Welcome to The BOOB Girls - a note from Joy

This beautiful and fun new website was designed by my surrogate Florida daughter, Misty Gentle, and we want you to thoroughly enjoy it. Here you can: * form your own BOOB Girls Group * post photos of you and the Girls * comment about the books and characters * share ideas for future books * read blogs from the four girls and the BOOB boys, as well **And of course - order books for you and your friends which will be personally inscribed by me - your BOOB Girl author. So click "Subscribe" and let's talk. So BOOB Girl buddies and special friends - come, read, enjoy. You're our favorite BOOB Girl.

Friday, December 2, 2011

The BOOB Girls Celebrate Christmas

The BOOB Girls celebrate Christmas
Meadow Lakes Retirement Community, which has neither meadow or lakes, was decorated to the hilt. Lighted trees were on every floor – in every corner, it seemed. The smell of evergreen floated through the air. Chip Davis’ Manheim Steamroller Christmas tunes echoed through the halls. It was wonderful and exciting and beautiful and every single resident was thoroughly enjoying their Christmas depression.
“We should have a party early on,” Hadley Joy Morris-Whitfield said. “Start your Christmas depression early with us.”
“Why do we always get down and out around Christmastime?” Mary Rose McGill asked
“I think it’s because all our toys have been opened,” Robinson Leary said. “One time, when I was about twelve years old, my folks were gone for a couple of hours. I carefully opened every package under the tree that had my name on it. There were mittens and clothes and new boots and a game I wanted and perfume for young girls and you know what?”
They looked at her.
“It totally ruined Christmas. When Christmas morning came, opening presents was no fun. I think that’s what happens when we get older. Not only are the people who made the holidays special for us when we were young gone, a lot of our friends are dead or with family far away, we’ve opened all the toys. There’s nothing we really want anymore. We take care of our families if we have any. We spend too much money and we’re never sure they really like what we get anyway.”
Mary Rose McGill gave her a friendly slap on the arm. “You don’t have any family, Robbie. You spend too much on us.”
“Point taken,” Robbie smiled. “I don’t have any family except you two and Wiley and Wes.”
“Remember,” Hadley said with a smile, “We’re as happy as we decide we’re going to be. Let’s enjoy the beauty and each other and be grateful for everything that comes with the season.
“Reindeer,” Mary Rose said. “I always loved thinking about reindeer flying and pulling the sleigh.”
Robbie grinned. “What about the other reindeer? Olive.”
Mary Rose looked puzzled. “Olive?”
“Yeah, you know….Olive, the other reindeer. Used to laugh and call him names.”
Hadley groaned. “What I like is the one about how Santa is really a woman.” And she began to count on her fingers.
1. - Men can't pack a bag.
2.- Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.
3- Men would feel their masculinity is threatened...having to be seen with all those elves.
4- Men don't answer their mail.
5- Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described even in jest as anything remotely resembling "bowl full of jelly."
6- Men aren't interested in stockings unless somebody's wearing them.”
7- Having to do the Ho Ho Ho thing would seriously inhibit their ability to pick up women.
8- Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a commitment.”
“OK,” Robbie said. “Now I know what causes Christmas depression – bad jokes! And the worst one ever is about the first reindeer in a bar.”
Hadley cocked her head and Mary Rose grimaced.
“One evening, in a busy lounge in the deep south, a reindeer walked in the door, bellied up to the bar and ordered a martini. Without batting an eye, the bartender mixed and poured the drink, set it in front of the reindeer, and accepted the twenty-dollar bill from the reindeer's hoof.

As he handed the reindeer some coins in change, he said, "You know, I think you're the first reindeer I've ever seen in here."

