In Help! I'm F*cking Stuck in a Hallmark Movie!, the worlds of gritty crime and Hallmark's sugar-coated Christmas romances collide. John, a womanizing, self-centered Las Vegas hitman, finds himself mysteriously transported to Hallmark’s Christmas Town, a place where holiday magic and unrealistically perfect love stories are the everyday reality.
Amidst this backdrop of Christmas perfection, John encounters Elizabeth, the compassionate and heartbroken owner of a local cat sanctuary. Once left at the altar, she dreams of true love and finds it in an unlikely connection with John, whose narcissism she finds attractive and thrilling.
However, their blossoming romance is threatened as John's past comes calling. Victor, John's psychopath boss, also arrives in Christmas Town with a vendetta: to murder John and claim Christmas Town as his own personal fiefdom.
Help! I'm F*cking Stuck in a Hallmark Movie! weaves a tale of love’s cynical illusions as the utopia of Christmas Town spirals into a nightmarish landscape. This satirical novel delivers a uniquely humorous twist on the classic holiday narrative.
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John Matrix stood guard on the second-floor balcony watching the party below. He was wondering what the fuck happened in his life, what bad karma he committed, that he was watching a six-figure party being thrown in the honor of a four-year-old shithead. Granted that four-year-old was the son of Victor Wynn, an extremely wealthy and psychotically violent crime syndicate boss, but still, the kid was four. And a real shithead.
Even worse, it was one of those white parties, where guests are forced to adhere to a strict dress code of white clothing. Which is fine for adults. But for kids? Already, John could see that some of the kids had grass stains and juice stains on their white shirts and white pants. To make it worse, security had to dress in black. To stand out as if they were Secret Service. Or villains in a James Bond movie. Which was again fine. And in some ways, John was grateful because he only owned black suits, but, fuck, this was Las Vegas, and that desert sun was hitting John like a giant energy death beam.
John checked his watch. “Fuck,” he spat. Only five minutes had passed since he last looked at his watch. It was hot and his back was hurting standing out here in his suit trying to look assertive, intimidating. Sweat dripped down his forehead, past his sunglasses and into his eye. He lifted his sunglasses and wiped his face with his arm. “For fucks sakes,” he grimaced. Below, among all the well-dressed guests, were a team of crazed, sugar dosed children running around in a backyard with a bouncy castle, carnival games, camel rides, and a full liquor bar.
Full liquor bar. That’s where John wanted to be. Sucking down a cold beer, maybe hitting on that blonde nanny wearing all white down there. What was she? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? Man, she had a nice rack on her. He leaned on the banister and squinted his eyes to get a closer look. He could see that cleavage from here, all tightly packed under a V-neck shirt. Now that’s where he wanted to be: a cold beer and his face between those bouncing titties.
She turned and saw the little red haired monster she was nannying trying to grab a fistful of mixing straws from the bar. She grabbed him by the arm and directed him away, toward another woman, another nanny perhaps, at one of the carnival games. Then she followed the little turd, disappearing among the gossiping faces below. Bored, John looked at his pistol again. A Kimber 1911 .45 caliber. Felt it in the holster, then stood back straight and began his slow pace from one end of the balcony to the other end. The sun felt hotter. Heavier. Fucking global warming.
John wished he could take this suit off, but when he turned he saw Victor looking up at him, sipping whiskey from his tumbler glass. John immediately thrusted his shoulders back, did his tough guy walk.
Christ, it reminded him of the army. This putting on a show for your superior officer as if all biological functions like sweating and farting cease once the uniform is on.
Victor was approached by one of his men, who whispered something in his ear. Victor nodded, then looked back up at John, and patted the guy on the shoulder, whispered briefly in his ear, and then turned away and walked toward the house.
John heard a cough behind him. He turned and saw Rachel, Victor’s young wife. She was dressed in a short, extremely tight fitting white dress, her fake breasts nearly bursting the seams, her dark hair shiny. Spectacular. John smiled, looking her up and down.
“Come closer,” she said, seductively, curling one finger back and forth.
Giving her a half smile, John took one last look down at the party and stepped toward her, so that he was inside the bedroom. Now they were face to face. They could feel one another’s breath. She said, “Give me your hand.”
He reached out and felt her hip. Rachel grabbed his hand by the wrist, then she slid his hand beneath her short dress, so he could feel her twat. She raised her brow and said, “I waxed my pussy two days ago.”
John snapped his hand away. “Christ, your husband is downstairs. He can simply look up and see me feeling you up.”
“Fuck him,” she said. Rachel shoved her hand down John’s pants, rubbing his cock, feeling it getting hard. She said, “I guess the danger of my husband catching us is a real thrill for you.” She gave his shaft a firm squeeze. He grunted.
Now grabbing her wrist, and pulling her hand out of his pants, John said, “You know I want to, but can’t we wait until he leaves town tonight? He can have me fucking killed with a snap of his fingers, you know.”
“How about I suck you off? Right here, right now.” Without waiting for an answer, she unzipped his pants and pulled out his rock hard dick.
John hesitated as he watched Rachel go down on her knees on the thick carpet. Sure, he could have stepped back, pulled up his pants, even pushed her away. But, goddam, Rachel could suck cock better than any woman he has ever been with.
When he felt that her warm tongue thrillingly dance around the head of his dick, he groaned. Rachel sucked him off loudly, her mouth salivating. Looking down, John saw the top of her head jackhammering back and forth in perfect rhythm, slurping and sucking. Her gold bracelets jingled in sync with her hand and neck. He palmed the back of her head like a basketball. Then he gasped and groaned, ejaculating inside her mouth. And then he heard her swallow. John exhaled a jittery breath, and looking down saw her release his prick with a loud suction smack sound. Rachel looked up at him, a sly smile on her face.
Still holding his hard cock, she said, “Right now my pussy is wetter than my mouth.”
And then the bedroom door opened, and Victor Wynn stood there with a gun in his hand.