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Daniel’s 2024 Year in Books
Take a look at Daniel’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
Daniel Younger’s Followers (12)
2,022 books
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516 friends
422 books
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1,864 friends
181 books
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2,526 friends
4,425 books
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11 friends
587 books
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20 friends
322 books
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2,881 friends
691 books
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96 friends
296 books
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806 friends
More friends…
Daniel Younger
Goodreads Author
Website
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Genre
Member Since
May 2014
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The Wrath of Con
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Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy
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published
2015
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2 editions
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Delirious
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published
2014
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4 editions
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The Wrong Girl (Sleuth #1)
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Sleuth
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Daniel’s Recent Updates
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Daniel Younger
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Daniel Younger
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Daniel Younger
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Daniel Younger
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Daniel Younger
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Daniel Younger
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“Also fun fact for you Americans: in Canada, the practice of Thanksgiving is celebrated with the slaying of a sacred moose. Once killed, the moose is slathered in maple syrup, apologized to excessively, then roasted over a bed of Maple Leafs ™ until crispy on the outside and succulent on the inside. The meat is then dispersed by carrier goose and beaver to all of our country’s people, and our dashing Prime Minister does a naked pagan dance around the flayed carcass, shouting “Hoser!” until his throat’s raw.
We’re very serious about Thanksgiving in Canada, Eh?”
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We’re very serious about Thanksgiving in Canada, Eh?”
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“Good threat,” the woman chuckled. “Here’s mine: you’ve got about twenty minutes to hightail it over to Venetian before your brother becomes a memory wrote in pink mist. Toodles.”
― The Wrath of Con
― The Wrath of Con
“Awkward conversations. They’re the heart of the drug trade. The driving force that keeps criminals out of jail is paranoia. You can think you know people, but the truth is, you never know who they’re talking to. The life of an outlaw: Around every corner lies a cop. In every basement waits a bust. Every friend is the guy who sells you out to keep his own ass out of jail. Sure, it was rare, but you just never knew.
The result was a series of shorthand and euphemisms so obscure even the pros often weren’t sure what they were talking about. Sales became pickups. Pot, ganja, bud, or weed became lettuce, green, happy, herb, smoke... the list went on, and changed from dealer to dealer.”
― Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy
The result was a series of shorthand and euphemisms so obscure even the pros often weren’t sure what they were talking about. Sales became pickups. Pot, ganja, bud, or weed became lettuce, green, happy, herb, smoke... the list went on, and changed from dealer to dealer.”
― Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy
“Also fun fact for you Americans: in Canada, the practice of Thanksgiving is celebrated with the slaying of a sacred moose. Once killed, the moose is slathered in maple syrup, apologized to excessively, then roasted over a bed of Maple Leafs ™ until crispy on the outside and succulent on the inside. The meat is then dispersed by carrier goose and beaver to all of our country’s people, and our dashing Prime Minister does a naked pagan dance around the flayed carcass, shouting “Hoser!” until his throat’s raw.
We’re very serious about Thanksgiving in Canada, Eh?”
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We’re very serious about Thanksgiving in Canada, Eh?”
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“Statistical fact: cops will never pull over a man in a sweet van
if he’s carrying forty pounds of sinsemilla buds. Another fact:
ninety percent of all statistics are made up.”
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if he’s carrying forty pounds of sinsemilla buds. Another fact:
ninety percent of all statistics are made up.”
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“Mack Gaffey, resident veterinarian and owner of Oak Falls Kennel for the Canine Challenged came to greet him. He was a tall, painfully thin man with a tuft of wiry gray hair sticking out in horns on his head and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.
“Sheriff, glad you could make it.” They shook hands.
“Alright Mack,” Al said. “So you’ve had yourself some vandalism, huh?”
Mack nodded and lead him around his white GMC. On hood of the van was a fogged-up ZipLock bag. “Some sicko took a dump on my van.”
Mack held up the bag so Al could see the giant, steaming turd inside. “It’s human shit, Al. I did the tests this morning.”
The sheriff frowned and started wiping the hand he shook Mack’s with against his pants. “Well, this stinks.”
“You should smell it out of the bag, Sheriff.”
― Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy
“Sheriff, glad you could make it.” They shook hands.
“Alright Mack,” Al said. “So you’ve had yourself some vandalism, huh?”
Mack nodded and lead him around his white GMC. On hood of the van was a fogged-up ZipLock bag. “Some sicko took a dump on my van.”
Mack held up the bag so Al could see the giant, steaming turd inside. “It’s human shit, Al. I did the tests this morning.”
The sheriff frowned and started wiping the hand he shook Mack’s with against his pants. “Well, this stinks.”
“You should smell it out of the bag, Sheriff.”
― Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy
“There are probably more of us. If we’re all zombies, then
there’s got to be more. I say we go up to the cemetery and find out.”
“Can we get soda on the way?”
Nothing washes down brains better than a can of Coca Cola and a little shameless product placement. (Hey, the undead do have an image problem.)
“Soda and cemeteries! Soda and cemeteries!” they chanted. “And braaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiins!”
“Hey Bernie, you’re getting pretty good at that.”
“Okay, you try.”
“Braaa—” the zombie belched, ”—aiiinsss.”
Earl heaved the coroner’s body out of the way. They headed off for the cemetery, each trying furiously to perfect their own, unique and personal call for brains like an undead choir, out of tune.
“Braaaaiiiiins!” “Braaiiiiiiiinns!” “Braaaaaaaaaains!” “Bray-uns.”
“That was just awful.” ...Away into the night.”
― Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy
there’s got to be more. I say we go up to the cemetery and find out.”
“Can we get soda on the way?”
Nothing washes down brains better than a can of Coca Cola and a little shameless product placement. (Hey, the undead do have an image problem.)
“Soda and cemeteries! Soda and cemeteries!” they chanted. “And braaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiins!”
“Hey Bernie, you’re getting pretty good at that.”
“Okay, you try.”
“Braaa—” the zombie belched, ”—aiiinsss.”
Earl heaved the coroner’s body out of the way. They headed off for the cemetery, each trying furiously to perfect their own, unique and personal call for brains like an undead choir, out of tune.
“Braaaaiiiiins!” “Braaiiiiiiiinns!” “Braaaaaaaaaains!” “Bray-uns.”
“That was just awful.” ...Away into the night.”
― Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy
“Tell me again why I have a beaten up Noah on my futon?” Ava said. She indeed had a beaten-up Noah resting on her couch, bandages and gauze over his nose, an icepack on his brow.
Wiz, Hal, and Travis sat around him, cups of coffee and homemade croissants steaming on the table. Ava stood with her hands on her hips, her brow expressing a pressing need for answers.
“I got beaten up,” Noah said, sounding like he had the worst head cold in history.”
― Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy
Wiz, Hal, and Travis sat around him, cups of coffee and homemade croissants steaming on the table. Ava stood with her hands on her hips, her brow expressing a pressing need for answers.
“I got beaten up,” Noah said, sounding like he had the worst head cold in history.”
― Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy
