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Initial post: Nov 13, 2010 9:20:09 PM PST
Ronald Craig says:
At the time of posting, this book has five one-star reviews. Here are the author's comments on those reviews, all posted on November 11:

To Acacio J. C. Cruz, Walter Knight wrote:

What a bendaho. You need to chill.

To A Customer:

You only made one anonymous book review? You're a worthless troll.

To J. Reisman:

Hey professor! I've sold thousands of books. How about you? You're just another shrill liberal. Go back to school, fool. lol

To patrick mais:

If I throw you a stick, will you chase it?

And to W. L. Hatfield "Old Reader":

Hey "Old Fart." Don't go away mad, just go away.

It's always illuminating when an author engages negative critics in such an enlightened manner.

Posted on Nov 14, 2010 4:32:52 PM PST
Ronald Craig says:
Ah, my bad: the author says the personal attacks were just him "having some fun."

Posted on Dec 19, 2010 9:11:11 PM PST
Last edited by the author on Dec 19, 2010 9:17:19 PM PST
Ronald says:
I've noticed the same. I wrote up a response to one of the flames he left on a negative review. I'll copy it here (it sums up some of his transgressions):

"You know, Walter, you really aren't in a position to criticize or judge others. Taking a quick gander at your review history shows that you are only interested in shamelessly plugging your product, seeing as you only post one-liners with a link to this page. I doubt if you're even reading the books you're leaving "reviews" on, seeing as none of them are Amazon verified purchases; which in itself is not suspicious, but really, they're Kindle editions, they always come from Amazon.

And c'mon, you've posted 5 pages worth of reviews this month alone, all of which are unverified one-liners which are not helpful in the least and can easily be pulled from the plot summaries, you're not even reading this stuff. As far as I can tell, *all you do* on this site is abuse the system and plug your own product. Don't even get me started on how inappropriate it is for an "author" to leave snarky responses on every negative (and quite honest, I imagine) review. At least they purchase and read what they review, which is more than I can say for you.

You are a petty thief and a bully, and you disgust me. I've written Amazon regarding your conduct, if they have any sense of decency and professionalism then they'll kick you out on your behind."

I'd recommend everyone else also write an e-mail to Amazon, this sort of trash doesn't belong here. And going by all the evidence we have of his behavior, I can only presume that it's him going around voting down every negative review and negative comment regarding his work or conduct.

I see we share the same name, just figured I'd point that out before Walter does so, though my last name isn't Craig. Take care, 'other Ronald'.

Posted on Mar 5, 2011 9:37:02 PM PST
[Deleted by the author on Apr 12, 2011 5:49:54 PM PDT]

Posted on Mar 6, 2011 11:37:05 AM PST
[Deleted by the author on Apr 12, 2011 5:45:42 PM PDT]

Posted on Mar 7, 2011 8:14:04 AM PST
[Deleted by the author on Mar 7, 2011 10:08:13 AM PST]

Posted on Mar 7, 2011 7:25:08 PM PST
Last edited by the author on Mar 7, 2011 7:36:05 PM PST
America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 3: Silent Invasion

The Craigster starting this thread amounts to no more than graffiti vandalism on a wall, intent only in causing harm or being a nuisance. In response to critics I post sample chapters from my AGFL books, so readers can see for themselves what America's Galactic Foreign Legion is all about. More sample chapters can be viewed on my website at

The following chapter is from America's Galactic Foreign Legion (Book 3) Silent Invasion. After a truce, the alien Emperor is touring an occupied city on a planet shared with humans:

When the Emperor arrived, he immediately toured Downtown New Memphis. He was upset about the damage, and ordered the downtown area rebuilt. Also, the Emperor brought his son.

"I heard there is a job opening for the position of mayor," said the Emperor. "I am appointing you Mayor of New Memphis. The administrative experience you gain will do you a world of good and will pad your resume."

"I do not want to be mayor," replied the Prince, annoyed. "You are the Emperor. Make me a general and let me conquer the rest of New Colorado."

