Friday, November 27, 2009
In Keene, NH, intellectual Utopia and experimental fiction capital of America, Kim was looking for an age appropriate book to teach her impressionable students when she happened upon dangerous smut tome Murderland part 1:h8 by extreme sports loving heroin addict pornographer Garrett Cook. She was horrified by what she saw. This was her reaction:
"I love dystopian satire, and I thought that's what this was, but it appears to be written by some gamer in his basement. I can't give an honest review, because I just couldn't finish this crass, over-the-top commentary, despite the fact that it's tiny. I felt dirty reading it. Perhaps it is like the type of book those who enjoy horror punk or SAW movies or Grand Theft Auto. That's certainly not me!"
When reached for commentary, Cook said "Dude, I freakin' love GTA! When will they make another Saw? When they chained that Robin Hood: Men in Tights dude to a radiator CLA-ASSSIC!" Then he air-guitarred enter Sandman for three hours straight, ate five pounds of cookie dough and sacrificed a dog to Satan. An adorable dog. Kim had a deep understanding of horror and experimental fiction, as a fan of such edgy intellectual contemporary novels as Diary of a Wimpy Kid and "lots of Oprah reads". It's clear that Murderland was not for Oprah, nor was it for high school English teachers! Some of you skeptics might think Kim was just "narrowminded", "square" or behind the times, but think again!
The story of Mrs. Kelly Budd might change your mind. Like your standard New Hampshire English teacher, Kelly Budd is a graduate of the Sorbonne and Bram Stoker Award juror, so her knowledge of horror and underground literature is pretty substantial. Having read all of the works of Stephen King and Anne Rice, Kelly Budd's threshold for terror was pretty high. So, for Murderland to prompt her to say:
"I fear that the readers of this book will teen boys who like slash and dash" is a dreadful portent of Murderland's potential effects on this culture! When reached for comment on this, Garrett Cook was standing outside one of New Hampshire's fine public schools trying to sell marijuana and copies of the recent remake of The Hitcher to students. Society is doomed!
But, if you're one of those people foolish enough to think that New Hampshire English teachers aren't better arbiters of culture than horror and Bizarro novelists and Bizarro fans, then maybe you should pick up a copy for yourself and see what's got New Hampshire English teachers worried about their students. You can get it HERE for the cookie dough eating, GTA loving, Saw addled pervert teenage slasher movie metal head gamer retard in your life! Who won't understand a damn word of this book and would never purchase it. And if you think New Hampshire English teachers are alienated by this, imagine what they would think of an ultraviolent teddy bear who fights Furries, giant gangsters and flesh eating sexually deviant cops! You can preorder my next intellectually vacant filthfest with no emotional center or redeeming social values HERE and get two dollars off because it's Black Friday, a day Satan worshipping pornographers like myself LIVE for! Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
BUY IT HERE
Monday, November 9, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
If you'd like to get on the preorder list for this book and have your copy waiting for you when the book is ready and lots of other goodies before that, go to http://jimmyplush.blogspot.com and preorder it!
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Bizarro author Andersen Prunty looking ahead into a future where he can read Jimmy Plush, Teddy Bear Detective.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
I really like how this turned out. Thanks for the honor, Lee!
On an unrelated note, four days left for preorders and signed copies. The clock is ticking. I will not sell signed copies of these books EVER AGAIN after October 12th save those I leave for Bizarrocon attendees. Supplies and time are super limited. So, scroll down on the right side and buy one while you still can.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Dammit, Nannerpuss! I'm trying to have a serious conversation with the people! I hate it when he gets like this. Just buy the book.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
"Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps that meat cleaver is our best hope for salvation. Or maybe he belongs in an asylum. MURDERLAND is a brutally shocking book. Demented. Logical. Disturbing. It can be crudely powerful one moment, tenderly skillful the next, so the reader never knows what’s coming. There’s no way to prepare. No way to protect yourself. Garrett Cook’s work has an edge … and it’s at your throat. "
~ Robert Dunbar, author of THE SHORE and MARTYRS & MONSTERS
Gina Ranalli, author of Sky Tongues, House of Fallen Leaves, Swarm of Flying Eyeballs and a lot of other Bizarro treats said:
"the offbeat brilliance of this book will freak your face off!"