The reindeer looked hard at the hoofful of change and said, "Hmmmpf. Let me tell you something, buddy. At these prices, I'm the last reindeer you'll see in here.”
“And that’s the last bad joke you’re hearing from us!” Hadley said. And they turned and headed toward the soft-serve ice cream machine which was, of course, featuring red and green ice cream…..with sprinkles.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Meet A Character from BOOB Girls IV: Alphonso Greatwood

Alphonso Greatwood and his Mean Machine
Alphonso Greatwood was big, black and boisterous. So was his electric scooter, designed for maximum mobility for the immobile. The black scooter was a piece of art. For one thing, it had a red and orange roll bar over the top. Aluminum wings were attached to the front. Wild red and orange racing stripes – the same colors as on the roll bar – were painted on the wings. A GPS was attached strategically on the front and a small pony saddle was mounted behind Alphonso. “Bitch Seat” shouted from it in orange letters. In addition, he had whitewalls and an unusually loud back-up signal that played the Nebraska Fight Song.
 It was a mean machine and that was its name. “The Mean Machine.” From the day Alphonso Greatwood signed his contract to rent a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of Meadow Lakes Retirement Community, he became known as a holy terror and a traffic hazard.
Alphonso had been 25 years old when he signed with a new, first-year pro football team called the Kansas City Chiefs. Not a sterling career. No hall of fame bust, just consistency as an offensive lineman. As one of the greats had said, “My job is pluggin’ holes.” And Alphonso had plugged. He plugged until his knees were busted, his back cracked in two places and his helmet dented so many times it had knocked certain words right out of his head.
That was what was most annoying. Hell, the knees and the injuries were just part of the game, but when he tried to think of a word, when his sentence was coming out just fine then there was just a sudden stop and the next word scurried away like a scared rabbit? That got to him.
Now all six feet six inches of him was stuck in a scooter and as sure as God laughs at old football players and racing stripes, Alphonso Greatwood was going to keep up his reputation and make sure he and the Mean Machine showed some personality.
It wasn’t bad here at Meadow Lakes. None of these nice retirement communities would admit it, but a big invisible banner hung over their front entrance.
Welcome! Now you’re old.
No one saw the banner, but everybody knew it was there all right. But they were good places. Here at Meadow Lakes, which had neither meadow nor lakes, the food was good, the people were pleasant and while a few walkers and scooters were parked at one end of the dining room during meals, there weren’t very many and a majority of those were temporary. A lot of the people here still went to work every day. Long shot from a nursing home, Alphonso thought.
And the women! So many widows. Some were real lookers, too. When he’d played football there were women everywhere. Young. Busty. Narrow hips. Great legs. Groupies and the players could have about any one of them they wanted. Well, Alphonso had had his share and with a name like Greatwood he’d taken advantage of every rumor, every scandal and every joke about his having a Great Wood. Unfortunately, that had changed. Now, as The Mean Machine zoomed down the hall toward the dining room, he wondered again why he had never married, never found the right girl, never even asked anybody. It was something he . . . searched for the word. . .missed. That was it. He missed never being married, never being anyone’s most important person.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