"The exuberance of youth," said the Emperor with a sigh. "Humor me. Do a good job as mayor, and maybe later, if you are still interested in a military career, I will appoint you as a second lieutenant."

"Second lieutenant? What good is it to have the Emperor as my father if second lieutenant is the best you can do for me?"

"Experience will help you do a better job in whatever career field you choose," said the Emperor. "There is no point being appointed as a general if you do a poor job because you don't have a clue."

"I might as well stay in school rather than endure the slow torture of this boring place," complained the Prince.

"I am determined not to let schooling interfere with your education," advised the Emperor. "Now is a great time to be on New Colorado. Think of it as an adventure and a learning opportunity."

As the royals crossed the street to get some coffee at what was left of Dunkin' Donuts, about a hundred Hell's Angels rolled by. Each biker waved as they rode past. The Prince returned their one-fingered salute with his own finger-extended wave.

"Who are they?" asked the Prince. "That was so cool."

"Their jackets say Hell's Angels," said the Emperor, checking his translation device. "I think they are another human pestilence religious cult."

"Are they Mormons?" asked the Prince. "I read about the Mormons in my Earth history studies."

"Maybe," said the Emperor. "It is hard to keep track of all the many human pestilence religions."

"I noticed a lot of spiders with them," commented the Prince. "That shows progress toward inter-species harmony and goodwill. I will need that to govern a mixed species city like New Memphis."

"See," said the Emperor, proudly. "You are learning important lessons already."

"So why did the human pestilence get the Port, and all we got was the burned-out downtown area and a wrecked donut shop?" asked the Prince.

"We got City Hall and the Sheriff's Office," said the Emperor. "Have patience. Soon we will have it all as we establish our authority."

A lone biker left the Hell's Angels formation and doubled back to see the royals close up and personal. The biker was a beautiful female spider. Her body paint displayed the colors of the rainbow. She had extensive body piercing. Bells and charms chimed softly in the breeze.

"Are you the Prince Charlie I saw on Cable TV?" she asked. "You looked hot on the tube, but baby you sizzle in person!"

"My father is the Emperor," said the Prince. "I did not know my arrival was also being covered by the local media."

"Baby, can I have your autograph?" asked the female biker, pulling out a Sharpie marker. "I can't wait to se my girlfriend's reaction when she finds out I met Prince Carlie in person."

"Certainly," said the Prince. "Do you have some stationary I can write on?"

"Just put your tag on my chest," said the female spider, unbuttoning her vest. "Don't be shy. Put it on me next to my heart."

"This is highly unusual," replied the Prince, embarrassed. "What is your name? I will write a comment next to my signature."

"My name is Rainbow," said the biker babe. "I want you to write, 'You were awesome all last night. I love you. Hugs and kisses, Prince Charlie."

"I will not write that," said the Prince, as he finished his signature. "I would not want to harm your reputation."

"How sweet. No worries about that," said Rainbow. "Can I have a kiss?"

"What?" asked the Prince, taking a step back. "Commoners do not kiss royals without being asked first."

"Females are a bit more pushy here on New Colorado," explained the Emperor, standing by and observing the odd exchange between his son and the female biker. "I blame it on their pioneer spirit and the radiation from the wars. You will get used to it."

"I see," said the Prince. "Fine. I can adjust to local customs, if it will make the peasantry happy. I will accept one small kiss."

"I'll show you local customes," said Rainbow, as she leapt from her Harley and tackled the Prince. Rainbow wrapped all eight limbs around the Prince as she kissed him and tore at his clothing. Bodyguards pulled Rainbow off the Prince to prevent an unauthorized royal mating. The whole event was recorded and broadcast repeatedly on Cable TV's Global News Tonight and on the Playboy Channel.

"Wow!" yelled Rainbow. "You have the hottest mandibles on the planet! Would you like to go for a ride? Put something exciting between your legs? Harleys are the best."

"Not likely," said the Prince, still catching his breath. "That two-wheeled death machine looks unsafe and should probably be outlawed."

