Sonntag, 14. Juli 2013

Lunatic Castle with a Lakeside View

Guten Morgen meine lieben Leser und alle Interessierte,

ihr plant einen Urlaub? 
Benötigt dringend noch ein gutes Buch?
Wie wärs mit meinem Buch Lunatic Castle with a Lakeside View. 
Ich stelle es euch mit 2 Kapitelauszügen vor.
Ich hoffe sehr, euch gefällt, was ihr zu lesen bekommt! 

Es gelingt mir euer Interesse für meine Übersetzung zu wecken!
Ich kann euch bestenfalls begeistern!  

Life writes the best stories or …

What soap opera did I land in?

The amount of testosterone here at Lunatic Castle with a Lakeside View was almost palpable.

Men who would have been third rate at best in the outside world beyond the portcullis, who would have been fodder for casting shows or reality television of the worst sort, deluded themselves into believing they could hook up with an alpha female here in the Castle. But it didn’t stop there. Mating was obviously the primary goal. These men were in heat in the worst way.

And how exactly did the chosen, the selected, the adored react?

Hard to believe, but these grown-up women giggled and gloried in the attention. Women upwards of fifty suddenly fancied themselves adolescents again and responded to advances with all of the allure they could still muster. The lights were still on in some of the uteruses present. It’s a sure bet some of them were thinking, “Before my biological clock completely stops ticking …” Some of the women even dyed streaks into their hair to be more visible from low Earth orbit, but a pig wearing lipstick is still a pig.

Without a doubt some of them imagined they were letting a racing boat into bed with them, but alas, it was instead the Titanic.

From time to time it was too much for Bärbel, and she wanted to scream, to shake these women back to their senses and return them from their fantasies to the reality of their own world in the here and now. Unfortunately, Cupid seemed to have arrived before her at the lakeside Castle and had emptied his quiver.

Since she remained impervious to these testosterone bombs, she was lucid enough to arrive at her own conclusion: she was witnessing occasional localized cases of dementia. One was often led to wonder what parallel universe the demented had to think they were in for their fantasies to be manifested.

Some of the aforementioned men were finally able to find women at Lunatic Castle with a Lakeside View they could touch without having to inflate them first. To be fair, there were surely some among these men who still had active, consensual sex – when their partners fell asleep with their mouths open.

Harking to the call of hormones, bones were being jumped left and right. Test drilling was commonplace. After all, sooner or later partnerless sex yields no more surprises. Even genetic condition was increasingly ignored. Bunga, bunga.

Perhaps Bärbel should explain to these women in small, understandable words that German men only remained aroused for eleven seconds. After eleven seconds without the answering warmth of a female body, his erection collapses like a soufflé removed from the oven too soon.

Many a testosterone bomb was dropped on a menstrual minefield here.

Quite a few patients here suffered from a thrombosis of the emotional artery, and many men were looking for a new plaything behind their partners’ backs.

There were a few well-travelled residents in the lakeside Castle who followed the example of the city of Esperantina. In this city not far from Rio de Janeiro the Day of the Orgasm has been celebrated every year since May 9th, 2002. The citizens of this city view the orgasm as a gift from God. These world travellers, who had declared themselves missionaries of this creed, joyfully celebrated this queer holiday, selflessly offering their own worldly flesh for the festivities, but naturally only to win new converts to their cause. In that sense, all those mentioned here enjoyed a good holiday every day.

Bärbel ruminated on the drama being acted out before her eyes. It has been scientifically proven that human genes are ninety-eight percent the same as pig genes. Only two percent of their genes result in men not growing a curly tail. That, however, is no excuse for trying to get as many of the female patients as possible in a clinic for psychosomatic sickness to gently stroke their throbbing love warrior out of his hiding place.

Maybe the way to infuse these women with more objectivity was through agitation. Perhaps investing in a bull horn and leaflets and inciting a riot would get these women to remove their rose-colored glasses.

Where’s a rabid feminist when you needed one? Where are her followers? Was this territory declared a feminist-free zone while I wasn’t watching? Girls, I need you! Hellooo! Am I the only one fighting on this front? thought Bärbel.

Many of the men present wanted a double garage, so to speak, in their relationships. At home they presumably had a well maintained, classic automobile, perhaps from the same year they were born, and here at the Castle they were in the market for a brand-new hybrid that didn’t have many miles on the odometer, and hadn’t really been broken in yet, or, even better, hadn’t been broken in at all. The new owner wanted to break this lovely new model in himself.

It’s superfluous to state that permanent, committed companionship was exotic here. Here, men and women alike considered the constancy of relationships a charade. This begged the question what their wives, husbands, or partners thought of this view.

Quarrels, arguments, rows with an inclination to violence were a foregone conclusion. Married, filing separately.

Here in the harbor from the storm many marriages must surely have wrecked on the rocks within sight of the shore. 

Testosterone surplus or …

Randy tomcats


In the hotel in which Bärbel was quartered there were two elevators. One of them was always out of order …

The elevators must have predated Noah’s ark. Every time it took a few full minutes for them to arrive on the required floor. Bärbel considered it a kind of torture to have to wait for the appearance of the elevator every time.

The time stuck in the elevator as well as the time stuck waiting on the elevator were ripe times to be approached by one of the testosterone bombs. They seized the opportunity during the long wait to make shameless overtures. Most of the men at the clinic were obviously being led solely by their animal instincts. Ninety percent of them must have been listening to the devil seated on their left shoulder whispering incessantly “mate, mate, mate!”

