Give Us a Film About Joe ‘Mental’ Mentalino

Murphy Brown is back. It’s looking like we’re going to get a movie about every person who ever appeared in a Harry Potter book. And every book that appeared in a Harry Potter book. And then the books that are in those books. Even Bumblebee, a goddamn Volkswagen, is getting a spin-off.

I’d like to see a prequel to Dumb and Dumber focusing on the two bit thug Joe ‘Mental’ Mentalino. Now there’s a character study.

Show us some of his childhood. Dig deeper into his struggle with ulcers. Has he always had them? Were they caused by his life of crime? Or was he in such great pain that he was driven to thuggery and buffoonery in order to be able to afford ulcer medicine?

How did the guy get to a place in his life where he was able to cut off a parakeet’s head?

What other depraved acts has he carried out?

So many themes to explore—the development of a psyche capable of animal decapitation, America’s broken healthcare system, the irony of a man being killed by his own rat poison.

There is a market for this.

 

Moses And His Migrant Caravan Blown To Smithereens By US Military

In a pretty cool fusion of current events and biblical lore, the prophet Moses (who killed a guy one time) and his migrant caravan were blown to smithereens as they arrived at the US border, ending their 40-year journey through the desert with a bang.

After leaving Egypt—a major shithole—the caravan just kind of wafted through the wilderness and for the purposes of this story landed in the Mexican desert. Fox News believers looked on with horror as a convoy chock full of Middle Easterners made its way towards US soil.

Anyways, as the immigrants strolled up to the Texas border, the US military carried out the true hope of Donny and his followers, and blew the whole shebang to smithereens.

That’s pretty close to how it went down in the Bible, right?

 

Hard, Orange Scat For Sale

Donald Trump was in Minneapolis last Thursday. We’ve all seen the footage of him boarding AF1 with toilet paper stuck to his shoe, which means that his bowels were most likely active while here in Minnesota.

As a novelist who has never sold a novel, I saw a way to diversify my revenue stream.

So down into the sanitary infrastructure I went. I knew it wouldn’t be easy wading through the poo of a metropolis, but I need money, and there are worse jobs out there. Plus my writing desk is next to a litter box, so the sewer acted as a catalyst for my creative juices, which began flowing much like the feculent sludge all around me.

I knew I could very well come up with nothing, but I had to try. And I’m glad I did, because after only ten minutes in those tubes, I found what I was looking for:

Trump Nugget

It’s exactly what it looks like, folks. A Trump Nugget.

There is absolutely no question that this pile of feces came out of Donald Trump’s anus. Just look at it—the color, the texture—well you can’t feel it, but believe me, it’s as dry and scratchy as DT’s weathered hide.

So to everyone out there in the #MAGA crowd, this little guy is for sale. I’m seeing that Make America Great Again hats are going for 25 bucks on the official website, and those have never even been inside of Donald Trump.

One hundred dollars, OBO. I am also willing to trade for Trump Steaks, which is probably what this poop started out as.

As A Novelist, I See Art Everywhere

As a novelist, it is my job to take a variety of drugs—smack, clappy, scrim-sham, bluppies, etc.—get really, really up there, then ride out the comedown with dark liquor and a tube of glue. Then, and only then, do I even think about writing a novel. You see, reaching these extreme highs and lows allows me to achieve the realization that there is art in everything.

‘Hey look, a tree!’ You, as a normal, drooling dullard may exclaim at the sight of a tree. But you’d be wrong. That tree is actually art. And I know that.

‘Wow, that cloud looks like a hamster!’ Your underdeveloped sense of vision may tell you. I’m sorry, but that cloud actually looks like Hobby Lobby, because that is the true birthplace of art. And also because the universe wouldn’t waste time sending you, a person who hasn’t even written a novel, a giant rain-filled rodent. Give the earth art, and she’ll give it right on back.

‘It transcends space, expresses the notion that there are no limits, no control; yes, chaos rules here—and it is beautiful,’ you cluck as you observe Autumn Rhythm. But as the novelist, I see…..a close up of ass hair? Maybe there’s some genitalia hidden in there somewhere. No, no. Just a bunch of ass hair clogging up a drain.

Autumn Rhythm by Jackson Pollock

The Novelist Encounters An Abundance Of Veins

As a novelist, one of the more annoying things I’ve encountered lately is when a veiny, curly-haired lunk walks right up to me and says “How are WE doing?” And I’m thinking, hey man, I want nothing to do with your vascularity and loafers with no socks. I’m a novelist, pal, a lone wolf, not some guy who eats a ten ounce pile of barley and six hard-boiled eggs in a sitting. “WE aren’t doing anything, yo,”  I say to this throbby, pumpy dude. And right to his face. No fear at all.

Actually I just write about it here. Because that is what novelists do. We write. And cower in the presence of wide-veined men.

Official Rebranding Post

Well, we officially hit rock bottom with that last post. A Vikings recap that didn’t even tell the score of the game? On a Wednesday? After not blogging for like five months? Time to flip this thing over and tickle it (that’s a new phrase being rolled out as part of our rebranding).