"It's safe if you wear a helmet," said Rainbow, as she put on her Legion Kevlar helmet. "Speaking of outlaws, meet me at the Outlaw Tavern sometime. I'll buy you a drink."

"I will pass," said the Prince.

"Oh come on," said Rainbow. "Eye-candy like you should not go to waste. Don't make me beg."

"The Prince has a busy schedule, especially now that he is the Mayor of New Memphis," said the Emperor. "Now run along to church with your other Angel friends."

"Whatever," said Rainbow. "You are the mayor? How about taking care of some parking tickets for me? Pretty please. I will be really appreciative, if you know what I mean."

"No!" said the Emperor. "The Prince cannot concern himself with such trivial matters."

"Who is this ogre?" asked Rainbow. "You better run along your own self before I slap you up the side of your head."

"I am your Emperor," announced the Emperor, using a deep voice. "Do you not recognize me? Do you not have my photograph portrait prominently displayed in the main room of your home? It is the law, you know."

"Get real," said Rainbow. "This is not the Empire. This is the United States."

"I beg to differ," said the Emperor. "New Memphis is now part of my Empire. Even among the human pestilence, possession is nine-tenths of the law."

"Blah, blah, blah," said Rainbow. "But I will take a picture of the Prince and put it on my nightstand next to my bed. He's a dream."

"I do not give out pictures of my son," said the Emperor.

"How did a stud muffin like Prince Charlie come from the likes of an old coot like you?" asked Rainbow. "Get lost."

"You will not address His Majesty in such a rude manner," demanded the Special Forces Commander, reaching for his sidearm.

Rainbow peeled rubber as she quickly rode away, giving the Special Forces Commander the one-fingered salute. A Legion armored car rounded the corner just as she left. Lieutenant Lopez stopped the armored car beside the royals.

"Did any of you see a pack of Hell's Angels go by in the last few minutes?" asked Lieutenant Lopez.

"Yes," said the Prince. "They went towards the docks. I believe they are going to church."

"That's not likely," scoffed Lieutenant Lopez. "We need to wipe out those Hell's Angels before their disease spreads. Cable TV did an expose on them last week. Because of that free publicity, there are now Hell's Angels chapter sprouting up all over New Colorado.

"Freedom of religion is guaranteed in the Arthropodan Empire," advised the Prince. "Frankly, your intolerance shocks me. By executive order, my first act as Mayor of New Colorado will be to establish a sanctuary for the Hell's Angels against Legion persecution." . . .

Posted on Apr 10, 2011 11:31:49 AM PDT
Free sample chapters of all my AGFL books can be viewed on my website at: so that readers can see and decide for themselves whether the "America's Galactic Foreign Legion" series measures up.

The following is Chapter 1 of "America's Galactic Foreign Legion (Book 1) Feeling Lucky."

The bright and seedy United States Galactic Federation Spaceport & Casino was noisy and busy as usual, crawling with typical characters I've come to recognize. The lonely, the bored, the desparate, the broke, and of course the addict needing another gambling fix. I've come to know them all because they are all me, in some way or another. But that wasn't my concern tonight. Tonight, the good ol' United States Galactic Federation Spaceport & Casino was gonna be my ticket off Old Earth.

And what was my big hurry to get outta Dodge? Loan shark Bubba Jones signed affidavits to have me picked up for not paying back my loans. Jones also paid the $25,000 needed to allow lethal force should I resist arrest. With Bubba, it seemed like everyone resisted arrest. The man holds a grudge. It didn't seem right, but it was all legal, signed by the judge and notorized. Anyway, what do I know, I'm not a lawyer. If there was any good news about the fix I was in, it was that the warrant for my arrest was civil in nature, and only bounty hunters could arrest me. The police wouldn't get involved in the whole sordid affair.

