About Clemens P. Suter

Clemens P. Suter is the author of post-apocalyptic and dystopian adventure novels. Visit this site to learn about his novels, paintings and travel.

The Magic Pool (Variation on a classic German joke).

Practically everyone seems to dislike Greta Thunberg. Obscurely so, as she is ‘only’ a girl from a remote, partially forgotten and ex-socialist Nordic country. People seem to forget that humor is still the best weapon to deal with serious political issues… so here a joke featuring the Climate-Change Angel.

It is conference time in Saudi Arabia and dignitaries meet to discuss the climate crisis. International guests have been invited by his Royal Highness, Freelance Hacker, and Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman (known to friends as “MbS“).
The Prince invites Greta Thunberg, Donald Trump and Jordan Peterson to a very special evening event. In the Palace in Riyadh, between the harem and prison, a magic pool has been installed. The sign at the entrance reads: Fantastic news! Jump into the empty pool, wish for your favorite drink and swim in it!” (below that the sign says: “No dogs allowed. No refunds. Skinny dippers will be whipped in traditional fashion“).

As the true gentleman that he is, MbS suggests that Greta should be allowed to jump first. Greta thinks for a few seconds and says in her cute Swedish accent: “I wish that the pool fills itself with soy milk, since ordinary cow milk production is associated with high levels of the gas methane; a gas that is 32-times as potent as the gas carbon dioxide in accelerating the global warming!” The three men smirk, and the Prince pats her on the head belligerently: “Now jump in, little one!” Greta climbs the ladder to the board, jumps into the pool and shouts “soy milk!”… and indeed the pool instantly fills up with the nutritious milk substitute. Greta lands in the white liquid, swims about, and takes big sips of the delicious non-alcoholic potable.

A pool-attendant steps forward and switches on a pump, so that the pool is emptied and the next person can jump in. A slight shuffle takes place, which Jordan (champion debater) wins with one of his typical kill-all arguments (in this case a quick knee to the groin). Jordan climbs the ladder, shouts “orange juice !”, the pool fills up, and Jordan can start swimming and drinking.

Finally, it is Donald’s turn. He climbs the ladder and starts out on one of his rambling speeches, during which he somehow seems to suggest that he is the greatest swimmer since Johnny Weissmuller; and most people leave. Then Donald takes a deep breath, jumps and shouts: “Soda !”

Thud! Donald hits the bare tiles at the bottom of the pool. The pool did not fill with any liquid. He manages to crawl to a ladder, climbs up, and staggers to the pool attendant. “What the hell happened,” says the Donald, “The sign said fantastic news and the pool didn’t fill?! Sad!”

The pool attendant looks at the sky quizzically and says: “…fake news?”

More humor here: the adventures of John and Daphne



A Poem. The Night has no Rhythm

The night has no rhythm /

curtain with yellow and red flowers /

flowing in the light of morning sun /

fly buzzing in and out /

new chapter /

east, west, north, south /

nightstand /

stack of books, lamp, glass and bottle /

feet on cold floor /

new land /

Enter the day – full throttle.





Adventure! New SUPERHERO launch TODAY! Totally Crank!

Everybody goes berserk about superheroes. It is superhero madness! Every second movie in the cinema today is about some individual with SciFi or Fantasy strengths, Stan Lee and Marvel Comics are (we’re, e’s dead now) shuffling money into their bank accounts like sand from the beach into beach buckets, and the fans are doing the same with popcorn and their esophaguses. Woody Allen, Roman Polanski and Ingmar Bergman are all planning to get on the gravy train and direct a superhero movie… even posthumously.
Yes, superhero madness: Spider-, Bat-, Super-, Iron-, Cumberbatch- and that choleric Michael Bay Transformersman: there are no limits to the weird concepts, poor dialogues, inane scripts and bombastic CGI effects.
For that reason, and inspired by the characters of my novels (see www.clemenssuter.com/books) I am now launching all new SUPERHEROES! As Cecil B. DeMille used to say: good movies aren’t made – they are remade! Give me slice of the cake baby!
Your comments and Suggestions welcome! As this is a franchise, drop me a note if you want to join in.
Introducing Parisman, Flyman, Stoneman, Fatman and ScarletJohansenman!

