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Here's where you can buy the MisAdventures worldwide in both paperback and Kindle editions:

U.S. .............................................France

United Kingdom ...........................Spain

Canada ........................................ Italy

Germany ..................................... Japan

Brazil .......................................... India

Friday, December 16, 2011


Run, Lou, Run!
SLEAZY PUBLISHER: What makes you think that you can capture the Hulk when everybody else has failed?

ASSASSIN: I said nothing about capture.

* * *
It was another emergency call from The Hulk.

The show was usually blessed with excellent ratings, staying well up in the top twenty for most of its five-season run. Near the end, however, when the network started moving the time slot around, the ratings began to sag.

And that, as Al Godfrey was wont to say, "is when they really start to fuck with you."

Meaning, everybody from the network and studio brass to their mistresses' Tantra coaches, think they know how to fix the sucker.

Godfrey opined that the best position to be in was second place. (This was in the day when there were only three networks. Fox was just a gleam in Rupert Murdoch's avaricious eyes.) "First place, and they fuck with you so much you break out in hives when the phone rings. Third place and you start feeling as jumpy as an altar boy with a horny a priest. Second place you just keep chugging out the ad money and everybody forgets you are there. Quiet phones. Zip meetings. And you get home in time for a nice dinner and a cuddle."

"Every show you ever worked on was in first place," I pointed out. "Mission: Impossible. Vegas. Baretta. Quincy. All top shows."

Godfrey grinned and ran a hand through his graying hair. "Yeah, and would you believe I'm only 22," he said.

"Maybe twenty five years ago," Chris teased. "Shit, Godfrey, one of these days you're gonna pass us by. We'll wake up one morning and you'll be younger than us."

Chris' joke proved to be prescient. Godfrey always shaded his age. When we first met at Quincy in 1979, Chris and I were 36. Godfrey was easily ten years our senior, although he claimed he'd just turned forty. Channeling Jack Benny, no doubt.

When I was in town a couple of years ago and had lunch with him, Godfrey looked me up and down, then asked, "How are old you, Allan?"

I told him.

He got a quizzical look and said, "When the hell did you get older than me?"

Meanwhile, back at Panic Pass, the Hulk was calling and they wanted us in soonest with a notebook full of stories to pitch. We were several years into our careers at this point, and our reputations were growing. We'd crept into the secretive "A List" territory and networks were smiling favorably at Show Runners who commissioned Bunch & Cole scripts.

Even so, we were still green enough to worry about foolish things.

"All we're doing is shoot 'em ups," Chris complained to Godfrey. "We don't want to get typecast as writerly knuckle draggers. Guys you go to for Biff, Bam and Pow. But never anything with serious themes."

"Jesus Christ," Godfrey came back. "A few years ago you could barely afford the gas it took for you to ride your motorcycle to the studio. And now you're driving a BMW. Biff, Bam and Pow have been very, very good to you."

"Still," I said. "Still."

Catherine Bach As Daisy Dukes
Godfrey gave one of his pitying sighs, then said, "Look, in case you haven't noticed, there are only two things happening on television. Sitcoms with laugh tracks is number one. Number two is car chases with over-dubbed gunfire and lots of Daisy Dukes' type T&A. Scripts featuring over-dubbed gunfire and Daisy Dukes go for twice the price of half-hour laugh tracks. Take your choice."

"We didn't say we were going boycott the Hulk," Chris pointed out. "We're just saying we want to do something different. A change of pace."

"Just don't say I didn't warn you when Nick Corea quickens your pace with a boot up your ass," Godfrey said.

But we were determined to hang tough. Came up with some sweet change of pace stories about real people with real problems. Social issues shit.

Come meeting day, we got waved through the gates by the ever-smiling Scotty, who shouted "Break a leg, boys," as we sailed by.

The production offices for the Incredible Hulk were in one of the Producer's Buildings, opposite the dreaded Black Tower. The commissary was just across from the Jaws pond, and we could see flocks of pretty secretaries in bright summer dresses flitting by the pond to lunch.

As we turned toward the parking slot we'd been assigned, a tram went slowly by and Bruce The Shark rose out of the depths, snapping his bloody-stained fiber glass teeth at the shrieking tourists.

