REALITY THERAPY

	Released October 24, 2007
	705 pages

*** Purchase discounted copies by ordering directly from AuthorHouse ***

Welcome to the autobiographical work of Mr. STONEking. With constant torment by classmates and Mormon church members without cause, the youth and teen years of Mr. STONEking were spent drifting into other worlds of amusement park and rock 'n roll fantasies. No one ever told him that dreams--and recurring nightmares--do come true.

This book explores fulfillment of wishes while bearing witness to bizarre circumstances, some pertaining to unexplained paranormal activity. Add to the mix a blaring soundtrack where the ones responsible for the music interact making for an even more intriguing life some would crave while others would be outright terrified.

Ride along with Mr. STONEking on a journey through the memories of his real life.

It's a wild ride up front and in the rear!

From the book:

"We all retain memories of real life away from the talking piece of furniture known as television. Our interaction with one another on a planet hurdling 1000 mph through space is the life we were intended to live, not vegetating on a couch with lies and desensitizing images being broadcast at the expense of the consumer's hard-earned dollar funding the majority of its vile nature."

BEFORE

AFTER

An effortless 95 lbs. shed in seven months' time? How?!

The surprising answer is revealed in the book!

Mr. STONEking attributes his writing skills to years of professional letter writing, combined with news reports and newspaper articles. In 2005, two professors at Antioch University in Yellow Springs, Ohio, where he attends, encouraged Mr. STONEking to pursue his goal of being an author. It was their constructive criticism which started the project whose outline was originally created in 1992.

The material’s initial eight chapters sat dormant until three significant events occurred in 2006 sparking a first for Mr. STONEking: writing in the here-and-now. Eleven chapters remained at a stand-still until a role model, business executive came to town with his extreme dedication to obligations and self, igniting Mr. STONEking into a relentless, passionate undertaking of writing a chapter per day, the remaining forty-four, from June 7th, 2007 through July 30th, 2007.

At times, Mr. STONEking had to force himself to eat and take some time off, though the material kept coming, along with inexplicable circumstances involving chapter-related matters transpiring in the present tense each time one was completed. The end result is a pure, unconditional labor of love.

FREE PREVIEW:

“ELVIS AARON PRESLEY”

Temple work in the Mormon religion is sacred and undisclosed.

Youth, as early as twelve, are permitted to do baptisms for the

dead. The belief is that the spirits who have gone on before us did

not have a chance in this mortal existence to accept the gospel

of Jesus Christ. By standing in for them in the baptismal font, a

huge tub supported by twelve life-sized, oxen statues, the living are

dunked for each and every name on the roster for the day.

Our district temple was Washington, D.C. whose noticeably-stark

white marble structure stands beside a bustling freeway

system, leaping out when motorists rapidly round the bend.

Everyone going to the temple must sit before their presiding

bishop and be interviewed to discover their being “worthy” and

“pure”. Questions range from psychological to sexual in nature,

often being asked several times, “Are you touching yourself

inappropriately?” I never thought it was inappropriate to touch

oneself given the length of the arms, so naturally I said, “No.”

The chartered bus ride to D.C. included the urban punks,

all making sphincters of themselves with their inability to

communicate with a limited vocabulary and their usual hate-filled remarks,

shocking me further to note that the conduct

they consistently exhibit was acceptable for a laminated Temple

Recommend card. Their volume also kept anyone from sleeping,

creating a draining, exhausting itinerary.

Once inside the temple’s hushed, dimly-lit corridors, the boys

are separated from the girls, adults included, and ushered into the

locker rooms adjacent to the font itself. A glass partition viewing

area peers down onto the font allowing spectators the opportunity

to witness the sacred ritual.

Each individual receives approximately 30 names to be

baptized for. The information appearing on a monitor includes

that person’s birth and death dates, along with their parents and

county registry.

While waiting for my group to be called, I joined a number of

people sitting in the viewing area anticipating the much-revered

doing. A moth was flying about the heads of one of the girls who

swatted at it, knocking it dead to the ground. Mortified, she

shrieked in a hushed manner, “I just killed a temple bug!”

More and more people were getting baptized as the hours

dragged on. Departing the font, saturated from being fully

submerged, they’d exit the area into their prospective gender’s

locker room facility, sending another one out, keeping the process

moving like clockwork.

A confused participant came back into the font area after

showering, drying his hair with his towel, wearing nothing else.

His manhood was dangling and swaying for all spectators behind

the glass to take in a full, unrestricted view until he realized where

he was. Without making a scene, or covering up, he did an about

face, parading back into the locker room undraped, allowing

everyone a complete package observance.