I would not be trapped on Old Earth like some rat in a maze, scrambling about with no money. No money means your life is nothing, and that was not how it was going to end for me. I had a plan. It cost $100,000 to take a shuttle to Mars, $50,000 more if I wanted to be beamed to Mars. I had $50,000 in my pocket, and I was halfway there. I was on a win streak, playing craps at the casino. How could I lose? By making 'field' bets, and increasing my bet whenever I lost, my progressive betting scheme was finally paying off. Dice rolls of 2 (pays double) 3, 4, 9, 10, 11, and 12 (pays triple) were winners, while 5, 6, 7, and 8 won for the casino. How many times could I lose in a row if I kept doubling my bet? Eventually I'd have to win. Right? But it seemed like a losing streak always had a way of sneaking up on me. Now, with only $25,000 left, and all of it out on the table, I was getting real nervous. My pulse pounded, and I was soaked with sweat. The dice rolled . . .

Five? No! No, no, no, no! Why does this always happen to me?

I was broke and still on Old Earth. I looked around frantically. The couple sitting next to me laughed garishly, reminding me of evil clowns. I pushed away from the table.

Now what? Get more money from an ATM? Sure. Why not? I was already sc###ed - why not go all in? I found a Galactic Technologies Corporation ATM. Outstanding! My credit and good name were still intact. Of course, if I didn't pay the money back, I'd be working on an assembly line for the GT Corporation for the next two years. But that would never happen. I'd skip out first. Anyway, gamblers are a naturally optimistic lot. It's our weakness. It's my weakness.

I put all $50,000 down on a craps field bet and the dice rolled . . .

Six? Six! No one could have this much bad luck!

My shoulders slumped. I had to get out of here. No! I can't handle this! I staggered, my knees weak, but I had to get it together. I couldn't let Bubba find me.

Then a voice called out, "Psssssst, pssssss! Hey you, Big Spender. Need some money?"

"Who said that?" I looked around, but didn't see anyone. I patted the gun under my coat for reassurance.

"Who do you think? Look over here. If I was a snake, I would have bit you."

I spied the ATM tucked away in the corner by the cashier's cage. A surge of optimism coursed through me as I read the lettering on the ATM: 'United States Galactic Federation Foreign Llegion.' "Are you for real?" I asked.

"Of course I am for real," said the ATM. "I am the last ATM you will ever need."

I snorted derisevely.

"I'll extend you $100,000 credit. Right now. On the spot. What do you say? It's so easy to make your financial problems go away."

"I don't think so. I'm no fool. I heard there was a war about to start somewhere."

"There is always a little war about to start somewhere," the ATM responded. "What are you, chicken?"

"Don't call me chicken. I know how this works. If I don't pay back the loan, it means I just enlisted in the U.S. Foreign Legion." I was ready to walk away. "Do you think I want that?"

"Come closer and read the details. I will give you a written contract. You may pay the money back anytime you want - this month - and spend it any way you want. Who knows, Big Spender, you might get lucky at the craps table," added the ATM.

"You know about that? Craps is my game."

"I know a lot of things. I know you owe the GT Corporation $50,000. You owe Bubba Jones another $50,000. I know Jones is upset and will be here in about thirty minutes," said the ATM, smugly.

"What do you mean Bubba Jones will be here in thirty minutes?" I asked, my suspicion growing. "How do you know that?"

"I called him," replied the ATM.

"You did what?" I reached for ny automatic pistol, wanting to shoot the ATM. That wouldn't be practical in a crowded spaceport. I quickly calmed myself, looking about to see if anyone had noticed my little slip of temper. I seemed to be invisible to the revelers and staff.

"Vandalism will not help your situation, Mr. Czerinski. Bubba and his thug bounty hunters will be here very soon, and you still have some tough financial decisions to make." A try extended from the ATM. "Put your thumb on the pad. Take the money. It's only $100,000. You can pay me back anytime this month."

I put my thumb on the extended pad, and a pin prick drew blood, splattering it over the glass pad. "Ouch!" I drew away, holding my thumb. "Was that necessary?"

"Enlisting in the United States Galacltic Foreign Legion is a serious matter. But you are right. Signing your contract in blood was a bit dramatic. Politicians came up with that idea to test your sense of humor. You have about twenty minutes before Bubba Jones gets here."

"Aren't you the least bit concerned Bubba might catch up and kill me?"