Bravenewworks.com said of it:
"A savage, very original satire that openly mocks the American demigod-like worship of worthless celebrity with a future where despicable murderers become our new focus of adoration. It's as farcical as Swift's "A Modest Proposal," yet no less poignant."-
And what do I say? I say that to celebrate the coming of October and the release of Murderland 2:Life During Wartime, I'm going to give readers a chance to read Murderland part 1:h8 in PDF format for only a dollar. But, I'm only doing this until midnight October 3rd. So, if you want to find out what the buzz has been about, this is a good, cheap opportunity. Just click the Paypal button and I'll email you one along with heartfelt thanks for your interest in my work and for the first ten people a Halloween haiku from my Funclub chapbook. Enjoy!
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Those of you who want to get primordial Bizarro mindfuck for even cheaper than you can on this page can bid on it at the Horrormall auction house. This book has gorgeous cover art by Jude Coulter-Pultz and not only looks, but I feel IS fantastic. You should grab this one.
Members of my Funclub get both of these books, but otherwise there's only five chances left for a signed Archelon Ranch and possibly four for Life During Wartime.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Read an excerpt here: http://thegarrettcook.blogspot.com/2009/09/excerpt-from-jimmy-plush-teddy-bear.html and the back cover description here: http://thegarrettcook.blogspot.com/2009/09/exciting-news.html
Preorders only open until October 12th.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Being a gumshoe is stressful. Being a gumshoe in the body of a three foot teddy bear is a hell of a lot more stressful than that. So I decided to take the day off for once. Since trading my body to that bastard teddy bear to pay off my gambling debts, the closest thing I’d gotten to time off was time spent face down in an alley unconscious. And unlike some people, I wasn’t there for leisure. I knew this day would start off with a couple of annoyances, but I thought it would end at that. The first one, I’d figured on. Having no private residence, I had a tendency to sleep in my office. I also had a lapdog of a Chinese chauffeur that had a habit of waiting outside with my limo ready to go and a tragic attempt at coffee in his hand. I stepped outside, and I was right. There was Chan with coffee staler than politics and pictures. I sighed.
“Chan, where do they grow the coffee in China?”
Even for a Chinaman, Chan went stiff.
“They do not grow coffee in China, Mot Honored Mister Plush.”
I took the coffee from him. This was an important part of my morning ritual lately.
“Do you wanna know why they don’t grow coffee in China, Chan?”
He sighed. There was anger behind his slanty subhuman eyes.
“Yes, Mister Plush. I would like to know why.”
I tossed the coffee in his face as I did every morning. The coffee was piping hot. Good old Chan. Even confronted with certain scalding he wouldn’t serve me lukewarm coffee.
“That is the worst damn coffee I’ve ever had. You run somebody’s laundry through the pot?”
Chan folded his hands and bowed.
“Humblest apologies. Does Most Honored Mister Plush require breakfast? Or to be driven somewhere?”
“Does sycophantic Chan want to lose his job and have to make noodles for a living?” It’s important to be firm with one’s chauffeur.
“Chan is very sorry.” He bowed again. Chan bowed pretty often. Unavoidable when a kid hears Confucius in the nursery.
“I’m taking the day off, Chan.”
Chan looked at me as if I were the one that talked goofy all the time.
“Are you certain Mister Plush, there is a lot to be done, there is especially the matter of…”
I didn’t even wanna think about it.
“It can wait. He’ll wait.”
Chan laughed. “I do not think I would take getting shot as lightly as you have.”
“I don’t take it lightly, Chan. I got no leads, and I’m burnt out, so scram!”
Chan shrugged, got in the limo and drove off.
This left me alone. I called Jean and invited her to dinner. She said seven. I said not to wear the fox suit. She said I could go to Hell. I asked if she had any messages for her mother. She asked about the mess in her kitchen. I said I’d see her at seven and hung up, taking my phone off the hook afterwards. Within five minutes, I started pouring myself drinks. I was bored to tears. I shouldn't have been.
There was a knock on the door. Chan was starting to make me real angry. How could people with so much opium in their country be so utterly against relaxation? I opened my door, wishing the chinaman had made me two cups of coffee. I wouldn’t drink the second one either. But it wasn’t Chan at the door. It was a pony wearing a police cap. There was a whistle and a badge around his neck. It seemed like the sort of thing that would be a bad omen. What did my granny from the old country say about a pony on your doorstep? Made me wish I hadn’t given up my memories during the transfer so I’d know things like that, like if I had a granny or where the hell the old country was.
