The Stench of Honolulu: A Tropical Adventure
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The legendary Deep Thoughts and New Yorker humorist Jack Handey is back with his very first novel-a hilarious, absurd, far-flung adventure tale.
THE STENCH OF HONOLOLU
Are you a fan of books in which famous tourist destinations are repurposed as unlivable hellholes for no particular reason? Read on!
Jack Handey's exotic tale is full of laugh-out-loud twists and unforgettable characters whose names escape me right now. A reliably unreliable narrator and his friend, who is some other guy, need to get out of town. They have a taste for adventure, so they pay a visit to a relic of bygone days-a travel agent-and discover an old treasure map. She might have been a witch, by the way. Our heroes soon embark on a quest for the Golden Monkey, which takes them into the mysterious and stinky foreign land of Honolulu. There, they meet untold dangers, confront strange natives, kill and eat Turtle People, kill some other things and people, eat another thing, and discover the ruins of ancient civilizations.
As our narrator says, "The ruins were impressive. But like so many civilizations, they forgot the rule that might have saved them: Don't let vines grow all over you."
company.” “Maybe we should talk to them,” said Don. “I am prepared to wait here indefinitely,” said Ponzari. He stuck his arm straight out and leaned nonchalantly against the gigantic stone warrior. He shouldn’t have done that. The pressure was just enough to make the statue slip on the banana peel and crash down on top of them. “AAAAGGGHHHEE!” shrieked Doctor Ponzari. The whole thing happened as if in slow motion. Ponzari tried to dive away but was doomed to be flattened. The insurance man
and Leilani didn’t want any turtle man. Leilani said it was taboo. I let it go. Once you start asking a woman what’s taboo, you’ve got a long night ahead of you. “Why would the turtle man attack us?” Don wondered. I shrugged, in a way that said Don was stupid. Just as I was cracking the turtle man’s wishbone, and making a wish, I saw two pairs of eyes staring at me from inside a bush. I froze. Leilani noticed and stood up. Two little turtle men jumped out in a panic and ran off into the
pounded on the door of a bus marked “Honolulu” that was pulling out, but the driver ignored me. I had to think of something fast. I pulled out my ChapStick. I tossed it toward the angry mob and hid behind a parked car. The crowd gathered round the ChapStick, stared at it, then began fighting over it. It was a brutal fistfight. Finally one man emerged triumphant. He pulled off the cap and smeared the soothing balm thickly on his lips as a taunt to the others. Then he laughed and threw the rest of
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took it out. “Be careful with that!” said the nervous shop owner, rushing over and grabbing it. “Is it glass?” I said. “No, something very rare.” “Rarer than glass?” I said. “It’s made out of stenchite, the solid form of stench. It is the pure, crystalline essence of stench.” He said it was thousands of times more powerful than regular stench. Boy, how many times have you heard that? Through some sort of complex mechanism I still don’t understand, the statue did a dance called the “hula”