"Of course I am concerned," the ATM said with seeming genuine feeling. "That's why I keep telling you Bubba Jones is coming. My recruitment quota for the month will be set back if Bubba Joens kills you."

"You're facing quotas?" I did some quick calculations and realized I might end up short-changed. "Well, I want twice that much. I want $200,000."

"You are not worth that much," said the ATM. "I have to justify the expense if the Legion gets stuck with you."

"Haven't you heard of inflation?" I argued. "A hundred thousand dollars willl hardly get me anywhere these days. And it's just a loan. I'm not actually enlisting. I'll pay it back."

"So you say." The ATM sounded a bit sarcastic.

"I have lots of military training. I'm worth the extra $100,000."

"Military records indicate you have some prior experience," conceded the ATM. "You were in the Arizona National Guard back in the day?"

"Yes. They're a rough and tough outfit."

"I'm sure," said the ATM. "Records show you did not earn your Infantrymans's Badge. How did you manage to avoid combat along the California border?"

"I saw combat," I insisted. "It's just that my captain was too lazy to do the paperwork, and my remaining enlistment was too short for me to care. I just wanted out."

"I do not believe your explanation," challenged the ATM. "Among other faults, you are a compulsive liar."

"It's the truth. Let God Almighty strike me down with lightning if I'm lying." Just as I sore this oath of truthfulness, a baggage handler slammed a cart into a railing with a loud crack. I flinched and ducked down, thinking for a second that God had called me out. I looked around. All was still good in the world. There were no lightning bolts, yet.

"Your company commander, Captain Hill, described you in an evaluation report as resourceful, but not a team player. He said, and I quote, 'Corporal Czerinski never sees the big picture.' What did Captain Hill mean by that?"

"All officers talk that way," I said, dismissively. "I was a corporal. Corporals aren't supposed to see the big picture. We are just supposed to keep ourselves and our men alive for the day. You know, take cover and don't get shot."

"Your psychological profile says you may have a drinking and gambling problem. Is that true?"

"Gambling problem?" I asked. "No way. It's not a problem as long as I win. Are you going to loan me the money or not? There are plenty of other ATMs out there who want my business."

"I know your type," said the ATM. "You like to take shortcuts. I am going to lend you more money than you are worth, just to make a point. You will squander your money trying to show everyone how smart you are. Then you will be mine."

"I'm smart enough to stay out of the Foreign Legion," I boasted. "That's all that matters. I'm feeling lucky. I can't lose."

"I an going to enjoy watching you crash and burn," said the ATM. "It will get ugly."

"What kind of an ATM are you? You have a s###w loose? When was the last time you had your diagnostics checked?"

"As long as my recruitment quotas are up, everyone is happy," bragged the ATM. "I do not need my diagnostics checked. I feel fine. Take your money."

I settled for $100,000 from the ATM. With cash on my card, I rushed to the craps table. "I'm back," I announced.

"So you are," said the craps pit boss, smiling. She was pretty, but she was a ssnake-eyed, bloods##king, viper ##### from #####. "I hope your luck is better this time, Joey," she said too sweetly.

"Me too." I plugged in my card. That ATM was right about one thing. I had some tough decisions to make. I didn't think I should bet it all at one time like I did before. "$25,000 on the field."

"The field bet is a fool's bet," the gambler next to me said. The pit boss and casino staff all nodded knowingly. The dice rolled . . .


"I don't believe it!" I cried. "If it wasn't for bad luck I wouldn't have any luck at all." I put all my remaining money, $75,000, on the field. The dice rolled . . .

Twelve. Twelvel? Twelve! I won! Twelve on a field bet pays triple. I won, what was it . . . $225,000? I did the math while everyone around me was eithr gaping or trying to congratulate me with high-fives. I had $300,000 total. That was enough to pay off Uncle Sam, pay off GT Corporation, pay off Bubba, and I'd still have $100,000 for the trip to Mars. I needed to get off Old Earth now. There were still some nasty peoplel here who didn't like me. But that didn't leave me with much walk-around money. S###w Bubba. I was not paying him. That would leave me with about $50,000 for walk-around money, but it still wasn't enough. It's never enough, is it? I stopped daydreaming and returned to the land of the here and now. "I'll bet half of it, $150,000 on the field."
The dice rolled . . .