“Sorry, pal,” I said to the pony, “this ain’t a stable and I’m closed for the day.”
“Listen, Plush,” the pony shot back in a voice that reminded me a little of Gary Cooper, “you don’t like me and I don’t like you, but I’ve got a problem. I’m gonna set aside my prejudices so we can make this town a little less awful.”
“Not interested. Go find yourself some oats and leave me alone, Seabiscuit.”
The pony got in my face.
“I don’t think you understand. I’ve got three dead city councilmen and a dead socialite. Think about it, four prospective kidnap victims. If they keep bumping off these people, there will be nobody to kidnap and murder’s one per customer, Plush. How long do you think a shameless shamus like yourself’s gonna last in a city where all the victims are already dead?”
He had a point. If I was going to maintain this lifestyle, I couldn’t have somebody icing every client that could pay me. Maybe I didn’t want to maintain this lifestyle, but when you’re a teddy bear with a bad reputation and nothing going for you but a chauffeur an office with “Jimmy Plush, Detective” on the door and a custom teddy bear handgun there usually ain’t many career paths open for you.
“Okay, horsey, you’ve got my attention. Now give me the details. Come on in.”
But before he could, three shots rang out and he was good as glue. If a pony on my doorstep was a bad omen (and I couldn’t really tell if it was), then a dead pony on my doorstep was an awful one and a dead pony on my doorstep that had a badge was a disaster. I had to sort this out and I needed to do it fast.
Lucky for me, Chan had not really taken off, but had instead parked the limo in an alley nearby and waited for me to change my mind. He pulled up to the curb, got out and gave me a bow. Even though I needed him now, I was not happy about this.
“I guess they don’t have days off in China either, huh?”
“And yet, I’m not the one with a dead policeman on my doorstep.”
“Who is he? He knew the real Plush and hated him. Must have been a pretty good egg. For a pony.”
Chan’s smile turned into a frown.
“He was. His name was Horskowitz. He was an honest cop, not into the same things the others are. He tried to put some of them away for corruption, so they beat him up, transferred him into the body of a pony. He didn’t quit. He felt that only showed how much he was needed. In my opinion, he was right.”
I could only think of one man that could be behind this.
“Chan, take me to J.L Wong’s.”
The scenery on the way to J.L Wong’s was pretty much the same tableau of heartbreak I was used to; Furries in species drag ranging from strap-on sporting mice to Murray the Monogram Unicorn waiting for clients against every lamppost, ugly hoods carrying violin cases, businessmen looking for a den where they could chase the dragon, a Chinatown that the Orientals were afraid to even go near. Same hell-on-earth where most of my cases ended up leading. Or was it? There was a giant black cloth covering the side of the street. Something huge was underneath, something the size of a few buildings or a gigantic warehouse. I hadn’t seen any construction or demolition going on last time I was here, and last time I was here was two days ago. Identical obese quintuplets in pink pinstripe suits stood outside guarding it. They were trying too hard to act natural.
“Chan, stop!” By the time I’d said it, he’d already stopped.
I got out since I had a sneaking suspicion that these five gentlemen might have had something to do with my case.
“Nice weather we’re havin’, huh?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“So…gentlemen, what’s under the cloth?”
“A carnival,” they replied, again in unison.
“It’ll never work,” I told them as I walked back to the car,“this town’s already too much fun.”
You can preorder Jimmy Plush, Detective right here. Remember that the limited edition gives you a chance to win your very own Jimmy Plush! Members of my funclub automatically get a preorder, but are not entered into the teddy bear raffle.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
A month ago, I would have told you suicide was the only answer to the quandary, but things are changing, moving faster and it's time for me to keep up with them. That's why I've started The Spectacular Seven Neopulp Expressionist Funclub. A book club, a fan club and a team of ultra-special junior space rangers rolled into one. For twenty five dollars plus ten dollars for shipping, you get: a copy of Life During Wartime (info here: http://www.evilnerdempire.com/propaganda.htm), a copy of Archelon Ranch (info here: http://www.legumeman.com/archelon%20ranch.html) , and a preorder for my upcoming book, Jimmy Plush, Teddy Bear Detective...from Eraserhead Press!
