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There's a lot to be said for my Uncle Harry. Mostly unprintable. All my life I'd heard about him, and from a distance he was kind of a legend. But the moment I signed on as a one-man crew to his beat-up old bucket, Jezebel, I found my hero was really a pirate. Broads and booze kept him afloat between capers—and so far, his luck was holding . . . 

But this new harebrained scheme—to heist the loot from an island gambling casino—was the daffiest—and most dangerous—yet.

And there I was. Right in the middle. Up to my virginal ears in naked nymphs and nitrous oxide—with nothing between me and the future but a leaky getaway and a pot of gold that was fast disappearing behind Harry’s private rainbow.

Harry & the Bikini Bandits by Basil Heatter

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