Top Three Perfect Christmas Gifts.

The perfect Christmas Gift. Give Clemens P. Suter’s novels TWO JOURNEYS and FIELDS OF FIRE or CELETERRA to your loved ones – postapocalyptic adventures suited for all ages.

Top three ways to get these gifts. Next to finding these books in the store on your mobile device (simply search for “Clemens P. Suter“. These books are available as eBooks in all formats) you can find paperbacks at e.g. Amazon or Barnes and Noble – and they can also be ordered in your local bookstore – all over the globe. Find out here.

Great price too!

Great adventure – Two Journeys

Attractively priced with great reviews.

Fields of Fire – the Second Installment

Find out more here: https://clemenssuter.com/books


Double Barrel of Adventure

Get a taste here:

We ran down the path. It bent to the left, uncomfortably close to the fence of the compound. I increased our speed. Abruptly we arrived in an open space in the woods. The fence ran just a few yards to the left. Behind it was the camp—even the remains of the house could be seen.

Suddenly Somerset appeared into view, panting and puffing. His face looked like an expressionist painting with the blue make-up running down with his sweat. He was at the most ten yards away. Only the fence separated us. “You!” He raised his gun, and immediately he shot. The bullet missed me by several feet, but it motivated me to keep on running and to increase my speed. The dogs followed.

Somerset was shouting at his men. “Shoot! Shoot!” A burst of bullets from a Kalashnikov tore through the shrubs and trees. Then the click of an empty magazine and Urs’s voice.

“Shit!” Silence followed. I guessed that they had picked up the hunt on the other side of the fence. I wondered how Urs could move so fast with his broken leg. My respect for Swiss army training went up another notch. Going as fast as I could, I hoped that the fence would continue for some distance. Soon I lost sight of it altogether. Upfront the path split into two, and the dogs instinctively waited and looked at me. I chose the right branch, away from the fence and towards the truck.

I was convinced that at least for the moment I had lost my pursuers. However, I would need a lot of strength and good fortune to reach the truck. According to the calculations and the little map that I had drawn it was still several miles away. I chose a steady pace—swift, but not too exhausting. The path continued east. On the left, inside the compound, I could hear a motor. Somebody was revving an engine. The sound grew weaker, probably because the motor belonged to a car and that car was now driving towards the gate in the fence. This was worrisome. With a car and sufficient men, Somerset could quickly locate and capture me.

I didn’t have any weapons, not even a pocket knife. Automatically I increased my speed. For the next few minutes, we continued swiftly. Then the path arrived at an open space again and split north, east, and south. I ran around in a small circle while trying to make up my mind. I picked north. Knowing that this was the most risky direction, it was also the only track that would take me across the highway—and to the side of the road where the truck stood parked.

As it was, I arrived at the highway only minutes later. I stopped underneath the trees and told the dogs to lie down. Moving forward quickly, I checked the road in both directions. It was still empty. I called the dogs, and we hurried across. The street was relatively free of dust, and looking back I saw no traces of our crossing. The path continued north for a hundred feet. Then it started to turn west again. I cursed, afraid that it would carry me away from the truck and closer to the camp gate.

Suddenly, a car approached at breathtaking speed. Judging by the sounds it made, I suspected that Sergey was behind the wheel. I stopped to listen. At first, the car went past. Then the driver stepped on the brakes, and the car came to a screeching halt. It reversed and apparently, people got out, as indicated by the slamming of the doors. Four doors. Four men?

It got quiet again. I was sure they were following me on foot. What would their orders be? Capture me or kill me on sight? Was Somerset among them? I decided that I didn’t want to wait to find out. I went on as fast as I could. There was a small chance that they would wrongly estimate my progress, that they would initially follow the path that led south. If that were so, I could build up a lead.

However, that was not the case. Five minutes later, I was still going northwest. Bo, who had been running several yards ahead of me, abruptly stopped, turned, and raised his ears. Immediately, I jumped sideways from the path and into the woods. With as little sound as possible, I worked my way through the shrubs for about fifty yards. Then I pulled the dogs down into a hollow. I held their snouts. Their big eyes looked at me nervously.


