Webster’s Dictionary defines Lion's Share as: all, or nearly all; the best or largest part. Seeking this is a greaser named Billy, who thinks the world owes him something for the hand he was dealt. Billy and his anarchy causing social club, fueled by drugs, gangs, and rock and roll, take the reader deep into the hot rodding underworld. Always in trouble, Billy continually looks for the next big rush, until he meets a girl that changes his outlook on life and love. Torn between his past life and his first love, which path will Billy take to reach his Lion's Share? (copyright 2007)
“I LOVE THIS BOOK! LION’S SHARE RINGS TRUE BUT NOT F’ING BORING OR COMPLAINING. IT’S UNCOMPROMISING!”
—James Merendino, director (SLC Punk)
“THE NOVEL IS A WORK OF FICTION THAT THOSE WITH AN INTEREST IN THE WILD ONES, THE WANDERERS, REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE, AND ANY TARANTINO MOVIE WILL ENJOY WHOLEHEARTEDLY.”
—Mark Armstrong, Dynamite Magazine
“IN THE SPIRITS OF THE OUTSIDERS AND JACK KEROUAC’S ON THE ROAD, I RAISE MY GIN AND TONIC HIGH IN AUTHOR RUSS LIPPITT’S HONOR!”
—Outsight Radio, Tom Schulte
“THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST GREASER/PUNK/OUTSIDERS BOOK THAT YOU WILL READ.”
—Josh, Bad Kat Magazine
“A NO-BULLS#%T STORY FILLED WITH STREET FIGHTS, DRUGS, MAYHEM AND PURE ANARCHY!”
—Renegade Biker Magazine
“FAST PACED AND ENTERTAINING, INTELLIGENT WITH OUT BEING TOO INTELLECTUAL. PUNK ROCK!”
—Karl Backman, Summer of Hate
“FOUR GREASY STARS!”
—Michelle, Go Kat Go
“A TOUR-DE-FORCE OF GREASER MAYHEM!”
—Voltcase alternative culture magazine
“AN EMOTIONAL STORY OF A REBEL TEENAGER FILLED WITH FRIENDSHIP, TREASON, SPEED AND ROCK-N-ROLL, A DEFINITELY WORTH READING NOVEL.”
—Mircea, More Punk Then You Zine
“SIMILAR TO A MONÈT, LION’S SHARE SHOULD BE ADMIRED AND STUDIED FROM AN OBJECTIVE, SAFE, DISTANCE.”
—Hans Shephard Jr., 6DOF Media
“COMPARABLE TO THE OUTSIDERS! LION’S SHARE REACHES INSIDE THE ALL TOO REAL BRUTALITY OF TODAY’S JUNGLE WORLD!”
—Target Audience Magazine
“LION'S SHARE OFFERS A UNIQUE TAKE ON THE UNDERGROUND CULTURE, A RETRO ROMP!”
—Robert G. Rose, Aimtv Group
“I WAS ENGROSSED IN THIS BOOK FROM START TO FINISH!”
—Steve, Street Voice Newsletter
“LION’S SHARE IS A 138-MILE-AN-HOUR RIDE ON THE BACK OF A MOTORBIKE!”
—Brent “The Catfish” Balinski, Deadbeat Magazine
“LIPPITT PAINTS A GRITTY, BUT HOPEFUL TALE OF MISGUIDED YOUTH!”
“A DAMN FINE READ FOR ANYONE WHO HAS EVER FELT THE NEED TO REBEL AGAINST EVERYTHING OR ANYTHING.”
—Rick Wills, Devolution Magazine
“WHAT A TREASURE!”
—Richard, Punk or Nothing Webzine
“LIPPITT’S PROSE IS ADRENALINE CHARGED AND FAST-PACED!”
—Alison B, Bubblegum Slut Zine
“LION’S SHARE GETS A HORNS UP!!! WOULD MAKE FOR AN EXCITING MOVIE!”
