Bebe la Strangiato (With Love, Death & Chaos book 1) by Tor Underhill
Yian is the embodiment of Chaos, and he has shit to do. He’s stuck in an endless cycle of rebirth that he’s trying to break, eternally bound to a spacetime sprawling corporation and an unstable girlfriend who likes it that way. She’s the embodiment of Passion, entangled with him on the quantum level. Forevers and no matter what he says. She’s vindictive, jealous and omnipotent. But she’d say she just loves him sooo much.
His one way out is to shepherd humanity along a path that frees him, manipulating the masses to his banner “free your ass, and your mind will follow”.
He’s fighting the FDA sorcery division over his wonder drug that ends the culture wars. And he’s fighting the otherworldly Deep Ones his other ex is slipping through the cracks in your reality. Plus all of the other exes who seem to show up at the worst time with the worst intentions.
It’s a lot. Even for an AllBeing. So he has the usual assortment of eternal champions and AI networked serial killers fighting the probably not really good fight from Pittsburgh, his Eternal City.
This is the first book in the series: With Love, Death & Chaos.
With Love, Death & Chaos is the story of Chaos and Passion, primordial beings embodied in a cycle of perpetual rebirth and entangled on the quantum level. They and others like them take sides in a grand struggle with the spacetime sprawling Syrinx Corporation. Syrinx has bound them into eternal service shepherding intelligent life in the realities it builds for …
Oh shit. He was going off and I wasn’t paying attention. Look. I’m Bebe. I’m in the title of book 1 so trust me. It’s all just about really bad exes. Like apocalyptically murderously bad exes. And it’s…a lot.
There’s Cthulhu at Woodstock 99; AI assisted serial killers turned actuarial assassins; a tattooed murder goddess with perfect feet and a bad attitude (I blame men for making me this way) ; retired mobster couples with bodies in their pool, a tub of margarine and a taste for the threeways; fake ass cartels that might be a thing, if you listen to that chick from Girls Gone Wild Monster Island; and Pittsburgh is the Eternal City in every dimension. He says it’s way cooler than those OTHER eternal cities. I know, he says crazy shit like that all the time.
He fights with the FDA Sorcery Division about troll packets. Oh, and he calls you skinsacks. My friend’s gramma is Papa Legba and she’s lusting after that annoying intersectionalist TV news guy.
My personal favorite is his megabomb that ends the culture war: Asstastica, an insurance required wonder drug that makes straight guys wonder how that feels, you know, when you put it up there for the most satisfying experience ever. For wellness I mean, because it prevents cancer and whatnot just to give them the excuse.
Yea, and he’s nudging society along his chosen path using pop culture, movie dialog and song lyrics to influence us. He fully annotated it so you too can join the followers of chaos (out of control chapter).
I’m totally asking for a friend, but if we’re all okay with girls falling in love with vampires and grossing $3billion, then why can’t I fuck a dead cheerleader? I blame men. And YA fiction.
It’s got these powerful women like the hotmom assassin killing in the name of American hegemony. She meets this ex-SAS guy who his ex says ate a pygmy in Chelsea. Plus other guys who just look cute and try not to make things worse.
He talked so much there’s a second book on the way. That one has Italian Cthulhus; an AI assisted serial killer in the White House; and that supercool hotmom from last time and the men who just make things worse. She’s got drop-dead husbands, that supergenius ex and their three kids Scott, Ramona and Stacey. They’re the bob-omb. Some of them were born in space too. She’s got a Presidential brother she loves and his pain dealing wife who she hates. There’s the huge rock band riding the plague out in a mob castle and their bitter singer being shot at and chased by a truffle pig. And an Italian-American detective walking through it all on a vengeful hunt for his guitar and sunglasses that were stolen long ago in…wait for it…Pittsburgh.
But wait. There’s more. There’s THAT actress who does THAT THING with her hair that you want me and every other woman to do; supermodel-actress eternal champions in battlesuits with PhDs in hand stuff from Miskatonic U; annoying Roman resurrectionists; Clarence fucking Darrow; and these four guys locked down in one apartment with a shirtless fireman and a manipulative goddess with a detachable penis. They say that’s, ah, life finding a way. I say that’s #quarantinequeer. And it all leads to this legendary breakup battle.
And he’s STILL talking. This is gonna be a series that is going to use the whole eternal cycle of breakup and revenge to crack genre norms and answer the question “if your ex really wants to ruin your lives, every one of them across every timespace, would be all be okay with that?”
