghole humor with unrepentant, in-your-face violence, all spelled out with vivid, high-voltage prose. Yep, Mr. Howe filled a void in me. Uh, a literary void, that is. It’s a pleasure to feature him here on Guns ‘n’ Guts, where he was kind enough to discuss Steven Seagal, Skunk Apes, and oversized phalluses, not necessarily in that order.
GNG: OK, let’s buckle right down to the important stuff. You’ve come out of the closet regarding your Nicolas Cage obsession—hell, you even had the guy cameo in your last novel, Tijuana Donkey Showdown—so I have to ask: which Nicolas Cage performance is your favorite? HOWE: Sorry to disappoint, but as much as I admire the work of Mr. Cage, I’m not an obsessive fan by any means. The reference to Cage in “Damn Dirty Apes”—the first of the Reggie Levine misadventures/clusterfucks—was little more than a throwaway line. Cage just seemed to me to be the most likely candidate to play Reggie in a movie of “Apes,” as occurs within the world of the story. In fact, given some of the shitty DTV schlock Cage has been making lately, “Apes” would be a step up in quality. At the time of writing “Apes,” I didn’t know I’d be returning to the Reggie Levine character … or that Cage himself would cameo in the sequel, Tijuana Donkey Showdown. Call it a lucky accident.
As for my personal favorite Cage performance, it’s next to impossible to pick just one. I do have a favorite Cage hairpiece, however. Which is, of course, the Cameron Poe mullet he adopted for his role in Con Air. Not only does this hairpiece cameo in Tijuana Donkey Showdown, along with Cage himself, but it inspired me to write perhaps my finest death scene: strangulation by mullet. (Ordinarily that would merit a spoiler tag, but you’ve kinda gotta read it to believe it, folks.) GNG: The only way to top that is death by merkin. While much of your writing defies rigid classification, if I had to slap a label on it, I would call it redneck crime/noir. (As a side note, folks, that tag doesn’t even begin to do Howe’s work justice.) What makes the lowlife, sleazeball sub-genre so appealing to you? HOWE: Dumb-ass characters make dumb-ass decisions, which lead me down the strangest paths and allow the kind of blackly comic scenarios I like to write about. I would hope that readers of my work are smarter than my characters, which allows a sense of schadenfreude. That’s what I write: schadenfreude noir. Also, I’m a recovering addict. Seven years sober this year. My drinking days were nothing like as exciting as the stories I write, but I guess in writing about these lowlife sleazeballs and their doomed schemes, there’s a part of me still vicariously slumming it. GNG: “Dumbass schadenfreude” should definitely be an official genre. Are there other genres you would like to take a crack at someday? I’m betting you could write the blazes out of some Sasquatch-on-unicorn bondage erotica. HOWE: Who’s to say I’m not already writing cryptid porn under a pseudonym? (Shit, I daresay there’d be more money in it than what I’m currently writing!) Nah, I’m pretty comfortable in the crime/horror/thriller genres. I don’t see that changing anytime soon … though I do dig the “splatter action” you write, so that may be something I’d like to take a stab at someday. GNG: I highly recommend you try some “splatter action." Unless you want to make money, in which case you should stick with cryptid porn. Is there a certain author (or authors) that you draw inspiration from? Or is all the demented madness solely from the disturbed depths of your warped brain? HOWE: Beyond the primary influences we latch onto as beginning writers, who help shape our style—and for me these included Stephen King (big surprise) and Shane Black—these days it’s the discovery of new-to-me writers who most inspire me and re-energize my work. When my own work is feeling stale, the surprise connection to a fresh voice can be like a jolt of adrenaline and a creative kick in the ass. That’s how I felt reading for the first time the likes of Johnny Shaw, Duane Swierczynski, Jordan Harper—and most of all, Joe Lansdale. Lansdale has been perhaps the biggest influence on my later work. That’s when I started moving away from the Stephen King-style stuff I thought I should be writing, as a so-called “horror” writer, and began writing my OWN stuff, for better or worse. GNG: Anyone who can’t see the Lansdale influence—but not mimicry—in your work is blinder than a no-eyed monkey. You possess an unabashed love for ‘80s action cinema. Tell us why that particular era appeals to you so much and, on a related note, tell us your opinion of the definitive ‘80s action flick. Personally, I thought the genre peaked with Ernest Saves Christmas… HOWE: I dig the earnest machismo of ‘80s action cinema, the “toxic masculinity,” if you will. Consider the cast of Predator—Arnold fuckin’ Schwarzenegger, Carl fuckin’ Weathers, Bill fuckin’ Duke, Jesse fuckin’ Ventura, Sonny fuckin’ Landham—that’s a cast to give a hard-on a hard-on! Now consider the cast for the upcoming Predator flick … I don’t know about you, but I’m flaccid. Where have all the tough guy actors gone? Clearly they don’t make ‘em in America anymore. Today’s action stars are mostly Brits (God save the Queen!) and Aussies. That’s a sorry state of affairs, man. When it comes to action movies, I want a star who looks like he could kick ass (not some RADA-trained pansy who boot-camped for the role); I want stunt guys risking life and limb performing real stunts, none of this physics-defying CGI shit; I want real explosions, real car crashes; I want squibs inflicting Verhoeven-style carnage, not computer-generated muzzle flash and fake blood. Suspend my disbelief, motherfuckers! I feel sorry for the kids of today with this endless glut of socially conscious superhero garbage. They will never know the dubious pleasures of an Action Jackson, a Roadhouse, a Stone Cold, or a Cobra. And this is why society is doomed.
