Timeless - Johnny Oops 11

Timeless is the story of Johnny Oop’s second son—a rocket scientist who flies a spaceship to a far away Planet with his inner self, Outy, and marries a bald Blue lady by the name of Ala who never ceases asking Johnny funny questions. They have a son called Johnworld who is Magenta colored, has Yellow hair and perceives his mission in life to be to propagate different races. They spend most of their lives trying to ward off the prejudice and bigotry that follows people of color.

Discriminated against back on Earth, Johnny Oops 11 sets off once again in another spaceship together with millions of Indolts—Ala’s people, and the Magentas of which Johnworld is the first. They have to shrink all their people temporarily down to their essence—in the case of the Indolts no more than the equivalent of an eighth of an once and convert each of them to bar codes laminated on to blue plastic disks one inch long by two inches in diameter. They travel through time rather than space enabling their trip to be timeless.

When they reach their destination they reconstitute the Indolts and Magentas back to normal size using giant scanners. On their new home of Neverworld they meet other races of various colors and stripes called the Fugats, the Juicers, and the Three Tribes.

Before long they form a Great Society, which is intent on not color-coding their emotions. After fighting off skeptical suicide bomber Mimon birds who don’t believe they can succeed, they discover a new reality and enter the Paradise of their dreams.

Excerpt Chapter 28

With a great deal of relief I decided to continue making love to any one and everyone who suited my whim; celibacy is not the type of lifestyle I crave. This recent escapade had convinced me that I, and only I, have the word and the power and the glory that was always going to be mine. Sharing is not an Opps family virtue, and definitely not an option I wish to pursue. I feel so relieved.

I ran out to the garden, without looking around to see if anyone was watching, and started dancing around wildly shouting, “I’m the man, I’m the Prophet. I’m the one. There will never be anyone as great as me. That’s the word. I’m the Messenger. I should know. I’m the Prophet. I’m the man.”

From the kitchen of the mansion where my faithful flock was watching, listening, and preparing to party again, I could hear a collective sigh of relief as all in one voice they said, “Amen.”

Happy days were here again and all was right for this feckless group that made up the bulk of my entourage. They were so happy; they spent most of the rest of the evening cooking up a drug infused stew. It was smooth and velvety, yet heavily laced with a liberal sprinkling of canibas and the fine liquor of a pungent and thoroughly corrupt life style.

The pervading aroma of unpredictability wafted up from the stew through the open kitchen window and out into the garden where I was standing in the bright moon light, washing myself, and mimicking the stone cherub statue in the goldfish pond. I breathed in deeply, relief flooding through every pore in my body, nostrils flaring, as the unpredictable smell of the insatiable all consuming stew hit my nose.

I was getting myself ready for what was to come. I continued my prophetic crazed dance of shifting images, alternate visions of reality, and quantum language chants as I prepared to program a new beginning for my flock and myself, but who is programming me? Maybe it’s the Game Master. Maybe it’s the Almighty Maybe they are the same. Maybe all I’m missing is a little pinch of love. I wish I knew who I was.

Pure Entertainment

Johnny Oops, The Rocket Fuel Of Captivating Fiction

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Shocking Dream Excerpt From Johnny Oops

I was going through my roommate’s socks in the dark looking for his stash when the lights came on. He grabbed my arm, and spun me around shouting, “What the hell are you doing?” He didn’t tell anyone else, but when he calmed down he made me promise I would get myself straightened out. I promised I would, but I didn’t mean it. I was hooked and would do anything to get more dope. I’m pathetic and despicable. I hated myself.

Back in my room at the fraternity, after one of my meetings at Eight Ball's apartment, I lay on the bed trying to make sense of what was happening to me. I had the window shade down and didn’t know whether it was day or night, nor did I care. I figured out I’d rather be stoned than spend all my time being serious and unhappy.

Where the hell did I leave my stash? I don’t even know what I’m doing – some genius. Maybe I’m not real. Maybe my whole life is a fantasy. Maybe some Game Master is playing with my head. I can’t go on like this.

The truth is that except when I’m having sex, I feel like crap—emotionally impotent. I’m oversexed. When I’m having sex, I’m in control. I’m a big man. My Dialectic Spiritualism Religion is a load of crap. I’m a load of crap. Tears are rolling down my cheeks now because I’m depressed and feel so damn sorry for myself, and no one else cares. No one gives a shit about me.

This is ridiculous. I’ll smoke some more weed or snort some cocaine so I don’t have to have these thoughts any more. I have a little stashed away from Sunday’s football game, or was that last week. I don’t remember. I only have a little money left from my winnings and can’t afford to buy any more coke, or get caught trying to steel someone else’s stash again. Now where did I put that stuff? I remember wrapping it up and putting my precious parcel in the dresser, or did I put it in the closet? My God, I hope I didn’t leave my stash in someone else’s room by mistake.

Why am I lying on this damn bed shaking and sweating? I stink and I need a shower, but I haven’t got the energy to drag my sorry ass down the hall to the bathroom. I can’t find my stash. I won’t be able to function. Everyone is laughing at me. My nose is running.