I am a novelist now. That’s the reality. In the next few days or six months, I’ll slowly unzip and reveal the new format of this blog, which is going to be an insufferable plugging tool in which I mention something about my novel IN EVERY SINGLE POST. But hey, I am a novelist now. This is what we do, as far as I can tell from observing other novelists. Also, I’m shut in a room with the litter box, and I’m a little baked from the cat piss fumes. Whew! I want to open a window, but the AC is on and I’m not looking to cool off the whole neighborhood. I was talking about something. Monday I’ll be back for rebrand. Cat piss. I wrote a novel. Read it. It hasn’t been published.

My nostrils hurt.

Rebrand. It comes soon.

First Look: Harry Potter And The Cursed Child

Here is a review of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Spoilers? Sure.

Now, from what I gather, sometime during the original series, Voldemort managed to impregnate Draco Malfoy, and is the true father of Scorpius. Due to the fact that Harry Potter was somewhat telepathically connected to Voldemort at that time, he’s kind of the dad too.

It is now the year 3030. Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Severus, Harry’s other son, are dating. And not just casually—they’ve both thought about who would be their groomsmen. Meanwhile, another one of Harry’s sons, James Sirius, is battling a pretty heavy heroin addiction. It is hinted that this has caused Ginny, Harry’s alcoholic wife, to elope with Dudley Dursley.

Then, in a breaking of the fourth wall, all of the characters suddenly realize that they are in a play, which itself has been novelized by two dudes who did not create the series which was the basis for the play that was turned into this book.

Some Dark Truths About Me

A few weeks ago, at one of them political rallies, Dr. Ben Carson said something like this: Hillary Clinton wrote her senior thesis on Saul Alinsky. Saul Alinsky mentions Lucifer in one of his books. Therefore, Hillary Clinton worships Satan.

Compelling argument, but there’s no way she’s that cool.

So I sat for a while, thinking. Following Dr. Carson’s logic, I learned some very dark truths about myself.

Here are a few:

I read Gravity’s Rainbow, a big novel with a small part featuring coprophilia. Therefore, I am a coprophiliac.

I enjoy using car batteries to torture hookers, because a copy of American Psycho is sitting in my book pile right now. Also, I like to stab small children at the zoo.

I am a homophobic pill popper who hates his mother. That would be from my high school days listening to Eminem.

I cook meth. Thanks, Breaking Bad.

And most horrifying of all, I might not play football next year because I’d rather hang out with Wooderson and drink beer.

 

 

Here is a List of the Books I Read in 2015

Here is a list of the books I read in 2015.

Armstrong, Karen—Muhammad: A Prophet For Our Time (2006)

Barrett, Deirdre—The Committee of Sleep: How Artists, Scientists, And Athletes Use Dreams For Creative Problem-Solving—And How You Can Too (2001)

Bonnett, Alastair—Unruly Places: Lost Spaces, Secret Cities, and Other Inscrutable Geographies (2014)

Bowden, Mark—Killing Pablo: The Hunt for the World’s Greatest Outlaw (2001)

Bradbury, Ray—The Illustrated Man (1951)

Bryson, Bill—Notes From a Small Island (1995)

Bulgakov, Mikhail—The Master and Margarita (written from 1928-40, not published until 1967)

Chamovitz, Daniel—What A Plant Knows: A Field Guide To The Senses (2012)

Christie, Agatha—And Then There Were None (1939)

Cooper, Douglas—The Cubist Epoch (1970)

Danielewski, Mark Z.—House of Leaves (2000)

Didion, Joan—Play It As It Lays (1970)

Fernandez, Oscar—Everyday Calculus: Discovering the Hidden Math All Around Us (2014)

Funke, Cornelia—Inkheart (2003)

Gaiman, Neil—The Graveyard Book (2008)

Heath, Chip and Dan—Switch: How to Change Things When Change is Hard (2010)

Heinlein, Robert A.—The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (1966)

Kaku, Michio—Hyperspace: A Scientific Odyssey Through Parallel Universes, Time Warps, and the 10th Dimension (1994)

Moore, Alan, and Lloyd, David—V For Vendetta (1988)

Ohle, David—Motorman (1972)

Percy, Walker—Lost in the Cosmos: The Last Self-Help Book (1983)

Powers, Tim—On Stranger Tides (1988)

Pratchett, Terry—Thud! (2005)

Pynchon, Thomas—Inherent Vice (2009)

Stoker, Bram—Dracula (1897)

VanderMeer, Jeff—Annihilation (2014), Authority (2014), Acceptance (2014)

Walker, Barbara G.—The Secrets of the Tarot: Origins, History, and Symbolism (1994)

Watts, Peter—Echopraxia (2014)

My Cubist Epoch

After reading The Cubist Epoch by Douglas Cooper, I have decided to enter into a Cubist epoch of my own. While I do not possess the vision, creativity, or even paint necessary to complete a true Cubist work, I do have the desire to sarcastically mock the movement, much in the same way the book told me Marcel Duchamp did some 100 years ago.

So, I sat on my balcony, taking in the scene, wondering how Picasso and Braque would analyze and break down the space and figures before me. I opened a blank canvas in Microsoft Paint, and created the following tableau:

Behatted John Solicits Prostitute, by Michael Cedarwood. (2015) Microsoft Paint

We can see me up there on the balcony, some cubes, the titular Behatted John, and of course, the prostitute wanting to get in on that dollar sign above the man’s head.

Not a bad first try if you ask me.