Here's what's on the back cover of that one (which is of course, the supreme arbiter of content and literary merit):
"In a city ridden with prostitute furries, cannibal cops and warehouse-sized mob bosses, I've got my work cut out for me. My name is Jimmy Plush. I'm a private detective. I'm also a teddy bear. It all started when the original Jimmy Plush entered my life, offering to take my gambling debts away if I agreed to switch bodies with him. But I didn't know that being a three-foot-high plush toy would be such a living hell, especially now that everyone in town wants a piece of me. All I've gotten out of this deal is a faithful Chinese chauffeur, a custom teddybear .45, and a girlfriend who won't take off the fox suit she turns tricks in. Now I've got to keep this town clean and try to track down the real Jimmy Plush without losing my stuffing for good. Only one thing is for sure: Life is hard when you're soft.
Jimmy Plush, Teddy Bear Detective is a high octane pulp satire. In the tradition of Sam Spade, The Shadow, Dick Tracy, Hellboy and Howard the Duck comes a new kind of hero, a hero that reminds us that the measure of a man is in his guts and his gun."
You can get this preordered through the Funclub or you could buy individual preorders for $10. There is also a $20 preorder that gets you a special signed edition with a free gift and a ticket for a raffle to win your very own cuddly but deadly stuffed Jimmy Plush. There are only twenty of the special editions available, so you might want to act fast.
You can buy any of these things by clicking on the Paypal button that corresponds to it. It's easy and fun. Especially if you're one of those people who is mesmerized by buttons.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
(Murderland Part 2:Life During Wartime is coming this Fall. Really. Get your copy of Part 1: H8 so you don't miss out on the action, the intrigue, the weirdness, the humor and the terror)
I rattle my cage, but I get no attention. Jeremy doesn’t even tell me to shut up now. Look at me, sniveling like an untouched housewife hungry for martini kisses from her neglectful husband. This is not the nature of our relationship. This is not what I am here for this is not why I am here Jeremy this is not where I am here you son of a bitch…
If I could slide through these walls, breathe the stale air of this godforsaken moribund earth through lungs of my own it would be so much better, everything would be so much FUCKING better if I could walk out of here grab that pistol and fill everybody who deserves it with holes to match the ones inside them…it isn’t violence. Self expression. Revelation of soul states. Cadaver is cadaver. Cadaver is cadaverous. He is going to do it all wrong. He is going to fuck up. It would be so much FUCKING better if I could walk out of this FUCKING box and make everything right for myself I am a myself I am not just a system of bleeps I am not misfiring neurons JEREMY JENKINS I AM NOT A DISEASE JEREMY JENKINS I AM NOT A DISEASE I tell him his oatmeal is cum and maggots and he breathes deeply counts to 100 and eats it anyway. I am not in a position of weakness. I am not beaten. The mission will not be compromised. Son of a bitch the mission will not be compromised. He cannot stop history. He cannot fight off the dreams when they come. When battery acid falls from the sky and the rivers flow antifreeze, he will beg for me. I will tell him I told him so. I will tell him he has stepped out of line. I will be patient. Stop rattling the cage. Stop trying to bully my way out. All better now. He cannot fight history. History will happen and he will need me. Jeremy will beg.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Text formatted by Matthew Revert. Find out what's inside it this fall. Or just stare at it. As long as you buy it, I'm cool.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
OR you could get:
For you writers, budding writers and people curious about the process, see it at work and give yours a shot in the arm with five weird pitches. For three dollars you get five Bizarro ready, perhaps horror tinged strange ideas. One novel/novella length premise guaranteed.
Stories to order: five dollars, finished in a week
Five strange ideas: three dollars. given to the customer within three days
I accept Paypal only.
Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org if you're interested or have questions.
Both of these are guaranteed completely unique.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
rating: 4 of 5 stars
Some things that are funnier than almost everything else:
South of the Border (the pseudoMexican tourist trap)
The American South
Lance Carbuncle without being just completely dismissive of the South gives us a cool and scathing road trip through it's twists and turns. Full of colorful, weird characters, lawbreaking shenanigans and insights into existential confusion, Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed delivers. Reminiscent of the films of Savage Steve Holland, Richard Linklater and the Farrelly Brothers and packed with humorous asides and notations, this book is oozing with fun, intelligence and humanity and hopefully will make it to the big screen someday.
