Malicious Compliance? More Like DELICIOUS Compliance! Happy Dead Nazi Day!

 

"Once Upon a Pastry" by Ashley Uzzell

BOOK TITLE: Once Upon a Pastry

AUTHOR: Ashley Uzzell

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: LGBT Fairytale

GRADE: Pass

Fearing that her grandmother’s bakery will soon go out of business, Gertrude makes a pact with a witch named Mona to cast a spell on her that will make her the greatest baker in Linford City. The only thing Mona asks for in exchange is Gertrude’s first born child. As the bakery business draws in a comfortable amount of money, Mona gets testy about Gertrude living up to her end of the bargain. The more time the two women spend having cupcakes and donuts together, the more they realize that this deal is bigger than money or babies. They start to form an awkward attraction for each other. It’s a slow process in which past heartbreak and a war between humans and centaurs become obstacles, but one way or another, Gertrude and Mona will realize that they’re meant for each other.

Seeing as how this story revolves around a bakery and my 300 lb. body loves a good treat every now and then, I enjoyed the descriptions of the various baked goods Gertrude made. As customers, workers, and witches alike munched on cupcakes with orgasmic energy, I actually wanted to reach inside the story and take one of those frosting-covered death wishes. I could eat a hundred of them. Or a thousand. Or a million. I really should eat more vegetables and less sweets, but damn it, these colorful descriptions make me hungry! If Mona’s magic can do this much for a bakery, imagine what other restaurants can benefit from her spells. What if Mona’s magic turned a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese into a monstrous mountain of meat that oozed with grease, cheese, and tender beef that melts in your mouth (not in your hands). Mmm-mmm-mmm! My Homer Simpson glands are going nuts just thinking about it!

Another thing I loved about this book is the romantic build between Gertrude and Mona. It’s the way romance should be presented in every work of fiction: slow, steady, awkward at times, and an exciting crescendo. Seeing as how this is a piece of LGBT fiction, there’s always that chance that one or the other might not be a lesbian. If that was the case and one made a pass onto the other, it would be extremely awkward and that might have spelled the end of the deal. The slow build up to the romantic crescendo is believable in every way. People should tiptoe around each other more often since romance is a savory treat, not unlike the cupcakes Gertrude bakes on a daily basis. There are other romances in this story that worked the same way, one example being the marriage between a government soldier named Kevin and a bakery clerk named Jasper. When you read an Ashley Uzzell book, you realize that she knows what she’s talking about when it comes to matters of the heart.

One thing I was worried about was whether or not this story would tie up its loose ends by the conclusion of the story. There were times when I completely forgot that a deal was made between Gertrude and Mona where a first born baby was to be exchanged. There were times when I forgot that the centaur-human war was a central theme to the story. And then there’s that moron Trip who keeps threatening to shut down Mona’s magic shop with his own brand of wizardry. I’m happy to say that most of these loose ends are tied up, but not all of them. I would have loved to see Trip get his comeuppance in some way, shape, or form, but it seems like he was just an inconvenient monkey wrench in this bigger plot. But hey, this flaw is so minor that it’s not really worth worrying about. Just enjoy the infinite cuteness of this romantic fairytale.

If you’re looking for light reading with characters you can cheer for every step of the way, you need to grab a copy of this book. Everybody loves a feel-good story and this one will make you feel warm and toasty on the inside, just like a freshly baked donut with cinnamon glaze and pink frosting. Oh my god, there I go again, making myself hungry over a book that I read! That just goes to show you how dedicated Mrs. Uzzell is to her craft. Not one detail goes unnoticed and you have a front row seat to this beautiful story. A passing grade for an A+ author!

The Undertaker

The bitter taste of wheat beer slid down Heath Danielson’s throat like a flash flood of numbness. It was like drinking horse piss, but it was effective at making him forget how badly his father was screwed over when he lost his bakery to the bank. Heath also forgot that he was supposed to behave in a gentlemanly manner when drinking at this particular bar.

When he fell asleep, his face landed right into a neighboring woman’s chest. All of her screams and slaps across the head were like flies buzzing: a mere annoyance. It was the beefy bouncer who grabbed Heath by his scraggly brown hair and floppy arm that finally made him realize how fucked up he had become. Being tossed out on the streets and landing firmly on the unforgiving concrete was not a mere annoyance. The scrapes and bruises were proof of that.

In his brain-dead ecstasy, Heath managed to pull himself up off the ground using a parked car as leverage. Staying up would prove to be harder as he stumbled and crawled his way down the sidewalk. He occasionally let out an obnoxious burp and everybody in his vicinity scurried away from him. Cars began honking at him as if their horns were enough to awaken him from his drunken nightmare.

All Heath really wanted to do was find a nice place to empty his bladder, which was the size of a snow tire. He couldn’t go back to the bar or any other place of business since he was too drunk to read their signs. He did however find a nice shade of darkness where he was convinced he was the only one there. Perfect!

Heath waddled and stumbled into the darkness until his forehead hit a brick wall and temporarily woke him up. He had a lump where he smacked his head, but it was as good a place as any to drain the lizard. He struggled to find his jeans zipper, but eventually unzipped it and let the urine pour from his system like the floodgates of bliss. This simple bodily function put a stupid grin on Heath’s face, as if it was the only form of happiness he could experience since his father had to close his bakery.

Once his bladder was drained, Heath tucked his thingamabob back in his pants and unwittingly gave himself a zipper injury. The spark of pain got a yelp out of him as well as the temporary ability to read what was in front of him. The drunkard’s eyes grew wide and his body was shaking violently at what he saw. He just pissed on the memorial of Zell “The Undertaker” Jardine.

