Well, we did it—and it was fun!  We’ve designed an alternate book cover option for Rallies, Fests, & Hot Tubs:  Having Fun Can Be HELL on Relationships II.  This second cover features a brown paper bag—inspired by Justin’s television interview with WTHR Ch. 13—that covers the potentially censorable artistic qualities of the original book cover.

Readers now have two cover options for the same book:  the original (our favorite) OR the family-friendly, brown bag version.


Both cover options will be available for the release of ACT III—coming later this month!  To celebrate the upcoming release, here’s a sneak peak—or “Titty Flash”—from ACT III . . .

As Justin will enthusiastically and dogmatically declare to anyone who cares to listen:  Key West’s annual Fantasy Fest is the best party in the English-speaking world!

Naturally—or perhaps unnaturally—Justin hasn’t been to every party in the English-speaking world or even the lower forty-eight states.  But as he has explained:  “If it’s a better party in any way than the three-day party hosted by the San Francisco hookers’ union COYOTE (Call Off Your Old Tired Ethics) in 1977 when the authorities tried to vacate Gate Six—the hippie houseboat row in Sausalito—then it has to be the best party in America!”

As previously explicated, motorcycle rallies feature, but are not limited to:  jeans, T-shirts, black leather jackets, rain, tents, sleeping bags, Styrofoam coolers, motorcycle exhaust, dust, dirt, mud, roach-coach cuisine, fifty-degree temps, hill-climber ankles, and frequent jealousies only temporarily disguised as permission.  Rallies seem to be all about folks trying to get themselves and their partners to a different kind of place or somewhere else—wherever somewhere else is—implying a journey, a path, inconvenience, some struggle, a goal.  In contrast, Fantasy Fest is all about having arrived:  already being there, wherever there is.  In short, Fantasy Fest at Key West—America’s Best Hard Spot To Get To—is about arrivedness . . . ease and easy satisfaction.

At a motorcycle rally, people fight nature, engineering, manufacturing, their bodies—and their personal vagaries.  At Fantasy Fest, people fall into and then gleefully roll along with everything and whatever—it’s all so effortlessly damn satisfying and pleasing and pleasurable:

Elegance, ocean breezes, sand, sun, surf, white-lace thongs, killer sunsets with clouds like neon meringue, five-star restaurants and hotels, hot tubs, submerged-lighted swimming pools, concrete sidewalks, ceramic tile, consistently excellent coffee, Margaritas and pina coladas, cigar stores, excellent music live and DJ-ed, art galleries, thousands of the planet’s most beautiful couples, the most delicate coconut shrimp and expertly attended-to rack of lamb, lobster and asparagus omelets, acceptance, invitation, indulgence, freedom—pure, spread-your-wings and glide-here freedom!

Key West’s Fantasy Fest is a total, unpredictable, sensation-trip—plush, lush, and clean.  Like a round brilliant, dazzling with its fire . . . and unexpected clarity . . . the air and light of Key West enthuse, delight, and reward.  The pleasurableness, in so many ways, even includes the incessant walking.

In contrast to motorcycle exhaust explosions and fumes, mud, raccoons, porta potties, funnel cakes, deep-fried turkey drumsticks, no coffee after 10:00 a.m., and bitchslapping, Fantasy  Fest  at  Key West annually combines San Francisco’s air of refinement and detachment; Chicago’s sense of urgency, ambition, exuberance, and innovation; New Orleans’ funkiness and delight of bodies and contrariness; Canadian cognitive intelligence, alertness, and equanimity; the United Kingdom’s verbal precision and acuity; and Caribbean and Central and South American natural unhurriedness and  rhythmic sensuality:  an elixir uniquely un-American, un-Puritan, un-Orthodox, and delightfully, discriminately improper.

At Fantasy Fest, sensuousness, taste, and natural curiosity are embedded in extreme zaniness and restrained frivolity practiced annually with almost religious zeal and glee . . . abandon!  And in a very consistently user-friendly venue.  In short, Fantasy Fest offers two weeks of planet Earth aliveness perfection.  And the Fantasy Fest chicks, of all ages, are more fun, more relaxed, and more gregarious than the chicks in Rio.  And the guys, also of all ages, are so much less threatened . . . and threatening . . . than the muscled macho men of Ipanema and Leblon.  Fantasy Fest is Ibiza gone wild—for all age groups!

Decades ago, one of Justin’s business communication sophomores asked:  “So Justin, what’s your definition of happiness?”

“The absence of fear or threat,” Justin stated without having to think.  “The absence of neediness or criticism.  Life as regard; bodies as invitation.”

That would also be Justin’s description of Fantasy Fest . . . of Heaven . . . on Earth.

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