—Micheal Rys, Global Punk Review
“IT HAS NEVER BEEN THIS DANGEROUS TO READ A BOOK.”
—Olga Vizcarra, OMGEE Magazine
“MOST CONTROVERSIAL BOOK OF THE YEAR! WE’RE WITNESSING THE NEXT OUTSIDERS!”
—Heather Phillips, Riders Review
“LION’S SHARE IS ONE OF THE TRUEST BOOKS OF IT’S TIME ABOUT YOUNG PEOPLE.”
—Eileen Brennan, Silver Screen legend, Golden Globe and Emmy winning Actress and Oscar Nominee
“Hey Billy, you said you got my back in the next fight, right?”
“Yeah, sure. Why?”
“Because here it comes,” Sick Boy said.
He looked up while Bradley pushed his way through the crowd.” Billy smiled at Sick Boy and whispered, “We're going to have fun with this one.”
“Oh shit!” Savanna tried to hide her face behind her drink.
Bradley and his crew walked up to the table. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. What the fuck are you doing here with these losers, Savanna?”
“I’m sorry Bradley, I just–”
“Not another word!” Bradley pointed at Sick Boy, “and you, you fucking crazy bastard. That was my buddy you beat up tonight. I’m going to kill you!”
“A buddy, huh, Bradster? Would you even consider calling him your butt buddy?” The Click laughed.
“Billy, Billy, Billy, now I find you here with my girl. You must have a death wish.”
“We're only friends!”
“Shut up, bitch! Just shut the fuck up and get over here,” he demanded while reaching out and grabbing her by the hair.
Billy stood up and pushed him off of her. Hank, Sick Boy, and Guy rose out of their seats. The band stopped playing and the crowd turned to watch the impending fight.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to go with you, Bradley.”
Bradley’s goons got a little bit closer to the table.
“Billy, you have no idea what you’re getting into.”
Bradley and Billy stood face to face. Bradley faked a punch. Billy didn’t take the bait; he did not flinch. “Your move, Billy!”
He dug into his pocket for the knife. He pushed Bradley back with one hand and swung with the other, gripping the switchblade. Bradley stumbled back and looked down at his chest. His shirt had been sheared and a trickle of blood leached through. He gazed in disbelief at the wild-eyed greaser who stood ready, in attack mode, brandishing the knife. A crazed Sick Boy relished the moment when he saw the emblazoned and bloodied knife.
“That’s my uncle’s knife! You cut me with my uncle’s knife!” Bradley wiped at his bloody chest and stared in shock at the blood on his hand.
“Yeah, that’s not the only thing I’m going to do with it,” said Billy.
Bradley, in shock, took a few unsteady steps forward and took a swing at him.
Savanna jumped in between them. “Stop it! Just stop! Let’s just go home, Bradley,” she begged and looking at Billy she said, “I’m sorry, please put the knife away.”
“You know you don’t have to go.”
“Yes I do.”
Bradley put his arm over her shoulder and one of his friends for support. The cut was deeper than any of them had thought. The blood poured down his chest.
“You’re dead, Billy! The cops will be coming for you! And after you get out of jail, I’m going to kill you! This is not over!” They carried Bradley out the door yelling. Savanna kept gazing back at Billy as he watched her walk out of his life.
The bar’s patrons went back to what they were doing. The band began to play after the lead singer yelled out, “Throw out that square cat!”
Billy and the boys sat back down. “Fuck Billy, you should not have pulled out that knife. The cops are really gonna have a field day with this.”
“Fuck the cops, Hank! And fuck Bradley! If he calls out the Devil he better be prepared to dance.”
“Yeah, that’s right! Take no shit from nobody!” Sick Boy stood up and rushed out the front door.
CLICK BELOW TO GET YOUR HARD COPY TODAY!
