Each Thursday, your Crap Archivist
brings you the finest in forgotten and bewildering crap culled from
area basements, thrift stores, estate sales and flea markets. I do
this for one reason: Knowledge is power.
Killinger!
The Rainbow/Seagreen Case
Author:
P.K. Palmer
Publisher:
Pinnacle Press, New York
Date:
1974
Discovered
at: Independence Goodwill
The cover promises: Lord,
where to start?
With "He's
ruggedly virile, he's karate-quick"?
With the fact that
he likes his ladies not just topless but nippleless, too?
With the tiny
frogman who services his metal manhood?
Representative quotes:
"Killinger turned to
face her. There was a definite interruption in the pattern of his
white shorts." (page 95)
"Killinger
feinted with the start of a kinkeri, a genital knee-kick designed to
castrate without use of a knife." (page 155)
Imagine for a
moment that you are P.K. Palmer and you've just conceived of the
most over-the-top, badass last name in the history of tough-guy
fiction. You tried Deathington, Murderwitz and P.J. Woehouse before hitting on your masterpiece: Killinger -- a name that elevates
any sentence!
Some of your best:
"Killinger
had made an oil and vinegar dressing with a touch of dill."
"Killinger
was helicopter-happy."
"Killinger's
movements flowed at great speed and grace. A superb ballet dancer
could not have made his movements more fluid nor with more true
beauty."
"No
matter what business came up, Killinger ran his two miles every day
and did his Karate exercises."
"It
was where Killinger hung his meat and poultry to age properly."
"Killinger
hung up quickly to cut off complaints and because Marja-Liisa had
moved his hand to her golden grove and had begun quivering against
his fingers and her sighs had become deep."
"Killinger
was proud of his Chinese junk."
But
then, stupidly, you keep right on christening and destroy everything.
You had to try to give Killinger his
"Bond. James Bond" moment. Now, readers cringe as your hero
acquaints himself with Marja-Liisa Kikkonen [sic], a Posrche-driving,
cheetah-raising associate professor of marine biology Palmer
describes as "a magnificent six feet of female":
"Theman looked at the long splendid legs before him. He looked up past
them and past the glorious rounds of the breasts at a wondrous face
and long tawny hair. He rose to introduce himself.
'My name isJeddediah Killinger the Third.'"
Jeddediah? The
Third? Stupid
shit like that is exactly
why every novel on the front tables at Barnes & Noble has photos
of shoes on the cover: American men have given up on books.
Like Marja-Liisa in
Killinger's car, the aptly named Palmer labors mightily to please his
men. Unfortunately, he works so hard, it starts to chafe. The sad truth: His hero is much more Jeddediah the Third than he is KILLINGER.
Sure, Killinger
drives a '57 Thunderbird, maintains "a hard muscled body that
belies his age, which was 41," and lives on a Chinese junk
houseboat with Kimo, a "Japanese boy from Idaho" who he is
teaching "the martial art of karate."
And, sure, the
women love him. Marja-Liisa Kikkonen [sic] - the "nude tigress,"
"the beautiful tawny-gold Viking queen," "the tawny-gold feline
Scandinavian goddess" -- gives him a handjob, while he drives,
within 10minutes of meeting him.
Still, it's all kind of lame.
Killinger's badass
job? Insurance adjuster.
Killinger's badass pets? Cats named Lollipop and Coco Chanel.
Killinger's almost superhuman skill? He can do long division in his head.
And does anything excuse sentences like "Marja-Liisa started walking slowly to where Killinger lay, dressed only in his skin"?
Here, Killinger sexually harasses his crying secretary Marjorie, who
is "wonderfully slim where a girl should be slim and wondrously
full where a girl should be full":
"Stepping
back a bit, he put his hand under chin and lifted it. 'Say ...
prunes.'
With the word, her
lips went into a lovely bee-sting pout. 'Prunes ...'
Killinger kissed
her tenderly."
His adventure is a confounding
muddle about a crashed plane, its mysterious cargo, the CIA, the KGB,
a kidnapping, some "faceless men," a plan to dump dye into lakes,
and -- oh, who cares? Other than some sex, karate kicks and the use of "prunes" to loosen constipated lips, the two
most exciting things Killinger does are:
old lady with an audit.
Explain to the associate professor of marine biology what "Roy G. Biv" has to do with rainbows.
Highlight:
Palmer
was a one-man Cinemax. Killinger
offers
more big ol' 70s
breasts than a
visit from Morganna, the Kissing Bandit, seen here with a
gummy-mouthed hobo.
Killinger's top five moments with the ultra-vixens:
5. "From the top
of her long tawny hair to tuft of her golden triangle, to the tips of
her toes, she was tanned a delicious, golden, dusky peach color.
Except her nipples. They were pink and not yet risen in excitement."
4. "With her long
hair and splendid body, she was a wonderful and warm animal. In
profile, the fullness of her breasts accentuated the flatness of her
tummy. There was an aura of intelligence and competence about her."
3. "Her breasts were exquisite. There were nipples
almost the same color as her auburn hair and the junction of her
thighs. Not a flaw did he see in her skin. Juno dove into the
ocean. Her disappearing
rear view would have been a delight to any connoisseur."
2. "Her breasts were full and round and flat. Her auburn hair, chopped and shingled, framed her face like a glowing halo as she stood nude before the mirror counting out a hundred strokes of the tortoise shell hairbrush. Methodically, she counted to fifty and then switched the brush to her left hand. Each vigorous movement exercised the pectoral muscle beneath a breast, helping its firmness."
1. "When she
stood straight, to toss her hair back over her shoulders, it
completely covered her breasts. That is, if Audrey White had
breasts."
Pop quiz! Guess which of these women, by the logic of the
Palmerverse, must be the villain?
And Remember: Jeddediah Killinger III will not be back on anybody's secret service.
Showing 1-19 of 19
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Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killinger me softly with his song
The cover also seems to prophetically envision a fully transitioned Michael Jackson.
Dear Dr. Crap,
Where can a guy like me get a metal manhood servicing job?
Also, I am trying to Killinger-up my name. Which do you think: Gumuth Bo or G Mo Ho?
I didn't get why you were making fun of it until this:
"Sure, Killinger drives a '57 Thunderbird... ." Please. The '55 is clearly superior.
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