GNG: I really wish Stallone would stop dinking around with Rocky sequels and give us Cobra 2. You recently started a publishing company—Honey Badger Press—and the first release was an anthology called Wrestle Maniacs. What made you want to publish that particular collection first? HOWE: Like so many of my grand schemes, none of it was planned in advance. I first pitched the idea for a wrestling anthology to another small press publisher. With myself attached as editor/writer, the publisher authorized me to run with the idea. I assembled a kick-ass lineup of writers … only for the publisher to nix the deal within a few weeks of the deadline. I’d already received a bunch of stories from the writers and felt like a heel for letting them down, so I decided to test the waters of self-publishing and release the book myself. To be honest, pro wrestling is something I know little about. Of course, I watched it as a kid, but these days I’m a boxing fan. That said, in researching my own contribution to the book, a Reggie Levine story called “Rassle Hassle,” I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the circus-on-steroids world of pro wrestling really compliments the crazy shit I write about. Such that I suspect it’s a subject I’ll return to further down the line, if not in another volume of Wrestle Maniacs—judging by the sales so far, I may have vastly overestimated the demand for an anthology of wrestling fiction! GNG: Maybe a horror anthology set in the world of ballerinas would do better? Just a thought. Anyway, what is the single most important piece of advice you would give to aspiring authors? (Other than become bosom buddies with Lee Child and James Patterson.) HOWE: I was just discussing this very question over brunch with Lee and Jimmy and we all agreed: be careful whom you ask to blurb your work. After writing the first of the Reggie Levine misadventures, “Damn Dirty Apes,” which involves a backwoods safari for the rogue cryptid that has abducted a porn star, I made the mistake of submitting the galleys to the Society for the Preservation of the North American Skunk Ape, in the hope they might endorse the book. I know, I know! The S.P.N.A.S.A. has far more important things to do than read dumb-ass fiction. But I was new to the writing game and naively assumed it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Little did I know the hell I had wrought. I have no wish to recount my ordeal (and my legal counsel advises it’s probably for the best that I let sleeping skunk apes lie) but here’s a link for anyone who wishes to read what has become known among Forteans as … “The Damn Dirty Apes Controversy.” GNG: Clearly those skunk ape lovers are not be trifled with. Your fiction often takes bloody, disgusting turns (that’s praise, by the way). Is there a line you won’t cross, some taboo that you refuse to tackle? Ever started to write a scene and then hauled back on the reins because you thought, Naw, that is just too messed up? HOWE: The pat answer here is pedophilia—at least, it used to be, before today’s “triggered” culture made everything “problematic.” But nothing’s off limits, as far as I’m concerned. It all boils down to tone and I like to think my readers are adults. I find it hard enough to write, period, without censoring myself. I’ve begun seeing writers (mostly indie writers; the pros know better) announce on social media that they will no longer write stories (fiction, mind you) involving violence against women or guns; well-intentioned though this may be, it’s baffling to me that a writer of horror or crime FICTION would allow a knee-jerk reaction to current events to limit their imagination in any way. Now I’m not advocating shooting women in books, but c’mon, enough with the fucking grandstanding. We’re storytellers, not politicians.
That said, I was a little worried about the graphic violence in my story “Die Dog or Eat the Hatchet”—not least that I had that kind of sick shit in my head! But it was written for the extreme horror market. I figured if the book offended anyone, they were in the wrong place, not me. GNG: For the record, I loved that “sick shit.” Not sure what that says about me, but I’ll let some high-falutin’ therapist figure that out somewhere down the road. You have published multiple novellas and short stories, but only one full-length novel. Do you prefer the shorter format, or did things just work out that way?
