I found this (pretty funny) blog entry regarding someone's review of COBRA: THE HEROIN CONNECTION.
Sounds like it's all the same minutely-detailed carnage, nihilistic philosophizing and bizarre dialogue we have come to know and love in Joesph Rosenberger. . .
I'll just go ahead and cut and paste it here, but here's the address:
arsonfreely.diaryland.com/index.html"It’s your typical 80’s action-sleaze. The “heroes” are amoral killing machines, using sexpionage and murder in an attempt to stop Russians from smuggling heroin into America. Jon Skul, the major protagonist, slaughters countless commies and niggers and innocent bystanders, each and every one with their own name. You never feel like he’s the hero because COBRA is a top-secret government agency working beyond the law, a redneck republican’s wet dream. They kill nigger hostages and commie families because nigger hostages and commie families are evil and worth killing. There’s a lot of pointless dialogue between gory action sequences that basically revolve around the good guys and bad guys planning things.
That being said, this book still has a lot going for it, such as:
Snappy dialogue:
“Go stow your cock In a meat grinder.” (132)
“Did I tell you about the queer who was asked if he had every [sic] kissed a parrot? The queer said, I’ve never kissed a parrot, but I have kissed a cockatoo.” (132)
In spite of the gravity of the moment, Kowitt went into his act. “Like man! Dig the walkie-talkie on the table!” he drawled. “If the dudes upstairs call down here... like man, us cats'll be in deep shit.” Skul smiled beneath the rubber of his Richard Nixon caricature mask. “Bro, I believe you're right... These modified PACs had better work or we might as well pack up and go to the nearest rib joint." (161)
Gratuitous nudity:
Debbie jerked it back, she brought up her right knee and slammed it as hard as she could between his legs. Her aim was accurate. Her knee caught him in the testicles and smashed them against the pubic bones... Seeing that his eyes were open, but seeing only the endless stretch of eternity, Debbie rolled the corpse over on its back and pulled the 9-millimiter Makarov from its pancake holster. Then she pulled the ripped bra from her right hand. It was useless; the clasp had been ripped from the material." (203-204)
The door swung open, and out stepped Debbie Miles, her bare breasts bouncing like half-weighed balloons. (209)
Gratuitous nudity intermixed with a history of New York Governors:
Dressed only in white nylon pajamas with lace edging, she didn’t seem to mind that her nipples could be seen through the thin material and that her V-shaped bush, at the apex of her thighs, stood out with more than a hint of shadow. (130)
Satisfying metaphor:
He had the build of a dump truck and the face of a road map that someone had shit on. (52)
The Uzi sang its song of death, an aria that was flat, since it was only a short phyyytt. Three .45 Hdra-Shok projectiles exploded the top of Vorontsov's head, taking with them not only chunks of the parietal bone, but also gray matter from the top of his brain. (182)
"It's as quiet as the inside of a moron's head." (177)
"This is not Africa, and you're not with Mad Mike Quinlan and his Thunderbolts." (177)
He stood up, looking so tall he could have been a miniature, but black, Empire State Building. (135)
“The real estate company that owns the apartment-hotel is so tight it makes the buffalo on a nickel weep.” (129)
“The little fucker reminds me of a roadrunner going to a Mick wake.” (98)
Superfluous political rants:
“Just what the hell do you think you signed up for- a picnic? These men are scum, sub-human. They deal in death and make no mistake, if they got their hands on your ass they’d burn you first, then ask questions.”
Karsten Hayes tilted back his head and began to scratch his throat.
“If the Russians had any sense, they’d know that they don’t have to import drugs to wreck American society. Our own knee-jerk liberabls [sic] have already started the process, opening our borders to every piece of Third World trash who wants in. All we need now is for the jack-ass voters to elect some lame-brained dove president, no pun intended my dear. That’s all we’d need, a dumb liberal son-of-a-bitch to cut defense spending and hand out more freebie welfare checks.”
“Kar, you forgot to include the ACLU,” said William Holbrook. “Their always crying about the poor criminal and how he is treated injustly. Naturally, they ignore the victim. Why in hell do you think they take so many free of charge cases involving rapists, murderers, and other human scum? It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone.” (86)
Plugs for books by the same author:
There was only one other man as talented, and possibly more adept at quick-killing, that shadowy and legendary figure known as the Death Merchant. (60)
And, of course, deep thoughts:
Their universe became a stygian nothingness, an incomprehensible blank into which not even Time could intrude. (217)
Haynes remained silent. His opinion of the world, and of other human beings was colored by self-knowledge, and he stood by his conviction that man was but a finely tuned, ingenious machine fit only to turn red wine into urine. (137)
Not to mention gratuitous violence, planning, and more gratuitous violence! Go out and buy your copy today!
