Normal

Normal Caton is no ordinary hit man. His story is one of assassination by imagination. How else can you describe a guy whose weapons include a dead fish, a killer hippo, a hot-wired tanning bed, an industrial-strength wood chipper and some poorly trimmed fugu, a delicacy also known as blowfish? They are why no one thinks Normal is normal. He is the Salvador Dali of hired guns. He takes murder into another dimension after a jammed handgun nearly blows his first job and his fragile future. Just when he thinks he and his pal, Early Joe Wesson, are doomed to return to their doggie pooper-scooper business, Normal's uncle comes to the rescue. He hooks his nephew up with a CIA spook-turned-liquidator who gives them a string of contracts and the windfall that comes with them. Trouble is, after that first near flop it is still a bumpy ride, something like a Category Two hurricane coming full bore out of The Tropics. But he gets the job done until things literally blow up in his face.