Some girls covered their eyes, as some shrieked, calling his

name. The guys all laughed. Others silently salivated.

At long last, my time was announced.

After pulling on the thick, white, cotton clothing, I entered the

bathwater-warm temperature of the baptismal font. Striding in

the chest-high water towards the one baptizing me, I held my nose,

closed my eyes, and waited for the lowering beneath the surface

hoping that nothing, including a strand of hair, would rise above

the splashing apertures, resulting in a re-take.

The words were quick, but clear, mimicking John The Baptist’s

when he baptized Christ, Himself. Then I heard the name of the

first person I was standing in place of: “Elvis Aaron Presley”.

Under the water I went.

Acknowledgements

There are an abundance of individuals I certainly need to give credit to for the arrival of this endeavor.

	Beginning first and foremost with the Higher Authority, God, Himself, for bringing it all together in the most unusual manner. He does work in mysterious ways. Don’t doubt it. This book, both its topics and its process, are Absolute Proof of such.
	Obviously I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my parents, so a rockin’ gesture to them for all they’ve tolerated and survived.
	My oldest sister, Beverly, thanks for listening to some of my grievances and adding to the mix. Your very cool daughters and another excellent niece deserve mentionable credit, as well.
	To my ancestors, most unseen to the average naked eye, you all rock my world on this side of the veil.

Beyond family:

	Diane Chiddister and Don Wallis of Antioch University. You both sent me in the direction I needed to go. For your valuable, constructive input I am grateful beyond definition.
	The representatives and staff of AuthorHouse. Glad you exist!
	Frida 2, I salute you for your insisting that I join you on daily hikes with the hounds in tow. Our kindred nature is deeply rooted and I wouldn’t be as physically fit if it weren’t for you despite what you say.
	To my gym mates, Judge Joe, Victorville, and Mike who never knew dinners and event gatherings could be so intensely humorous.
	Jim Lee for removing my hair and our recent, but brief, stint in Hollywood.
	Frick and Frack, your inspiring home and company gave this project an ending and synopsis I remain blown away by. I’ll bring paper next time so you won’t have to go running when the spark of creativity kicks in.

To all 500+ clients of THE MUSCLE MECHANIC® who got to hear some of these sagas before and after your peaceful session, unless you kept the conversation going, I thank each and every one of you individually for your on-going support and interest.

A message to my Lakota High School classmates:

Know that despite the mistreatment I suffered through during our four years together, I do not hold a grudge against anyone, though I’m beginning to believe the culprits were from other classes! Nonetheless, as I stated at this past 25th reunion, I enjoy seeing your faces, especially after learning a Huge lesson in forgiveness last year. May each of your lives be filled with peace and prosperity.

A message to my fellow Ants of Antioch University:

Our Saturday mornings together are a fine replacement for childhood animated programs. The laughter, wit, but mostly intelligence we bring to the table is something to look forward to on a weekly basis. I personally miss the Real campus should anyone inquire.

To the Rock ‘n Roll bands and artists who have filled my space for four decades, and still keep me grooving right along, I look forward to shaking your hands, if I haven’t already. You’re all a part of it. The incomplete alphabetized list includes:

	The Anti-Christ Super Star: "The little faggot with the earring and the makeup..." (Dire Straits, 1985)
	Pat Benatar. "The deepest cuts are healed by fate!"
	The B-52’s: With a great grandfather named Fred Schneider, I always felt somewhat related.
	Berlin: John Crawford; Terri Nunn. "The Masquerade" is forever. Terri, you will eventually find the humor in one particular matter.
	Blondie: Deborah Harry. I’m still not sure how I’d react! Better keep your clothes on.
	Concrete Blonde: Johnette Napolitano. Hey, you made me laugh both times! That was worth $20 alone!
	Culture Club: Boy George. You’re still full of shit, but I dig you!
	Dennis DeYoung. I’m concerned that you and I think alike on some strong issues. Give your Italian keyboardist the pay hike he rightfully deserves!
	Thomas Dolby. With the raise of a right hand, "SCIENCE!"
	A Flock of Seagulls. This is the story of a young heart.
	Foreigner. It really does feel like the first time!
	Frankie Goes To Hollywood: Holly Johnson. Hope you still enjoy being ordained a saint!
	The Go-Go’s: I bear witness to the occurrence. God Bless The Go-Go’s!
	Heart: Ann and Nancy Wilson. My Seattle sisters. Rock me home!
	Human League: Hope my ‘balls’ were put to good use!
	Billy Idol. It was worth getting busted for!
	Jefferson Airplane/Starship: Grace Slick; Mickey Thomas. After all these years, I finally I found it!
	Journey. Thanks for thee perfect show, September 2006 at Blossom!
	Wynonna Judd. My sister Gemini, only one day younger than me!
	Cyndi Lauper. Was "Sally’s Pigeons" on the set list the day you took an unexpected mouthful?
	Missing Persons: Dale Bozzio. You’re the only one who provided me with your home phone number. Rock ‘n Roll!
	The Motels: Martha Davis; Michael Goodroe; Marty Jourard. The mercy of my mission is finally made clear!
	Olivia Newton-John. I am a believer in magic. My destiny finally arrived.
	Ted Nugent. My Blood Brother. Enough said.
	Donny Osmond. I can rival Larry King ANY DAY. Bring it on!
	Peaches and Herb. Thank you for getting me to shake it even more so! Detroit will never be the same!
	Prince: Glad you survived my spur-of-the-moment reaction. Thank you for not suing.
	Siouxsie and the Banshees. Another Gemini who likes bats. What more can I say?
	Soft Cell: Marc Almond. Next time it’s an in-depth discussion of pirate rides.
	Styx. It was a memorable crossing.
	Donna Summer. I’m still speechless, but have a new body to proudly display because of you. I cannot thank you enough.
	Ultravox: Billy Currie; Midge Ure. Only the Japanese would hear "a mystic in soul food!" Midge, "razorbacks" for everyone!
	Village People. I remain stunned by your Detroit actions! "American Band" did it!
	Visage: Steve Strange. My definitive Gemini twin. We’re going to do it together one good time, I swear. They won’t be able to tell us apart.

To the few actors I enjoyed conversing with:

	Johnny Depp. "Not bad for a Kentucky boy!"
	Harrison Ford. She really wasn’t as blonde as she looked!
	Roger Moore. The next writing, I swear!
	Gary Sandy. What became of you?!
	Connie Stevens. I know you never forgot!
	John Travolta. I meant every word, but now with more integrity.
	Sigourney Weaver. It’s a pseudonym I could not resist!

Everyone else in all areas I’ve resided, 27 total, along with the many places I’ve worked and visited, including the Caribbean and Merry ol’ England, and the myriads of amusement rides I’ve laughed and screamed on, you’re all a part of it, too, and never forgotten.

To my former co-workers at The Walt Disney Company, I applaud every one of you!

***To the Centerville food establishments and their excellent staff members who keep me well fed:

	Bill’s Donuts. It was the blueberry muffin which remains the phenomenon of a lifetime!
	China Dynasty. It might have been my ‘last supper’, but I’m always back for more!
	Doubleday’s. Never a bad meal. Ever.
	Laredo’s. Gracias, Amigos! No mas tuallas, por favor!
	Trader Joe's.

***To the other places which stuffed me:

	Blue Bayou. Disneyland
	Nancy’s Home Cooking. Columbus, Ohio
	Riviera. Greenwich Village, New York

***A round of applause to Mack of Centerville Goodyear for keeping ROCK rolling.

	The good people of Point Pleasant, West Virginia and their mysterious creature deserve mention, as well. Particularly Ruth and Rush Finley, the owners of the Lowe Hotel.
	Madame Black, it’s that thing with red eyes and wings you just had to bring to my attention. I’ve not been the same, thankfully.

Hey, Stretch, I cannot believe our recent connection and all the desert entails. Far cry from the waters where we slaved together.

Which brings us to two individuals whose names begin with the same letter and both share a numeric birthdate, 16, ladies first:

	Kathleen, as the brother you never had, our knowing one another, a solid twenty five years now, is something I treasure immeasurably. I’m convinced it’s got something to do with Science!
	Ken, our reconnection and allowing me to do what I did remains the sole driving force in what now enriches my life, making this project so intensely fulfilling. I never would have believed that you are a twin to me in certain capacities. It continues to live in that magical, mystical place whose name begins with ‘X’. Keep Rockin’, please!

Finally, to the one who ignited my presence this past May and June, Mr. Rochester. You unknowingly provided me with so many elements I’ve yet to be able to converse with you about, though everyone, except you, are all so well aware. You are unparalleled in my book, literally. There was a reason I waited sixteen years. It and all related matters are everything I ever wished for, but didn’t anticipate with such rapidity. There are but two words for you at this point: Get Here!