Amber FoxxFire, $2.99
Fantasy Romance, 2018
Remember how I always said that I’d buy something that has, for once, a were-tortoise or anything but wolf, dragon, bears, and other boring overused animals? Well, never let it be said that I don’t walk the talk, because Akita StarFire’s The Alpha Tiger’s Baby Bun Buns—yes, you read that right—has a were-rabbit. There’s also a were-tiger, but it’s okay, baby steps for the furries.
Then, I open the first chapter and sees a father complaining that his youngest son is “irresponsible” because he is foreclosing people that can’t pay their mortgage to their bank Razdar INC. Yes, the “INC” is all in caps.
“It’s not fair to them. You wouldn’t like it done to you. That’s not how I’m running this business. And it’s sure as hell not how you’re going to run it.” His father said as he picked up his cup, inhaling the rich aroma.
Ah, this is that kind of story. So, I get a were-rabbit, but it comes with anti-capitalism rants that somehow manage to be even more stupid than the things these rants are targeting. Sigh, I guess I really can’t have it all.
The evil son, Anthony that also’s a were-tiger, kills the father, because he knows that a socialist is not meant to run a bank.
“Yeah, the old man’s kicking the bucket as we speak. Here, listen to his gurgled choking…” He held out the phone. “Yes, his eyes are bulging as we speak and he’s got a gnarly vein popping out of his forehead.”
“Gross, I know. But it’ll be over soon. You want to celebrate?” Anthony gave his father a warm smile. He loved watching the old man die.
“Where to? Maybe The Whore’s Unlimited? There’s lots of hot omegas there.” Anthony smiled, feeling that this was the best day of his life.
I’m in love. Please let Anthony be the were-tiger in the title. Please, please, please…
Oh damn it. The were-tiger hero is the other son, Royce, the bleeding heart that lets people renege on mortgage payments because their mee-maw is sick and some other mawkish nonsense.
The were-rabbit is Roger QuickPaw… hey, wait a minute. If there are two guys here, where do the baby bun buns come from? Is this a male impregnation story?
Anyway, here’s Roger.
Roger couldn’t care less about the farm. He didn’t want to learn the family business his father had so desperately tried to teach him.
What he wanted was to be a writer. He’d studied and crafted his art to where he thought he could make a living off of it.
Yes, dear, be a writer. Go write nonsense for The Mary Sue and Buzzfeed, and then beg people on Twitter to give them free money via GoFundMe because they can’t pay the rent and hence the capitalist ultra-MAGAs are winning.
Anyone shocked to learn that Royce, the socialist wanting to run a bank that gives free money to everyone, is an idiot? Anthony completely has him fooled, and Royce even marvels at how brave his brother had to be to be still so collected after watching their old man die, when Royce knew he would be a blubbering mess had he been in Anthony’s shoes.
Meanwhile, Roger is a petulant crybaby stomping his paws and squealing that everyone doesn’t understand how hard it is to want to be a writer. Royce agrees that Roger is so brave, so amazing.
He wondered if Roger would like that. The little rabbit reminded him of his alpha father, because instead of doing what everyone else wanted him to, he followed his own path.
That took nerve and character. He was doing something that many people shied away from because it was a scary world to walk your own path.
Ah yes, the snowflake world of participation trophies. Follow your heart, and then throw a hissyfit when you don’t get the results you think you are entitled to.
I can’t take it anymore. These is a story of two imbeciles, born to privilege and positions of power, acting like they know how the world runs because they think they are the perfect socialists, and whine and whinge when they don’t get their way. I feel so sorry for Anthony because, in a fair world, he would be the star of the show.
Still, I have a morbid curiosity about where the babies come from, so let me just skip the story until that part…
He struggled and strained as he gave birth to all ten of them. Then, he gazed at his wonderful babies. They were all snuggled around him as he rested, feeling tired, but content.
All 10… you know what, bring back the wolves, tigers, bears, dragons. BRING THEM BACK!
Now, let me make this clear: I have no problems with social justice issues. I’m no fan of capitalism myself, especially when it comes to the banks as well as the food and pharmaceutical industries. What makes me roll up my eyes here is how these issues are wrapped up in a bundle of stupidity, with the solution being companies giving away free money to everyone. Anyone with common sense will know that this will only lead to the collapse of these companies, and without any proper infrastructure to deal with such collapse, then the economy and everything else about society and country are FUBAR.
Underscoring the stupidity of this story is how, when Roger thinks that he is dying while being in charge of his people, his regrets are not that he will leave his people unprotected, but that he has never finished his novel or told Royce that he loves that wretch. This is a very selfish kind of “socialism”, the kind that rich spoiled kids pretend to be all about because they have their own wealth and privilege to insulate them when their stupid ideas blow up in their faces and take the actual needy people down as a result.
So yes, screw this story and the manifold stupidity it drags in through the door, and I don’t know how I am ever going to forget that I read that baby-popping-from-rabbit-butt scene. God, this is really a real life example of being very careful of what I wish for.