View all my reviews.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Number 2, and this came right from my spam box: Madonna is a Muslim now. As if Madonna has not given America enough reasons to be creeped out by her religion hopping, Baby Jane makeuping ways, she decides to become part of the Saracen horde that is trying to steal our freedom? You ain't takin' my freedom Madonna, not while people have guns and Hank Williams albums. You don't like this country, go back to England! Unless of course for once my spam box has steered me in the wrong direction. This is highly unlikely. A couple months ago, it said that Kelly Clarkson had been raped and I know that must have been true, since she was clearly so shaken she could not send a thank-you note for the muffin basket I sent to Simon Cowell's secretary to bring to her to help relieve her suffering. Kelly Clarkson is definitely the kind of person who would send you a thank-you note for a basket of muffins with a "Sorry You Were Raped" card.
But, in the midst of all of this "No more H8", "terrorist Madonna", "Kelly Clarkson traumatized by rape" talk, there is a silver lining thanks to Shatnerquake author Jeff Burk's tireless efforts. The Magazine of Bizarro Fiction is out and it has my story Mr. Plush, Detective in it. You can get it on Amazon if you just look for a second or find more info at www.bizarrocentral.com. I will let you know if those Canadian highschool kids don't take their copy of H8, the last one out of my personal stash, and if they decide not to, it will be available to the general public. Except for Madonna bin Laden and that ungrateful bitch Kelly Clarkson.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Don't be sad, little fella, I'll tell you where to find autographed copies of Murderland Part 1: H8!
Saturday, May 2, 2009
rating: 3 of 5 stars
A curiosity piece at best. Burroughs and Kerouac were not at their weird, mystic best at this point and its understandable, but why this needs to resurface isn't. It's kind of a patronizing move and exploits the popularity of great writers without being any of their great writings. Shrug.
View all my reviews.
Friday, May 1, 2009
rating: 5 of 5 stars
I'm not much of a Trek fan. There, I said it. Draw me, quarter me, tar me, feather me. I'm not much of a Trek fan, but William Shatner is one of the most bizarre and intriguing personages in media history. From Kirk to a bizarre musical career to his numerous appearances in an eclectic array of commercials, I've found Shatner incredibly fascinating. Now in Shatnerquake, Jeff Burk explores the ins and outs of Shatnerdom, sci fi mania and the Jungian mess we live in. When a group of Bruce Campbell cultists sets off a fiction bomb, every Shatner comes together in one place, in a mayhem filled pop culture implosion that would bring tears to the eyes of Seth Macfarlane and leave his cries for vengeance against Kahn echoing through the tomb of Ricardo Montalban for ages. Shatnerquake is more fun than a barrel of Shatnermonkeys drunk on Shatnerbrau
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
If you decide to join cinemaddicts, put GarrettCook as your referrer. No, I am not enough of a whore to pimp something just for a prize, but I like prizes and I like these people.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
rating: 5 of 5 stars
Where the hell are my words? There's something truly great to say about this book. Something that nails it down like a Roman soldier would an impertinent messiah. Those words lurk in the head of a wise orangutan shaman in Borneo or something like it. Layers of headspace peel back or rush ahead with new revelations constantly in My Landlady the Lobobotomist, a story about heartbreak, the artistic process and the nature of one man's hell. And Godzilla. And his love for She-sus, the female messiah. And a dragonfly's love for an angelfish, which is a man's love for a woman. And an author's passionate love of language. This fourth great love, not that of one of Gerdes' conceptions but of Gerdes himself drives the book and where does it drive it? Into an uncharted, uncomfortable, occasionally overbearing country that belongs to him completely. My Landlady the Lobotomist is a pleasure to read, a blend of Bizarro and experimental fiction that is sure to leave the reader surprised and impressed. But these aren't quite the words. I've got a feeling an orangutan would know.