Two! That pays double! "I'm cashing out! Put the money on my card! Hurry up. I've got places to go and people to see."

"Are you sure you don't want to let your $600,000 ride?" asked the pit boss, giving me her best sexy smile. It was her blood####ing casino viper from h##l smile. "Luck is with you today, honey. Who knows how lucky you might get?"

"Positive. I'm getting the heck out of Dodge." I grabbed my card and ran through the crowded spaceport casino to the ticket cage. I arrived out of breath. "Ticket to Mars. Next available flight. Belay that. Beam me there. I'll pay the extra charge."

"Is this a business trip, sir?" asked the ticket agent.

"What do you care?"

"You might be eligible for a discount if you are a frequent flier," advised the ticket agent. "Those points add up."

"Yes, it's business!" I said. "Did I say I wasl in a hurry?"

The ticket agent took my card, but he still did not seem to appreciate the urgency of the situation. The man moved in slow motion. "One moment please," he said. "The computer indicates there are problems with your card."

"Problems?" What problems? There are going to be a lot of problems if you don't beam me up." I looked over my shoulder again. You would not believe how many shifty-looking people pass through a spaceport in one day. There was no sign of Bubba, but anyone could be a bounty hunter. I reached for my gun as a rough-looking character sauntered up behind me at the ticket cage.

"Your card is good, Mr. Joey R. Czerinski, but you have some liens on it that you must pay before leaving Earth. I can take care of them for you, if you wish," volunteered the ticket agent.

"Do it," I replied. "Hurry up."

"GT Corporation, $50,000 paid. United States Galactic Foreign Legion, $100,000 paid. Bubba Jones & Associates Incorporated, $75,00 plus interest-"

"Wait!" I ordered. "I'm not paying that. It's a civil matter still being contested. I'll pay it later."

"These are all civil matters," said the ticket agent. "They need to be paid."

The scruffy guy in line grabbed my shoulder and asked, "You know Bubba?"

My gun was out in a flash and pressed against his gut. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing man, I'm sorry!" cried the bum. "I just wanted to borrow some spare change. Please, I have a family. I'm on disability. I have a lot of troubles."

"Yeah right. If you could kick the person responsible for most of your troubles, you wouldn't sit for a week. Take a hike!" I shoved a few scrip dollars at him - they weren't worth the paper they were written on, except at local food venders - and turned to the ticket agent. "Are you getting a commission on collecting debts or what? I'm not paying Mr. Jones. Is that clear? Now beam me up!"

"No reason to get angry about it, sir. I guess Bubba Jones & Associates Incorporated can wait. Here is your ticket, Mr. Czerinski. I hope you enjoy your vacation to Mars."

"It's a business trip, remember? Put me down for the extras."

In reply to an earlier post on Apr 10, 2011 2:09:13 PM PDT
J. Reisman says:
Ronald - Well said. I'm sorry Walter found my post to be offensive. I was going for honest not offensive. I suppose I could have said something along the lines of the main character being a poor imitation of an alcoholic Stainless Steel Rat, but without the wit. If you're interested in more along that line, early Harry Harrison is a better bet. There's a free Kindle copy of Deathworld, one of Harrison's early novels, available here: Deathworld

That said, I'm quite tempted to end with a "I know you are but what am I?" but it just seems too petty ;)

In reply to an earlier post on May 2, 2011 11:29:33 AM PDT
Ronald Craig says:
Hi, J. I got a bit preoccupied after the first week of March or so and forgot all about Walter and his books until I saw him flogging them again in a thread in the Science Fiction forum just now and thought I'd check back here to see if there was anything new. :)
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Initial post:  Nov 13, 2010
Latest post:  May 2, 2011

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America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 1: Feeling Lucky
America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 1: Feeling Lucky by Walter Knight
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