HOWE: I guess it depends on the story, the book, and the author, but I do think that novellas and short novels work best for genre fiction. Especially the kinda stuff I write, or have written so far. My brand of “screwball action” would be exhausting at War and Peace length. My latest book, Scapegoat, co-written with James Newman, weighs in at 60k words, my longest work so far. 60-80k words feels about right for a genre novel, I reckon. Given how the digital age has affected our attention spans—what were we talking about again?—I’m surprised novellas aren’t more popular with mainstream readers. GNG: Sometimes shorter is better. Speaking of that … they say to write what you know. Since so many of your characters are down-on-their-luck dirtballs with oversized phalluses, what should we infer about you? HOWE: Modesty forbids me from bragging about my giant cock, but I’m pleased you caught the subtext of my work (even if it does sound a little like you’re soliciting for dick pics … sent, by the way). In my defense, the genitals in question belong to porn performers, a dwarf and a donkey respectively. I’m reliably informed (because I don’t watch that stuff, mom) that adult entertainers are not typically known for having small penises (though of course, the camera adds a few pounds). So cut me some slack, man. Readers have come to expect a certain gritty realism from my work and I’m nothing if not a people-pleaser. GNG: Thanks for those pics, by the way. They’ve been submitted to Guinness Book of World Records in the “World’s Tiniest…” category. Okay, another very important question: Nicholas Cage in Con Air versus Steven Seagal in Out for Justice. Who takes the crown?
HOWE: Seagal, easy! Con Air is trash. Glorious trash, sure. And Cage’s portrayal of Cameron Poe is nothing short of extraordinary—how the producers allowed him to get away with that mullet, that accent, I’ll never know. But Out for Justice I consider to be one of the greatest street-level action pictures ever made. (Right up there with Ricochet and Judgment Night.) It’s like Seagal watched Goodfellas and decided the only things missing were his ponytail and aikido. I even named my dog after Big Steve’s character, Gino Felino. I realize that Seagal has become something of a joke nowadays, but there was a time when he was The Man … though Van Damme fans might take exception to that. (Seagal fans and JCVD fans are kinda like ‘cat and dog people.’) Big Steve’s early run of pictures, from Above the Law to Out for Justice, are fuckin’-A classics. And you can take that to the bank! Here’s a piece I wrote on Seagal and Out for Justice: "An Appreciation of Steven Seagal's Out for Justice" GNG: I hate cats. Just wanted to put that out there. Okay, let’s wrap this up by having you tell us what’s next for you. (Unless it involves shaved gerbils and extra chunky peanut butter. Oh God, I just gave you a story idea, didn’t I…) HOWE: You kid about the gerbil, but in fact I’ve already written that story. It’s called “Foreign Bodies” and was first printed in the Chopping Block Party anthology published by Necro Press, and is due to be reprinted in the Year’s Best Hardcore Horror Vol. 3 from Comet Press. It’s about a Z-list Hollywood fixer, a disgraced children’s TV host called Uncle Buddy, and a gerbil called Gerry. I’m talking with Disney for the movie. Beyond that, James “Ugly as Sin” Newman (that’s the name of his novel, not a comment on his appearance) and I have an ‘80s-set occult thriller called Scapegoat coming out later this year. Here’s the synopsis: “For metal-heads Mike Rawson, Lonnie Deveroux, and Pork Chop, an RV road trip to Wrestlemania III becomes a one-way ticket to hell. While delivering an illegal shipment of counterfeit wrestling merchandise, an ill-fated shortcut through the Kentucky backwoods brings them into contact with a teen-aged girl carved head to toe in arcane symbols, and with a horrifying story to tell. Soon our unlikely heroes are being hunted through the boonies by a cult of religious crazies who make the Westboro Baptists look like choirboys; a cult that will stop at nothing to get the girl back and complete a ritual that has held an ancient evil at bay for centuries … until now.” Sounds OK, right? We’re looking forward to sharing that one. I’m also taking another crack at my long-gestating ode to ‘80s/’90s action cinema, One Tough Bastard, a ‘buddy’ caper about a washed-up ‘80s action star called Shane Moxie and a talking chimpanzee called Duke exposing a crazy-ass criminal conspiracy in Hollywood (of all places!).