View all my reviews.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Here's the review:
Goodreads Review of Mykle Hansen's the Rampaging Fuckers of Everything on the Crazy Shitting Planet of the Vomit Atmosphere
rating: 5 of 5 stars
Eminem once said "I am whatever you say I am" and the bold title of Mykle Hansen's book stands out as an unintentional echo of this statement for the Bizarro community. Provocateurs? Yup. Obsessed with sex and poo jokes? So was Dali. There is a triumphant shamelessness to the title of the book that resounds through its pages. If Mykle Hansen needed to eat puppies for breakfast to be himself, he would rap the table and scream "waiter, more puppy sauce!" These three novellas in the same place combine like robot lions into a samurai of glorious filth. The first of the three and my favorite, Monster Cocks, explores manhood, porn, self image and our emasculating modern world while at the same time presenting a tragic love story. Imagine Little Shop of Horrors with a sentient penis in a world of corporate tedium. Even if you can, you still haven't gotten a handle on what Hansen's voice and humor can do with the premise. The second Journey to the Center of Agnes Cuddlebottom, and my least favorite of the three concerns the colonization (or should I say colon-ization...spelled too similar! Doesn't work in print. Way to kill the joke, English language!) and exploration of an 80 year old prostitute's ass and the travails and triumphs of an eager scientist, a mercenary chimp and a plucky, very opportunistic Starbucks. A great exploration of greed, opportunism and our unbeatable desire for enterprise. Lastly, but certainly not least comes the delightfully chaotic and painfully visceral Crazy Shitting Planet. This story concerns a race of filthy, poverty stricken survivors on a planet covered in the excrement and garbage of a race of floating fat people. In part, it's reminiscent of Jeunet and Caro's Delicatessen with some South Park and straight, old school surrealism thrown in. It's a surprisingly cutting and very timely look at poverty, love, hope and ambition that defies description. Fantastic stuff all around. Hansen is dark, funny, smart and willing to defy our culture's perceptions of mature art in favor of the hard stuff. Humorless robots and lit fic loving schoolmarms need not apply.
View all my reviews.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
rating: 3 of 5 stars
So Pasolini and Kenneth Anger walk into a bar. I don't have a punchline, but at its best Sabre's Call would reflect a meeting of these minds. Were Sabre's Call the book it thinks it is, it would be a revelation, a mature argument in favor of an ideology that seldom in this day and age presents mature arguments for itself. It would be a Promethean instead of a Luciferean endeavor and Chambers would convince several people to shed the yokes of one social topdog or another. Sabre's Call is bold, full of fairly transgressive (though occasionally uninspired) imagery and utterly devoid of shame or fear. For these things, Chambers has earned the third star in the review. Were the characters stronger, the book less of a mouthpiece and the plot better developed, it might have earned a fourth, which would be damn impressive for a book written by a Satanist conservative, since I'm a Gnostic Anarchist with a pretty wide socialist streak and a lot of concerns over declining ethics and widespread inhumanity. Chambers has a lot of literary and rhetorical growing to do and hopefully in the future, will extend into greater philosophical depth and go beyond proselytizing into revelation, which might not be altogether beyond him considering the fervor of his convictions and the brutal potential he exhibits.
View all my reviews.
rating: 5 of 5 stars
Rock and roll can grab you in its teeth, gnash your heart to bits, open your mind so wide you can't keep cultural debris out, change your way of thinking and dressing, make you reconsider the flowers mother says are poisonous. The great voices and minds of rock and roll wield a cultural power that is shamanic at its highest resonances. But to walk with these spirits, is to dance with death, to become an icon of your generation sometimes means staying there forever, being remembered in a bathtub in Paris or a plaid 90s sepulcher with syringes strewn about. Eric Segalstad' s the 27s unabashedly, unashamedly and unrepentantly tells the story of these tragedies with sparkling language and beautiful illustrations. He uses insights into astrology and numerology to look into the roots and consequences of one of rock's black magic numbers. This is a book like no other. While there are any number of books about Jim, Jimi, Janis and Curt, there are few that place them in the company of the other casualties of their age, others who did not get to step through the gates into adulthood. I found myself really thinking about my upcoming 27th birthday, about the trials artists go through and about the sort of person who would sing lyrics like "I wish I was like you, easily amused..." and "hey, wait, I got a new complaint". This book shines, cuts and illuminates, all without saying that Jim Morrison was a six foot penis that penetrated the world til it went soft or turning into transparent DARE propaganda. That's a true accomplishment. This book covers everyone from Robert Johnson, to Canned Heat's Alan Wilson to Jeremy Ward of the Mars Volta. A must for any rock fan's shelf. The upcoming hardcover will be a must for their coffee table too.
View all my reviews.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
"That's ridiculous," you say, "Superman wears a cape."
Well, you bastard, I'm getting to that.
