Author: MNManmacker

Banner “Chopper” Wilde

He was blond, but a very dirty, nasty blond, like he had had a beautiful amber head of hair like a Viking god but then fell to Earth and doused his head in brambles and mud, giving him a torn and tattered half-curled mullet of dingy yellow highlighted with brown and black and a few strands of gray. His forehead was lightning-bolted with an ugly rill of scar tissue, his left eye droopy underneath it like it had been damaged in whatever incident left his eyebrow slashed. His front tooth was chipped too, and he ran his tongue over the jagged tip of it as he looked down Mason’s body.
Banner was powerfully built — a semi-pro baseball player until he got too old — and strong without being heavy or bulky. He had that pseudo-nice face, like if he had lived a clean and wholesome life he’d be a leading man with a charismatic pair of dimples, but since he was craggy and worn all over, those dimples gave him an almost menacing aura, like he was trying to trick you by looking so handsome despite being as “ugly as a pile of dirt”, as his ex-wife had said.
Banner crossed his arms over his chest, his leather sleeveless vest moving with it to accentuate his bare arms. The tattoos on his muscles were bluish, but faded, giving him that dirty look that fully-tattooed light-skinned people ended up with when their tattoos faded to nothing but a smear of geometric smudge.

From Mason & Men Who Need a Nut

Duncan Walsh

Duncan flared his nostrils. He blanched and looked away when Mason walked to him. His bulky chest didn’t fit in his filthy overalls, and his massive pecs spilled out — he didn’t wear a shirt underneath, so his chest was bare beneath his overall-straps, aside from the smudges of dirt, faded tattoos, dense hairs and twisted scars.

From Mason & Men Who Need a Nut

Wendell Thomas

Officer Thomas is a cop.

Officer Wendell Thomas was short and bullish, with a shaved head and a squat, broad nose. He called himself a bodybuilder — he didn’t have a perfect figure because he didn’t eat well and his exercise regime was inconsistent, but he was stacked and barrel-chested, with brilliant green eyes and a dense mustache.
Officer Thomas came over to the side-porch. He still wore his uniform shirt, his badge crookedly laying over his heart. There were pit-stains just barely visible, and another stain — maybe mustard — on his collar. His face was ruddy and tense, eyes bulging out. There was a bulge in his crotch too, so apparent that Mason assumed it couldn’t be a hardon. Why would he race home with a hardon? Who even had a hardon like that, with all the subtlety of a Family Guy character? Most men would just rearrange themselves to hide it.

From Mason & Men Who Need a Nut

Cue (Stein) Ruckwin

Stein Ruckwin goes by “Cue”. He is a Jagged Right biker.

He was Cue, according to the name-tag on his suit. He was tall and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. He was squat and barrel-chested, no-neck, though what little neck he had was tattooed — Ben couldn’t quite make out what was there, but he saw flashes of it. He was a square-jawed white man who looked like he dressed like a biker outside of work. Ben also wouldn’t have been surprised at all to see an iron cross tattoo on his chest or back.

From Deadbeats Take It Deep

Graham Tannerly

That was when he saw the willowy muchacho with a shaggy mess of brown hair wandering around the pier. He had sensitive eyes that seemed on the verge of either tears or jubilation. He was clearly an out-of-towner, but he looked too disheveled and sober to be a tourist.
No one stayed sober for long in Key West, so this man must be a recent arrival.

From Max the Beach Bum

Haykh Gregarian

Haykh and his cousins walked in at last. They wore black suits and colorful shirts, no tie, and they had ear pieces in as though they had lots of people to talk to — they only ever hung out with each other. Who were they talking to all the time?
Sports bookies, probably. They gambled a lot.
“Get outta here, Ernie!” Haykh snapped. He had evidently reached the end of his tolerance for a man staring at the beautiful women he stuffed into beautiful clothes and paraded around for men to stare at. “Quit eye-fuckin’ the candy, you fuckin’ loser!” Actually he said yu foikin’ loozer, like he was pretending to be a New Yawker. All he knew of New York came from Woody Allen movies he had only seen comedic impressions of.
Haykh was a cool and calm straightlane upper-crust pinkie-ring of a man, and he wore a designer suit that he musta gone to Miami to buy. His hookish nose wrinkled at sight of Graham.

From Max the Beach Bum

Haykh Gregarian was tall and lean, with a nose like a broken fist. He wasn’t as tall as Poahi, but he was a long slab of a straight-lane white man with gym-toned muscles and a permanent sneer on his idiot face. Poahi disliked him. He had a couple art-filled tats on his bicep, vaguely tribal symbols, a chain-link fence and Armenian writing. He sometimes affected an Armenian accent, even though he was born in Glendale. He was always in a hurry to get to the next place he was going, even though all he did there was pretend he had someplace better to be.

From Poahi the Lackey

The worst thing a man can do to a woman is respond to her provocations

That was the whole point of filling a cantina with beautiful women in skimpy clothes, after all. They were here to tantalize and tease. Ernie was a deadbeat not because he stared but because he did not hide it. The worst thing a man can do to a woman is respond to her provocations.

The other men in the bar snuck leers at the women too. That was the whole point of filling a cantina with beautiful women in skimpy clothes, after all. They were here to tantalize and tease. Ernie was a deadbeat not because he stared but because he did not hide it. The worst thing a man can do to a woman is respond to her provocations.

From Max the Beach Bum