GNG: If you don’t have a scene with that chimp firing dual Uzis, then I’m going to be very disappointed. Thanks for the chat. Now stop wasting time giving interviews and start writing your next masterpiece, will ya? The world needs more books with long-schlonged donkeys and automatic weapons. Adam on Amazon Adam on Facebook Adam on Twitter
One-liners are almost as important to action movies as guns and explosions. (Back in the ‘80s, they were arguably more important.) Some are cool, some are corny, and the best are usually a bit of both. I’m not here to argue that the below list consists of the ten greatest one-liners ever committed to film, but they are my ten favorites. Some are badass, some are eye-rollers, but I’m fond of them all. Here they are, in no particular order: 1. “Yippee ki yay, motherfucker.” ~ John McClane (Bruce Willis, Die Hard)
2. “You’re a disease, and I’m the cure.” ~ Marion Cobretti (Sylvester Stallone, Cobra)
Allow me to preface this review by admitting that I know Nate Granzow. And by “know,” I mean we bang around in some of the same social media circles and occasionally exchange online pleasantries. It does not mean “know” in the biblical sense, nor does it mean this review is biased. But if you want to assume either of those things, well, to paraphrase Bobby Brown … that’s your prerogative. With that all cleared up, let’s buckle down to the actual review, shall we? Cogar’s Despair is the highly entertaining debut of one of the unlikeliest heroes you’ll ever encounter in the modern action-adventure genre. Grant Cogar is not a guns-‘n’-guts warrior like John Rambo/Matrix/Wick, so if you’re despondent over the endless parade of superhuman macho operatives clogging up today's action thrillers, then Cogar will be a refreshing change of pace. A sarcastic (the droll quips are the highlight of the novel), brash, unapologetic, womanizing—did I mention sarcastic?—underdog, Grant is anything but your cookie cutter action protagonist. If you’re looking for the standard-issue tropes of bulging muscles, overcompensating firepower, and a triple digit corpse-count, then this is not the novel you seek. You most definitely will not mistake Cogar for The Executioner, The Specialist, The Penetrator, or any of those ilk (nothing wrong with any of those, mind you, but this is not that). Of course, you won’t mistake him for Pollyanna either… As envisioned by expert wordsmith Nate Granzow, Cogar is the kind of everyman who stumbles into bad situations—like torture-happy Shanghai drug runners—and tries to use his fast-talking mouth to get out of them, resorting to fists (and, at the very end, weapons) when words just won't work and something more violent than a sharp tongue is required. It’s not that Cogar won’t resort to bloodshed; it’s just not his first option, unlike most of his trigger-happy contemporaries. The novel is briskly-paced and packed with plenty of twists and turns, but regardless of which way the plot snaked, I was mostly just interested in what Cogar would say next. There are some laugh-out-loud insults and stellar dialogue in here, falling somewhere between Indiana Jones, Spiderman, and every crass drunk you've ever encountered. I’m not sure if “smartass adventurer” is an actual subgenre, but if there is, Grant Cogar belongs at the head of the pack. Come for the smirking one-liners, stay for the hard-hitting fisticuffs, and be prepared to root for a new kind of action hero.
The Executioner series is almost exclusively responsible for me becoming an action-adventure author (for more details, visit this earlier post). Back in the day (meaning nearly 30 holy-shit-I-am-getting-old years ago), I devoured Mack Bolan’s bullet-blazing exploits (as well as Phoenix Force, Able Team, and Stony Man) and dreamed of someday penning Executioner novels for Gold Eagle. Heck, I would have settled for Cade or Horn.
A boy and his dreams...
Well, that particular dream never materialized—just like my dream of owning a Lamborghini Countach back in the 80s—but I did publish (and continue to publish) my own action-adventure novels. But a few months back, someone started kicking around the idea of an Executioner fan-fiction contest, and I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to indulge in some literary wish fulfillment and write a Mack Bolan story. The contest never got off the ground, but I decided to write the story anyway. I needed to scratch the itch. No, not like the itch your doctor gave you medicated cream for. “Ripsaw Justice” is a 6,000 word short story that sees Bolan—plus an unexpected ally—going all guns ‘n’ guts against a ring of kiddie porn snuff-film makers. Because seriously, who hasn’t dreamed of putting bullets into those kind of dirtbags? The story is offered here in PDF format free of charge (this is fan-fiction, for entertainment purposes only, not for profit). Just click on this link, download your copy, and enjoy (hopefully).
Don Pendleton
No post of this nature would be complete without a shout-out to the late, great Don Pendleton, godfather of the men’s action-adventure genre and the literary genius behind the creation of The Executioner. I did my damndest to respect his character and creed. Happy reading, friends. Remember to always live large and stay hard.