“Oh, shit!” Heath said to himself. Before he could turn around and run away, a trench-coat wearing arm rose up from the grave and grabbed him around his throat, squeezing with the strength a silverback gorilla. Even without significant oxygen and a brain full of booze, Heath could easily make out this zombie’s features: an old man with white horseshoe hair, muscles upon muscles, and a trench coat that carried god knows what. Zell tossed Heath on the ground and allowed him to hack and wheeze what little oxygen he could back into his body.

As soon as the lush was breathing normally (albeit with raspy overtones), he had the urge to relieve himself once again when he saw Zell pull a long, bloody, and jagged machete out of his trench coat. “I’m going to enjoy every minute of this,” said the former war hero. “Which one of your limbs should I cut off first? Your arms? Your legs? Or maybe I should make that zipper injury feel like a paper cut and hack off your tiny dick!”

Heath crawled backwards and waved his hand defensively as he tried to plead his case to someone nicknamed “The Undertaker”. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know that was your grave!” The lush let out another sickening burp. “I’m just really pissed off tonight. You see, my dad just had to close his…”

“Silence!” shouted Zell. Heath’s breaths were getting faster and deeper with every step The Undertaker took towards him. The sounds of militia boots hitting the pavement were loud and clear to even someone with drunken vision. “I didn’t spend ten years in a government prison getting tortured half to death just so I could have disrespectful faggots like you pissing on my grave! All I want is a little peace and quite and you can’t even give that to me! You and your disgusting burping; it’s damn insulting!”

Heath’s eyes were cascading with tears when he said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jardine. I’m really sorry. Please don’t kill me. I’m fucking drunk as a skunk right now. I don’t even know where the hell I am right now. I’ll give you your peace and quiet if you’d just let me go.”

Zell’s demonic eyes rolled backwards when he reached down and grabbed Heath by his shirt collar to hoist him up, holding the jagged machete to his throat in the process. “If you have any brain cells left in that thick skull of yours, then you’d better start begging for your life a lot better than that. I’ve cut up many demons and undead warriors with this machete and it would be an honor to take your head off as well. Go ahead, you little bitch! Scream for your life!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! Please let me go! My father needs me!” shouted Heath in a pathetic voice, prompting Zell to release his shirt collar and allow him to drop to the ground. The demonic zombie still had the machete pointed at his would-be victim. Heath waved his hands defensively and said, “Look, man. I’m just the son of a baker. I used to be before the goddamn bank took everything away. You just said you were in a government prison for ten years. Didn’t you feel like doing…you know…something drastic?” That last sentence was punctuated by another burp.

“Every damn day I felt like doing something drastic!” shouted Zell. He allowed that comment to hang in the air for a few long seconds before putting his instrument of destruction back in his trench coat. “Every damn day,” he said with more compassion. “Even when I got out of that prison and we eventually won the war, things were never the same. The story doesn’t end just because the author puts his pen down. I had nightmares when the war was over. Sometimes I’d wake up and wouldn’t know where I was. And yes, I did a lot of drinking during that time, even more so than you.”

Heath looked up at his now calmed down assailant with compassion of his own. And then he turned his head to the side and puked his guts out. Some of the flowing stomach acid managed to dirty up Zell’s boots, which once again put a sadistic frown on the war hero’s face. After wiping the bile from his mouth with his jacket sleeve, Heath realized what he just did and said in that same pathetic voice, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please, don’t kill me!”

Zell’s eyes rolled back and he this time picked Heath up by his unwashed hair before pulling the machete back out to hold it to the drunkard’s throat. Mr. Danielson cried like a little baby with his tears coming as quickly as his puke. The zombie warrior shouted, “Shut up! Stop your blubbering, little boy!” The tears had dried up. “So that’s how your story’s going to end, huh? You’re just going to let these corrupt banks do whatever they want with your father’s business? One that he worked so hard to obtain?”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” said a whiny-voiced Heath.

The Undertaker pressed the blade against Heath’s throat even harder, drawing a little speck of blood and causing the raspy breaths to come more rapidly. And then Zell turned the blade over and put the handle of the weapon in Heath’s shaking hands. “I have no more use for this now that I’m dead and gone. But for you, my friend, it’s not too late. Take this blade and show those asshole bankers that you’re not one to be fucked with!”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t just attack them like that!” said Heath.

“You’re right,” said Zell sarcastically. “They’re just going to give your father’s bakery back to you like civilized gentlemen. Because that’s how the real world works: everything is handed to you and nothing has to be fought for. That’s why I have my own tombstone where I’m resting more comfortably than I would in a Hilton Hotel.”

Heath could feel the cold steel in his hand. It was such a simple weapon of war with jagged edges and many lives claimed. A prolific war hero was passing down his instrument of death to a mere drunkard who never thought he could change the world with a bloody slash. This blade made Heath Danielson feel powerful. It made him feel revolutionary. Those suit-wearing jackasses at Babylon Bank didn’t stand a chance against him. They could have all the beefy security and all the brutal cops they wanted and they would all fall down one by one. A sea of blood would overtake the streets as the souls of those claimed by this machete would be burning in hellfire for all eternity.

“You can count on me, Mr. Jardine. Nobody steals from the Danielson family! Nobody!” shouted Heath…right before he puked up another meal on Zell’s legs.

“For God’s sake, man, don’t ever drink that much alcohol again!” shouted the zombie before shoving the drunkard down on the ground.