It is the bleak, post-apocalyptic nation formerly known as the United States of America, which has now become nothing more than bedtime stories for the children of the Prominent Municipality. States torn apart by politics, greed, power, and religion have resulted in what looks like the end of times. The resulting horrors from decades of raging wars between the upper and lower classes have given rise to a punk brigade known as the Anarchy March. They fight to overturn their existing corrupt government’s tyranny on humanity and to bring back the freedom that we once held so dearly. (copyright 2008)
“LIPPITT HAS CREATED A WORLD SITUATED SOMEPLACE BETWEEN THE ROAD, MAD MAX AND A BOY AND HIS DOG WHERE, DESPITE THE DISSOLUTION OF SOCIETAL CONVENTION, THERE’S STILL ROOM FOR PUNK ATTITUDE AND DIY ETHICS!”
—Ryan Cooper, About.com: A New York Times Company
“IF YOU HAVE READ LION’S SHARE AND MET BILLY, YOU ARE SURELY GOING TO LOVE THIS BOOK! A WORTH READING NOVEL, CERTAINLY WILL GIVE YOU A LITTLE OPTIMISM AND SOME BACKBONE.”
—Mircea, MPTY Zine
“LIPPITT KNOWS HOW TO INTRIGUE HIS READER AND THE STORY JUST SUCKS YOU IN! A TRUE UNDERGROUND AUTHOR, A VOICE OF THE VOICELESS WITH A STREETWISE ATTITUDE, MIXED WITH THE HOPELESSNESS AND ANGER OF THE YOUTH. F.T.W. IS A HARSH REALITY THAT HITS YOU RIGHT IN THE FACE THRU AND THRU!”
—Tim, Anti-Hippie Fanzine
“DICKENS, CHAUCER, ORWELL, BRILLIANT AND VISCERAL AS ANYTHING WHICH HAS GONE BEFORE IT! LIPPITT HAS CREATED SOMETHING SO FRESH THAT IT IS A RATHER EXCLUSIVE GENRE; THE PUNK ROCK NOVEL!”
—Amy Britton, Repeat Zine
“LIPPITT’S SUPPOSITION OF THE FUTURE RINGS WITH AUTHENTICITY! A FAVORABLE COMPARISON TO ORWELL’S 1984!”
—Steve Scanner, Scanner zine
“MAD MAX MEETS GEORGE ORWELL’S 1984 IN ZOMBIELAND! F.T.W. IS AN ENTERTAINING STORY WITH A HORROR/CULT/B-MOVIE STORY LINE AND HEALTHY DOSE OF PUNK ROCK ATTITUDE!”
—Christophe, Out of Step Magazine
A shiny, mint-condition fire truck wailed, shaking up the quiet night. A team of firefighters sat ready waiting for their arrival towards a fire engulfing the distant horizon.
“What’s on today’s watch, sir?” Fitzgerald asked, eager for some action.
“Section C, rookie,” the captain replied.
“Section C, sir? That can’t be right. Isn’t that in homestead territory?”
“Boy, you catch on quick. Where you say you from?” Wilson studied Fitzgerald with mock superiority.
“From the west-coast, country of California. Graduated top of my class. Where are you from?”
Wilson put on a fire-retardant mask, ignoring the question.
“Sunny ol’ California. Not so sunny anymore since the big one in 2019, huh? I heard the Pov’s out there are trying to cross the border. Over my dead body,” Walker stated as he spat out thick and brown gooey spit.
The captain turned around and yelled, “Hey, leave him alone!”
“Just breaking in the new kid, captain. Shit, we all been through it.”
He fixed his eyes on Fitzgerald and stated, “We are not going into Section C’s fire, just protecting Section A in case the fire jumps.”
Fitzgerald sat quietly gauging the captain’s orders.