You’ve seen Stan Mitchell featured on this blog before, both in interviews and reviews, and you’ll continue to see him pop up from time to time as long as he keeps releasing top-quality action-thrillers. In the interest of full disclosure, I should state that over the years, Stan and I have become online buddies with grandiose plans to purchase matching luxury cabins on a private lake in Colorado once we become internationally-renowned, multi-millionaire action authors. Does that make this review biased? Hell, man, does a bear shit in the woods? (Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve never actually seen a bear shit in the woods…) Anyway, action aficionados who despise the doorstop bloat of many modern day thrillers will find the Nick Woods series as refreshing as chilled watermelon on a hot summer day. I’m sure there are readers out there who prefer 600-page slog-fests, but I’m not one of them, and few authors operating in today's thriller market write as crisp and lean as Mitchell; he’s the kind of guy that sees no reason to use 10 words when 9 will suffice.
In Nigerian Terror, Nick and his Shield, Safeguard, and Shelter (S3) team of ready-to-rock trigger-pullers lock horns with Boko Harem terrorist thugs and pretty much kick all kinds of bad guy butt. And by "kick," I mean "shoot with 5.56mm projectiles." Because praise the ammunition gods, the bullet count is high in this one. If Mitchell got paid a buck for every round fired in this book, he’d be a lot closer to that aforementioned Colorado cabin. In addition to the blistering firefights, this novel features some brutal hand-to-hand combat sequences that spice things up and trust me, you'll feel the blows slamming off the page so vividly that you'll risk concussion just reading about them. No fancy martial arts choreography, just good guys slugging it out with bad guys in rough, dirty, jaw-rattling brawls. Bottom line, the violence quotient is plenty high enough to satisfy fans of this kind of literary carnage. And if you’re not a fan of literary carnage, why on earth are you reading a blog called Guns ‘n’ Guts? Nick Woods must be getting tired from all these bullet-blazing missions, but here's hoping the grumpy gunslinger doesn't get too much down-time before rocketing off on another job in Book 5. After all, there’s no rest for the wicked … or the heroic. I don't care if Nick’s leading the S3 pack or going lone wolf (actually, I prefer lone wolf Nick), just so long as he keeps strapping on his guns and getting down to the business of ventilating villains. Pay attention, action junkies, because Stan R. Mitchell is quickly becoming one of those can't-miss authors in the genre. And if you buy enough of his books, maybe Stan will pay for both our cabins…
I discovered the so-called “Piccadilly Cowboys” series back in the pre-internet days, mostly by stumbling across them in my endless haunting of used bookshops. But somehow I missed Bodie the Stalker. Edge, Steele, The Undertaker, Jubal Cade, Breed … they all made their way onto my bookshelves, but it was only a few years ago I discovered there were other Piccadilly Cowboy series. I started reading Bodie the same time I started reading Claw, Crow, and Hawk (all excellent series as well). And yes, thanks to Google, I am now fully aware that there are even more Piccadilly Cowboy series I need to track down. Anybody know where I can find Gringos #1? Anyway, if you get high on violent, bloody action-westerns, then you need to be reading the Bodie the Stalker series. They’re written by Mike Linaker (under the Neil Hunter pseudonym), an expert word-slinger who would later become one of the fan-favorite authors of The Executioner series. This time around, our titular bounty hunter comes to the aid—and the bed—of a beautiful copper mine owner who is being bullied to sell her claim, and as the title suggests, all sorts of hell explodes. Along with some dynamite. While nobody will mistake Bodie for being one of those white-hat heroes, he’s not as rattlesnake-mean as some of his contemporaries (we’re looking at you, Crow). So yeah, maybe he’s not Edge … but he isn’t John Wayne either. He takes no crap, never backs down, and is perfectly willing to go to guns (or fists) if that's what the situation requires. Bodie ain’t afraid of bullets, that’s for sure. No, he’s not an assassin, but he’ll blast a hole in your heart if you need killing. And thank the gods of gunpowder, there always seem to be lots of unsavory folks that need killing when Bodie rides into town. Speaking of killing, the carnage quotient is high—that’s praise, not criticism, by the way—and in keeping with the Piccadilly Cowboys tradition, the violence is fairly graphic. We're not talking Edge levels of gore, but brain matter gets blown to bits on more than one occasion. Other things get blown too, nudging this toward "adult western" territory at times. Bodie definitely knows how to handle his six-gun, but his love-gun skills are in fine form as well. Yeah, you won’t be mistaking this for a Louis L'Amour novel…
High Hell is the 3rd Bodie title I've read and while the series is not my favorite of the "violent western" era (that title still goes to Edge, with Breed and Crow as runner-ups), they feature enough fast-paced, bullet-blazing escapism to keep me coming back for more. As sure as a vulture will eat a dead man's eyes, if you enjoy blood-soaked six-gun action, you need to hunt this series down.