No Irate Pi-rates for the BOOB Girls

No Irate Pi-rate for the BOOB Girls
They came out of the movie and sat down at a table in the fashionable theater lobby. Crowds streamed by them, talking and laughing. It was BOOB Girl review time for Pirates of the Caribbean IV.
“I love Johnny Depp!” Mary Rose McGill squealed. Then she quoted, “I think we’ve all arrived at a very special place. Spiritually, ecumenically, grammatically.”
Robbie shot back another Jack Sparrow quote, “Now where is that monkey? I want to shoot something.”
“Obstacles have been met, encountered and overcome,” Maggie added.
“Guard the boat, man the tides….and don’t touch my dirt.” Hadley did a good imitation of Capt. Jack Sparrow.
“For me, he’ll always be Edward Scissorhands,” Robbie Leary mused. Being a retired English professor, her tastes went to the classic and slightly bizarre storyline.
“He’s my Icabod Crane in Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” Hadley Joy Morris Whitfield added.
‘No way, Jose,” Maggie Patten smirked. She slid down in her chair, crossed her ankles and clasped her hands behind her head. She looked cocky. “The DeppMan is Rangoooooooh” She spun the word off her lips.
“Maggie, Rango was a lizard with Johnny’s voice for Pete’s sake,” Mary Rose said.
“And with a butt as cute as Depp’s,” Maggie countered. Then she thought for a minute. “Sorry, mates. Lizards don’t have butts”
 “You can all have Depp,” Hadley said. “I’m going to marry Ian McShane, Blackbeard himself.” She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers and smiled a wicked smile. “He was Al Swearengen in Deadwood on TV; a cussing, blustering, mean antihero.
Mary Rose was thoughtful for a minute. “If you were in Pirates 4, “she said, “would you be the daughter of Blackbeard or a mermaid?” They looked at her and shrugged.
“I’m not going to be either one. I’m going to be a whale instead of a mermaid,” she said with a sense of determination. “People pay money just to go watch for them. Whales are admired, they’re huge, they have adorable babies, lots of friends and no enemies except men.”
“Hah! I know about that.” Maggie Patten chimed in.
“Now you take a Mermaid,” Mary Rose continued, pointing her finger at Maggie. “If they meet a man, they kill him.”
“So?” Maggie grinned.
“And they don’t even exist. If they did exist they’d be lining up outside some shrink’s office with a bad case of identity crisis.  Woman or fish? Do they age? Do their boobs sag from never wearing bras? And here’s the sticker, girls. They can’t have sex.”
They looked at her again.
“Who would want to have sex with ‘em?” Maggie askeds. “They smell like fish for God’s sake.”
Mary Rose stood up and grabbed the empty popcorn bucket. “You can’t even see where IT is for sex on a Mermaid.” She looked at her friends around the table. “I’m refilling our large popcorn bucket and taking it home.”
“Movie popcorn isn’t good for us, Mary Rose,” Robbie yelled after her.
Mary Rose looked over her shoulder. “I don’t care, Kiddo. I’m going for whaleness!”

Monday, May 2, 2011

Help Me Write BOOB Girls IV: Murder at Meadow Lakes.

Mary Rose, Hadley, Robbie and Maggie
I didn't think there would be a Book IV.
No ideas were coming.
The girls weren't talking to me.
Then I visited an agent's website. Finding an agent is only a little less likely than a major lottery win.
The agent said, in a loud font,
I refuse to read any manuscript that has a dead body on the first page.
What a hell of an idea!
Here is the first page of BOOB Girls IV: Murder at Meadow Lakes
Ralph (Perculator) Rassmussen was spread-eagled, face down in the middle of the Meadow Lakes Retirement Community dining room floor.

The back of his head was bashed in.
His throat had been cut.
A nylon cord was wrapped around his neck.
There was a bullet hole in the back of his jacket and a knife was stuck in his back.

"Are we sure he's dead?" Mary Rose McGill whispered.
Wylie Vondra leaned a forearm on her shoulder. "If he isn't, he'd better have damn good insurance."

Robinson Leary, retired english professor put her hands on her hips.
"This is ridiculous! No agent will accept a book with a dead body on the first page. I suppose we'll end up with some weird vampire in a creepy funeral home!"

Mary Rose McGill and Hadley Joy Morris-Whitfield looked at each other. "Uh-oh," they said together."

Help me write the book

The vampire, who hangs out in Morguen Graves' funeral home is named Gary. (No self-respecting vampire is named Gary). He didn't mean to be a vampire; it was kind of an accident. So...
An inscribed, free book IV and mention in the book, goes to the top five people who tell us:

  1. How Gary came to be a vampire.
  2. The name of Morguen Graves' funeral home
  3. How Mary Rose became a hostage in that same funeral home
  4. How the girls solve Perculator's vicious and thorough murder
Share your ideas on one or all of the above plots.

There will be a new BOOB Girl, of course. Her name is Marge Errin (think margarine, so she'd butter be good) and her bosoms will preceed her into every room.

Marge is a retired homicide detective.

Send your ideas, your comments, your requests and questions to me at joy.johnson@msn.com

And thanks for coming to play with me. I love you all and I think this will be fun.

                                                      http://www.theboobgirls.com/