Bärbel had just gotten in the elevator with another patient she recognized when he asked in a circuitous fashion, “Say, why is it so hard to find the right partner?” Bärbel countered with a question of her own: “Why do you ask? Is the wrong woman sitting at home waiting for you?” Either the man hadn’t heard her, or he slyly overheard her question, for he pressed on with his trash talk. “The table is set and there’s quite a spread on it, if you know what I mean, but still I can’t find a woman to sit down and enjoy the meal,” the degenerate continued to insinuate. Bärbel didn’t reply. Instead, she simply gave him a questioning look and got off the elevator without wasting her breath on him. What a great way to start the day!

What does trash do as it ages? It becomes more full of life, thought Bärbel as she looked for Renate in the yard in front of the Castle.

The female guests at Lunatic Castle with a Lakeside View were ogled every morning by the testosterone bombs staying in the hotel. As soon as everyone got in the elevator the Schwarzenegger wannabes, who in fact looked more like Marlon Brando in his later years, made their moves and it was decided which of the females had passed the test and would be briefly permitted to play the role of eye candy on the arm of one of the men, or more importantly, playmate in his bed.

What in the world must the men here have thought of themselves? With respect to their hormone profile they were all demonstrably men, but not one of the male patients here met Bärbel’s most basic definition of a man in any other way.

Typical come-ons from these paragons of masculinity during the elevator ride ran from “What’s on your plan for today?” to “If you’re not doing anything special, how about we go grab a cup of coffee together?” or “You want to go into the city with me?” The pinnacle was “You’re here, too?” Naturally these questions were only asked of those women they thought to be receptive to their blunt advances.

Bärbel was asked this last question point blank on one occasion while she was waiting on the elevator with Renate and some other women. “Just a moment. I’ll ask my friend,” replied Bärbel, and turned to her right where Renate was standing. “Renate, am I here, too?” “Yes,” smiled Renate. Bärbel turned back to the testosterone bomb and retorted snippily “It seems I am here, too, yes.”

Just as Bärbel decided things couldn’t get stupider, she received a lesson from the bottom of the abyss of stupidity. About two hours after the aforementioned confrontation Bärbel was in the elevator when she was asked another of these brilliant questions: “Would you like to talk about your problems with me?” “Sure. I can’t imagine pouring my heart out to someone better than you,” she answered with more than a little edge in her voice.

I’m sure you’re only available as a double pack, you old goat: you and your huge ego shooter, she thought during the remainder of the elevator ride to the ground floor.

It was irritating. Lamentations flew left and right here at the lakeside Castle. Would have, could have, should have, and if only.

Many of these male pussycats rubbed, batted, and purred like fat, old, randy tomcats to reach their goal. Their fur was nearly rubbed off, their claws dull from playful scratching, and their paws bore the scars of their many failed attempts, but these tomcats were indomitable in their mating efforts.

During her stay she even heard this unbelievable sentence: “I can make a woman very, very happy.” Bärbel looked at the two people talking standing at the entrance, or exit, depending on how you took it. She was walking past the smokers into one of the buildings on her way to group therapy. God’s gift to women must have been pushing sixty, and the woman he was talking to can’t have been thirty, by the looks of it.

She entered the building and thought: The question is, how could the good man make a woman nearly thirty years his junior so happy? The only way I can think of is if he closed her bedroom door – from the outside.

She often heard this one: “I understand women. If one of the other patients causes you a problem, or if you have anything else on your mind and just need to get a load off your chest, I always have an open ear for you.” Did the man really mean an open ear, or perhaps an open zipper, always ready.

Bärbel hoped that this chitchat coming from an unemployable man was nothing more than a phrase repeated without meaning. He couldn’t really mean that silly platitude, could he? He must have been dreaming. But how nice of this man who so understood women to gallantly, touchingly be so concerned for the well-being of the female patients, and so guilelessly and selflessly.

Why didn’t these men ever get tired of hearing their own voices?

It made Bärbel shudder that all of the even halfway attractive women at the Castle constantly had to fend off the advances of multitudinous, well, let’s just call it like it is, sex-starved men. What a hassle.

Most days Bärbel felt quite put upon by the male inmates’ pushy behavior, even if she wasn’t directly involved. These extreme behavioral patterns are probably a direct result of the fact that large portions of a snail’s genes remain in human DNA, and in the final analysis men on the make can’t do much about their sliminess. The poor things, thought Bärbel after one of her morning elevator trips through the gauntlet.

She had heard everything. Really, everything. How about this one: “If I happen to be in your town, maybe we could grab a bite to eat together.” Or this: “We could go out together somewhere, if you’d like”. “Give me your e-mail address so we can trade information and pictures,” when Bärbel was sure there were no pictures to trade. “How about we trade telephone numbers?” Sure, thought Bärbel, why not give him your cell phone number so you can be available for him day and night.

Bärbel discovered the sad result of removing herself from the line of fire of the men and their constant come-ons, of turning down invitation after invitation and making it clear that she was not interested in the testosterone bombs: she was considered arrogant and aloof. “You think you’re better than everyone else, don’t you?” one man threw in her face after she had rejected his invitation to the movies. It was, of course, only the petty man’s injured pride.

Life’s neither a circus, nor a walk in the park, my dear radiation poisoned men, thought Bärbel after the aforementioned suitor had loudly aired his opinion through a stuffed-up nose.

What tempting offers from all sides! Sometimes, after so much masculine tender loving care, so much unwanted attention, she could almost feel her gag reflex. Nonetheless, she had to admit that the evidently debilitated man’s accusation was correct. Here in the Castle there were only four decent conversationalists from whom Bärbel could choose: Renate, Holger.

Eure Bärbel

Lunatic Castle with a Lakeside View [Paperback]

Bärbel Kiy

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List Price: $25.77
Price:$21.25 & FREE Shipping on orders over $25. Details
You Save: $4.52 (18%)

In Stock.
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Order within 48 hrs 37 mins and choose One-Day Shipping at checkout.

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