A pirate story – John Hawk

John inserted the spade into the ground and started digging. The pile of dirt rapidly increased in height. It was hard work though, the sun beating down on his dreadlocks, and every now and then John halted his work to wipe away the sweat and to drink from his jug of water.

Deeper and deeper went the spade. John checked the map to exclude any mistake. No, this was the right spot.

Suddenly the spade hit an object, and John dropped on his belly to remove the dirt with his hands. The lid of a chest became visible. Hurriedly he cleaned away more sand, and finally his hands found a handle, and with considerable effort he managed to pull the heavy chest from the ground. He pulled his pistol and shot the lock to pieces.

He threw back the lid and the insides of the chest became visible: coins, coins coins! Ecstatically, John threw his hands in the air and did a weird dance around the treasure.

„Hullo dear, I’ve brought you a cup of tea,“ said Daphne, still in her nightgown, She handed him a mug and looked at the hole skeptically. “Are you sure that this is better than a bank account? Seems like an awful lot of work…”

Mr. Wanamaker, their neighbor, smirked. “It’s pretty ridiculous, if you ask me. Look at your goddamn lawn! It’s a disgrace. You’re the laughing stock of the neighborhood.” Exasperated, he turned away from the fence and continued watering his potted plants.


More About John and Daphne.

The Tension is Unbearable. A story of Crime and Passion (starring John and Daphne).

“John?” Daphne shook him. He didn’t stir.
“John! Oh god, what have I done? John? Please wake up.”
She shook him again, panic rising in her voice.
“I need you to wake up. John! Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I… John, oh John! Please, please!” Tears flowed down her cheeks and she swallowed hard.
John stirred and opened his eyes. “For heaven’s sakes, woman. Why this bloody theatre every single morning? Can’t you just wait for the frigging alarm to go off?”


More humor? Find it all blogposts tagged with HUMOR:


Pissoir joke. Skip this one, as it is slightly tasteless (and it doesn’t star Daphne, only John)

Several years ago a young man (for the sake of making him more distinguishable from the other personae in this story we will presume that he was red haired. And his name is John) went out for a night with his friends. After many rounds of beer he decided that he had to use the bar’s bathroom, in order to relieve himself.

As he stood at the urinal, a sturdy man with a crew cut entered and started using the pissoir next to him. The ginger boy couldn’t help noticing that the man didn’t just relieve himself with one stream of urine, but in fact three separate streams hit the porcelain. Due to the combination of alcohol and curiosity, he decided to overcome his usual shyness. “Tell me sir, I noticed that you do not pee with a single stream but in multiple streams. I wonder, is this an acquired phenomenon or a hereditary defect?”

The sturdy man turned to him, smiled and answered politely. ”Actually, ginger boy, I’m somewhat flattered that you ask me this. It is in fact an intriguing story. I am a veteran from the second golf war. One day we were hunting down the enemy and we formed a foot patrol to do so. Alas, next to our footpath the enemy had hidden a IED *), which went off just as I passed by. I was lucky: a piece of shrapnel damaged Mr. Willy, but through diligent surgery, the doctors managed to rescue my manhood. However, ginger boy, I have not been able to pee in a single stream since.”

In awe, the boy left the facilities, and couldn’t wait to tell his chums.

Many months later, the boy visited the same bar, and again after a long evening of drinking he needed to go to the bathroom to relieve himself. As he stood at the urinal, a powerful yet obviously drunk marine, also with a crew cut entered, and took position at the pissoir next to him. Ginger boy stole sideward glances at the man. Finally he couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “I’m sorry sir! I couldn’t help noticing that you are not peeing in a single stream but in fact you produce at least a dozen streamlets! Are you perhaps a veteran of the second golf war!?”

The other man looked down and cursed.  “Damn. I’ve… I’ve forgotten to open the bloody zipper.”


*) in case you do not know what an IED entails, make sure to read pages 130- 150 of my novel Fields of Fire

Another joke – “airplane crash” adapted to modern times

Another tale: story of the Japanese runner that finished the marathon… in 54 years.