It was good to be alive and in Hollywood and on our way to bag a big fat check imprinted with numerous zeroes, signed by one of Lew Wasserman 's sycophants in Business Affairs.

Ah, Capitalism.

But our mood changed the moment we were ushered into Nick's office. It was a lot like the first meeting we'd had with him several seasons before. The room was crowded: producers and staff people lining either wall with their chairs. There was Karen Harris, her partner Jill Sherman-Donner and guys like Andy Schneider and Reuben Leder. There were pre-production people and post production people and so on and so forth. The office was dimly lit and there was a buzz of anticipation when we entered.

At the far end, framed by his staff, sat the show's El Segundo, Nick Corea, teeth showing white through his dark goatee.

He waved for us to sit, saying, "What do you have for us, boys?"

Chris and I looked at each other. Here goes nothing.

My partner took point: "We've been working on a change of pace, story, Nick. Something with real meat to it."

Nicked nodded - go on.

Chris drew a breath, then said, "What we'd like to do is 'Lilies Of The Field.' You know, that classic movie with Sydney Poitier? Except, instead of a black guy with a bunch of nuns, we'll have a big green guy with a bunch of nuns."

The air left the room as everyone in it sucked in deep breaths of Disappointment.

In a flash, I saw all their faces. Smiling and welcoming moments before. Now dark and somber with hurt looks of betrayal.

After a very long moment, Nick said, "Ah... guys. We were thinking of something a little different from you two. You know?"

Indeed we did. Fucking Godfrey had been right.

Immediately, I said, "Try this: A mercenary with a bazooka is stalking the Hulk. We call it 'Bring Me The Head Of The Hulk.'"

The air whooshed back into the room.

"Go write it," Nick said, gleaming teeth splitting his beard once again.

"Don't you want to hear the rest of the story?" Chris asked.

"No, just go write the fucker," Nick ordered.

And so we did.

Bixby To The Rescue
EPILOGUE: Everybody loved the script. So much so, that the episode was directed by our star, Bill Bixby. He was known as an excellent director, and we were told that he'd long wanted to helm an episode of the Hulk. Problem being, he had to spend so many hours in makeup - for the David Banner To Hulk transition scenes - that he never had the time.

But with the show obviously in its last season, he picked our script to direct. Not only that, but the full transitions were shown, from beginning to end. Usually, to save money and time, they cut in stock art of the Hulkout from the original two-hour pilot into those scenes. (Usually there were two Hulkouts in every show. In the First Act, trailing over into the second act. And then the Fourth and final Act.)

Finally - and best of all - when the show aired it not only took its hour, but came in way at the top of the weekly Neilson ratings.

Here's where you can get a peek at the episode.



The MisAdventures began humbly enough - with about 2,000 readers. When it rose to over 50,000 (we're now knocking at the door of 110,000) I started listening to those of you who urged me to collect the stories into a book. Starting at the beginning, I went back and rewrote the essays, adding new detail and events as they came to mind. This book is the result of that effort. However, I'm mindful of the fact, Gentle Reader, that you also enjoy having these little offerings posted every Friday to put a smile on your face for the weekend. So I'll continue running them until it reaches the final Fade Out. Meanwhile, it would please the heart of this ink-stained wretch - as well as tickle whatever that hard black thing is in my banker's chest - if you bought the book. It will make a great gift, don't you think? And if you'd like a personally autographed copy you can get it directly through my (ahem) Merchant's Link at Click here. Buy the book and I will sign it and ship it to you. Break a leg!


Two new companion editions to the international best-selling Sten series. In the first, learn the Emperor's most closely held  cooking secrets. In the other, Sten unleashes his shaggy-dog joke cracking sidekick, Alex Kilgour. Both available as trade paperbacks or in all major e-book flavors. Click here to tickle your funny bone or sizzle your palate.    


Relive the fabulous four-day Stregg-laced celebration.  Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever. New recipes from the Eternal Emperor's kitchen. Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever. Sten's thrill-packed exploits at the Emp's castle. How to make your own Stregg. And, did I mention, Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever?

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