Finally, I feel sleep coming on. I’m so tired. I think I’m dreaming. I’m a fly caught in a web of shredded marijuana leaves. I want to get away, but my wings are entangled. The only way to get loose is to break my wings as I struggle to get free, but then I will lose the part of me that can climb higher and higher and feel great.

What should I do? My Quanta, the sub atomic particles of my essence, are colliding with the little that is left of my senses. I’m shrinking. I’m stuck in a rut of my own making. Slowly, I lift one foot off the bed to the floor and try to stabilize myself, but that isn’t helping. I must be having some kind of drug-induced reaction, or am I in a trance. Who’s that whispering? I can hear you. I know you’re talking about me.

Oh God, I hope I remember where I put my stash.

Hi, I’m Arthur Levine the author of the novel Johnny Oops. To find out more about Johnny please join us at http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com or

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Hold The Presses, Johnny Oops Thoughts Are Running Off the Page

New York, NY—Johnny Oops, the principal character in the novel by the same name has such a vivid imagination that it’s hard to contain his thoughts to the printed page.

Unlike you or I, Johnny is not in the least inhibited. He is used to saying what he thinks and meaning what he says. How he comes up with wild story after wild story that baffles the good intentions of the author is beyond contemplation. Let’s just say that it’s hard for the author to keep up as Johnny jumps from one world to another and from one reality to the next.

Join Johnny Oops as he charges across the country acting as if he were a prophet, sinning like a charlatan, and in his own way attempting to spread the word of God by touching other people. Travel with him as he survives a plane crash in Venezuela, drowning in France, and a stabbing at his home in California. Enjoy yourself with Johnny as he discovers his inner self—a one-foot tall albino with pink eyes dressed in a Boy Scout uniform. Suffer with him as his scandalous affairs are revealed. Have fun trying to predict what Johnny will do and say next in his self appointed role as a guru. Question with Johnny whether everything that is happening is real.

And if that isn’t enough, with Johnny there is always more. Watch as Johnny reaches out to touch other people in the privacy of their inner souls.

What does, womanizer, sex maniac, prophet, charlatan, and genius have in common? They all aptly describe Johnny Oops. Johnny spends his time veering from one reality to another as he travels different worlds and experiences numerous second comings, and tries to fathom whether he is being controlled by a game master in a virtual reality game or is actually in the service of God.

Johnny Oops, The Rocket Fuel Of Captivating Fiction

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Who Are You With For thanksgiving?

I hope you are with someone special for Thanksgiving.

Arthur

CHAPTER 13 Excerpt Johnny Oops

Sometimes I don’t engage my brain. Only when we were about to leave for Egypt did the thought strike me that there probably weren’t going to be many good-looking babes amongst the mummies. My God, what have I gotten myself into: a whole summer of celibate philosophizing in a foreign country, dust storms and death in the heat of the desert? This is not exactly what I had in mind.

To make matters worse, I found out the Professor’s wife wasn’t going to join us on the trip. Who was going to cook for us? I guess flat biscuits weren’t her thing. No wonder God parted the Red Sea so the Jews could exit from Egypt during Pharaoh’s time around 1570 B.C. Who wants to hang around with a bunch of dumb dead mummies whose idea of music probably revolved around a rock band called the Walking Deadbeats, banging a bunch of pots and pans? Oh, I forgot they didn’t have pans in those days. I guess that’s why Mrs. Armstrong didn’t want to come along. She wasn’t going to be able to make her delicious biscuits. I think the heat is getting to me and I haven’t even left the country yet.

Before we got on our charter flight from San Diego International to Cairo—the good professor had booked us on this special flight with a bunch of other college groups to save money, Security took a special interest in us, making us remove not only our shoes, but also our socks, in an examination that took the better part of two hours. They made us strip down to our shorts searching for whatever, and would have done worse if we didn’t complain.

I personally think it was because the two security guards were female, but the good professor said it was probably because we were going to Egypt. Thank God I didn’t keep my parents gift of steel spiked boots. They probably wouldn’t have let me on the plane.

The woman security guard who was conducting our search said, “Okay, now take the rest off and bend over.”

I said, “No Miss, I will not.” What the hell is going on here? I’m not a prisoner on the way to jail. I thought we were supposed to be searched by men. I want to see the head of security.

“What’s the matter, big boy, you shy? You’re blushing,” said the female security guard who must have weighed three hundred pounds. Her skinny, pimple faced friend laughed from a corner of the glass-enclosed cubicle, holding her hands in front of her eyes in mock embarrassment at my nakedness. The room, part of a maze of inspection rooms, was bare except for a small metal table and one desk type chair.

“Not anymore, lady. I’ve got nothing left to hide, and stop poking me with that electronic wand. You’re supposed to use that to see if I’m carrying any hidden weapons. Do I look like I’m carrying a hidden weapon?”

“Take your underpants off, big boy, and I’ll let you know.”