Son of a Bitch

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Son of a Bitch

Inappropriate. Repuslive. Hilarious.

The Kansas City Police Department is under attack by a small group of hackers. These cyber criminals threaten to sell personal information about each officer to the black market, essentially putting lives at stake. Wally Redmond is a sketch artist. He’s an alcoholic. He’s a sex fiend. And he’s given a chance to become a hero. His infatuation for a rookie leads him to situations he would otherwise avoid. But despite his personal issues, he may be the only hope for the cops who dedicate their lives to protect us. He may be the only one with a solution. He may have an idea only a drunk and horny son-of-a-bitch could come up with. From the author of ‘BRIGHTSIDE’ and ‘SLUMBERLAND’ comes another hilarious venture into the world of the inebriated.

If you’re not easily offended (or if you are), Son of a Bitch is just right for you. It’s absolutely absurd.

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Author’s stance

“My mom read this absurd comedy and she hated it, which I find absolutely hysterical!” 🤣

—Bradley Carter


Toward the end of the season, I put the boat up for sale. It wasn’t long before a man responded to the ad in the newspaper. He came by to see it and paid me three-hundred dollars in cash as a deposit. He said he would return to pick it up when he gets back from his vacation in the Caribbean. Not so much a vacation, he told me, but more of a quest. He said he was going to cross the Bermuda Triangle in hopes of disproving its myths of disappearing ships and vanishing aircraft. That was a year ago and I haven’t heard from him since.

For a guy like me, this playground is an easy place to find a mate. You would think these types of girls, this day and age, would snicker at the presence of an older man. But all it takes is a little bit of game and a little bit of liquid confidence. The buzz I have from drinking on my way here in the back of the ride share car, is at a good level. I order a beer from the bartender, a kid half my age, but only as something to hold in my hand. If I were to down another Bourbon, this game may go all to hell. I still can’t believe that little shit asks for my identification. I was cattle-prodding the oyster ditch with the lap rocket and sucking on love muffins before he was a single cell organizm in the bottom of his daddy’s dangly-bits.

Written by Bradley Carter