During the sixties, superfoe Lex Luthor under the guise of one "Richard Nixon" engineered a plot so devious that the Legion of Doom threaten to expel him out of sheer disgust for it. The first step was to fake the death of CIA super-assassin and alien shapeshifter Marilyn Monroe in order to get Frank Sinatra to shoot then president JFK. Superman arrived on the scene to thwart the assassination, but did not expect to be the target of the hypnobeams Monroe fired from her nipples. Luthor had ordered her to destroy the Man of Steel, but Marilyn's soft heart got in the way again. During their many scraps on the set of Billy Wilder movies, the alien killer/troubled actress had fallen for the wrong man. Her background in Native American folklore helped her conceive of a way to let the Man of Steel carry on his battle for truth, justice and the American way in secret, by hypnotically suggesting that Superman was the sasquatch and finishing the illusion by trapping him in a cheap, sasquatch suit with a visible wristwatch (hence idiot skeptics and their accusations of faked bigfoot sitings) and since then, he has blurred through America righting wrongs and occasionally molesting wayward campers. Hey, even Superman has urges.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Q: Indulge yourself with luxury timepiece.
A: Thanks for the advice. I'm thinking of putting up a Paypal button dedicated to a grandfather clock fund. So, if any of you wants to start things up with a small pledge, I'll take your money.
Q: Tired of being unable to perfom? Can't see images?
A: I'm afraid neither of those things apply to me. It's a good question, though as many of us authors feel we cannot perform and have trouble constructing the necessary images that make our worlds of wonder come to be. This is not a problem for me. I'm also not blind or impotent. If either of these things happens to you, you might have ocular testiculitis, a condition in which your testicles come out of your eyesockets. Seek help immediately,
Q: Hi, looking for the greatest gaming hot spots?
A: Here's somebody who really knows me. Any of my REAL friends know I am a diehard roulette enthusiast. I eat, drink and sleep roulette. Whenever I see something spinning and a man in a red vest doesn't hand me a thousand dollars in chips, I'm confused. I've been known to become violent during board games that use a spinner. Thanks for thinking of me and knowing that I'm on an eternal quest to find America's luckiest roulette wheel. Keep me posted, okay?
Monday, January 26, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Like love and friendship, all of these things are free.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Clowns love I-Hop. Perhaps because I-Hop pancakes are partially made with flour ground from the bones of children. Maybe because clowns just have no taste. But, meager clown paychecks and frequent firings for their serial killing proclivities often leave them broke, with nothing to show for it but their sinister white van of doom. Clowns use this van to pick up children saying they'll take them to some magical land. Instead, they take them to I-Hop. The child is forced to eat a mediocre stoner breakfast dinner and then the clown does the old dine and dash. Children do not usually have money to pay the bills, so are forced to work in the I-Hop kitchen or made into flour for the awful pancakes. As these kitchens are filled with children the quality of food becomes more crappy and clownworthy and the dance of terror continues. If your child, has a cellphone, they'll call you to have you pick them up and you can pay the bill. But, these children are so ashamed and violated they usually won't. Since children are bad at math, unscrupulous I-Hop managers exploit this to make them work interminably. I hope you feel a bit safer now that this vicious urban legend has been debunked.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Q: Why did you leave me?
A:There were a lot of reasons. You were clingy, self-indulgent and loved to cry in public, sometimes for no reason at all. You borrowed my underwear without telling me and wet them just to make me hit you. So "Me" (as you've chosen to call yourself so as not to stoke my rage), there you have it. All the things that drove me away from you. The big, green mullet didn't help either.
Q: Where were you, man?
A: Dude, I was in Hawaii. If you knew me, you would know that I attend weekly Hawaii parties. But I guess we've been out of touch for awhile and you must have tried to meet up with me in Greenland. My Greenland phase is over. I'm a published author. Why eat BK Big Fish when you can eat caviar?
Q:Have you changed your number?
A: No, "Me", I have not changed my number, but all of these emails leave me seriously considering it. You must have missed me while I was at the big Hawaii party.
Q: Score on all the chicks tonight!
A: Not a question but thanks for the kind wishes.
Q: All designer watches! zfbw ew ibfa
A: Ibfa Ew Zbaf. Zafbif we.
Thanks, devoted fans! I'll answer more of these next week.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
"Hello," he boomed at me, "are you looking for an idea?"
"I don't think so," I said, "I got plenty."
"Just a dollar and it comes with free taffy!"
So I hand him my dollar.
"You, my friend, could be an idea man," he said, "mining the frontiers of consciousness for genius!"
"But I'm not a giant!" I protested.
He shrugged his enormous shoulders and laughed.
I walked out of the mall, knowing I'd been conned and went to the Goodwill to find myself some stilts.