Atomic Bebop Hullabaloo

Mystery! Suspense! Comedy! Spatulas?In the vein of Batman '66, The Monkees, and Pee wee's Playhouse comes Atomic Bebop Hullabaloo, a book that asks the question "What if Raymond Chandler wrote an episode of Spongebob Squarepants while jacked up on sugary breakfast cereal and Dr. Demento albums?" When perpetually broke novelty rock singer, Lowbrow pop culture vulture, and pompadour enthusiast Dizzy Pendergrass accidentally burns down his current place of employment (a laundromat/milkshake bar called the Soapy Cow), he's given the chance to work off his debt by locating a pair of stolen sunglasses for the eccentric billionaire owner of milk-Phineas T. Milk. Now, racing desperately against the clock, Dizzy hits the kitschy mean streets of Zap!City, where he encounters gorgeous tattooed Mexican wrestler femme fatales, gangster clowns feuding with mobbed-up late night TV horror hosts, crooked local sci-fi celebrities, a bored teenage space god looking for entertainment, the mischievous demon spirit of Paul Lynde, and the ominous presence of the Roasting Marshmallow, a crazed vigilante waging a bloody war on petty crime, and who seems to have his sights set on Dizzy. But wait... BOOK QUOTES!!!!! "Just so we're clear, toward the beginning of Back to the Future when Marty's band is trying out for the school talent show and doesn't get in, it isn't that the uptight, uncool Establishment doesn't get his music, Marty McFly just plays guitar like an asshole." "Full disclosure. I'm a guy weaned on the reruns of 1970s and 80s action/adventure TV shows. You couple that with a pretty white trash upbringing that, when not down at the comic book shop and learning about the art of Jack Cole and obscure Italian crime movies from Von Rudy, translated into an inordinate amount of time spent hanging around Lemons Speedway unsupervised while my mother looked for love, and you'll see that my convincing a broken down daredevil stuntman drinking buddy of my mom's named No Eyes Majewsky into teaching me how to pull out of a parking space like Jim Rockford and then raise hell on four wheels seemed like the most natural thing in the world." "Like hell! He only gave me fifteen hundred one dollar coins in a greasy Crown Royal bag with the assurance that they'd soon triple in value. Spoilers: They didn't." "We're gonna make Dr. Ignatius Tastywiggle an offer he can't understand." "This is more of a tax for being a dumbass than anything else." "Professor Pietro Proteus? No shit? We interned together back when we were both starting out. Good man. He still a monkey? No matter. Don't answer that. Ain't my place to judge." "Do you really think Dizzy Pendergrass could do all this? I mean look around. This is a big operation I've got going on here. From what I've seen that guy isn't exactly busting at the seams with ambition or the ability to sign a commercial rental agreement." "It wasn't Grand Canyon Tastywiggle was saying. That fucker invented a gran cannon and the bubble on R2-DMitra's back is a hopper filled with old people that it shoots as ammunition!" "You know what? Smurf you, mothersmurfer! Smurf you in your smurfing smurf! You know what you are? You're a smurfing bigot and I don't need this smurf!" "I do it, because for every Doctor Haircut or Bubba Law: NASCOP pristine prime-time drama that helps back-up the argument that we are in the midst of a second Golden Age of Television, there are shows about boxes of cereal turned vigilante after being framed for their wife's murders and garbage men with Emmanuel Lewis for a leg fighting off clockwork Tom Waits zombies that need a-watchin'. Anyone can enjoy the good stuff. It takes a special kind of guy to appreciate the awful. And I like to think of myself as that guy." "Oh! I'm sorry. Charo was right. Never go against the coochie-coochie." DON'T READ BORING BOOKS!