The road became increasingly damaged; the fire truck rocked steadily over jagged concrete that suddenly eased and turned into a dirt path continuing as far as the line of sight allowed. An invisible barrier was drawn between the sections, obvious only by the run-down buildings and the broken society leaning precariously towards the pristine domiciles, with their white picket fences and all. The crew reached Section A and pulled to a stop at the border. The blazing fire was burning down a block. It bounced from house to house like a sick and twisted dance, consuming the old wooden shanties built in the late eighties. The four men jumped out of the truck. Wilson began to pull out the fire hose and attach it to a fire hydrant as he noticed Fitzgerald staring off into the distance. He was watching the fire rage in the forlorn community while the destitute ran around frantically helping each other put out the fires.
“Hey rookie, you wanna help me with this or you gonna stand their looking stupid all day!”
Fitzgerald ran back to Wilson and helped him hook up the fire hose. The firefighters stood holding it steady, ready to pounce on the first house in Section A.
An older lady, gripping on to her six-year-old boy whose pale flesh was sullied and broken open into soot covered burn marks, came staggering up to the firefighters. “Help us! Help us!” she cried, holding out her young boy. “My baby is still in the house.”
“Do you have a G.R. card?” asked the captain, firmly standing his ground.
“Help me please! My baby!”
“Ma’am, do you have a G.R. card?”
“No! There's no money! Save my baby!”
The captain looked away and focused on the first house in Section A.
“We are still human beings! You bastard! For the love of God!”
“Sir, can’t we jus–”
“Stand down, rookie! You know the law.”
Her house began to crumble; the flames licked out the windows as the firefighters ignored the shattering edifice and continued to spotlight on the first house in Section A. A large man ran across the street and charged past the firefighters, trying to grab some fire-retardant gear.
“Stop that Pov!” roared the captain.
Wilson pulled out a gun and fired up into the night air. “Get away from that or I promise my next shot will be a lot closer.”
The man quickly turned around looking at his house immersed in a hellish fire.
He continued to grab the gear, and without further consideration, Wilson shot the pitiful man in the back.
“You’re monsters! All a you’s!” The lady put down the little boy on the curb and said, “Doyle, I want you to stay here. Mommy will be right back.” She ran back into her house, desperate to save her baby.
“This is not right. Back home we help everyone in need.”
“Times have changed. We do our jobs and obey the laws here.” Wilson spotted an orange flame arcing from a house in Section A and he turned on the hose, quickly relinquishing it.
The lady came running out of her blazing house holding an infant, engulfed in flames. She collapsed to the ground.
“No!” Fitzgerald let go of the hose and ran out of position over to the lady. With gloved hands he tried to quell the fire raging all over her body. The smoke cleared, and Fitzgerald was left holding a charred baby, frozen in its innocence. Tears streaked clean down his soiled face.
The captain gave a nod towards Wilson who turned his aim shooting Fitzgerald in the head. Fitzgerald’s limp body collapsed on the ground and the charred remnants, sticking to the fire retardant gloves, rolled not too far.
“I knew that boy wasn’t gonna last.” Walker spat more chew on the ground.
“Hey captain, so much for the California kid.” Wilson spotted another arc threatening the house in Section A and quickly put it out. “Captain? Hey captain?”
“Focus on your job,” the captain said, grinding down on his teeth.
The little boy crawled past Fitzgerald to his baby brother and mother’s side, looking around in a daze. He peered back at the uniformed firefighters, those who were once his hero’s became villainous and unworthy of respect.
A man dressed in all black looked down from the top of a brush-covered hill through binoculars. His camouflage painted face blended emotionlessly into his surroundings as he admired the fire illuminating the raging chaos burning down the houses in Section C. He unlatched a handheld transceiver from the side of his hip. “Operation Fire-Top has begun, over.”
“Good work, Private Stripes. Keep this up and you might be up for a promotion. Report back to base. Over.”
The man took one more look around with his binoculars and saw a swarm of people running out of their burning houses. His hawkish eyes stopped on a little boy sitting next to a blackened figure, holding what was left of its hand. “Not in my Section.”