GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #211: MY ROAD TRIP TO PENNSYLVANIA

Originally I planned to write a brief blog series about my adventures in PA with Kevin Strange, Mike Lombardo, Lex Quinn, Brian Keene, Dave Thomas, Mary SanGiovanni and Phobe. A lot of it would be about the dead fella bone in my mouth (my bone graft for my impending tooth implant) and Kevin's propensity to rant. (True story: at one point during our road trip he apologized for ranting too much. I told him that I was on a 12-hour road trip with Kevin Strange; I knew what I was getting into.) I was going to exaggerate it all, of course. By the time we got through IN and OH and half of PA we would have been HST and his trusty attorney. Another true story: at one point near the end of our journey I said, "We can't stop here. This is Bat Country."


But I don't have the time to do it justice. In the long run I'd rather let the podcast speak for itself. Besides, Kevin did a great job of talking about our road trip here and here. But I will take the time to make a few comments here. Probably a few more comments than I meant at the end of this very long day, but we'll see if I can remain conscious long enough to do so.


This whole thing started the day after I went through emergency dental surgery. The painkillers knocked me out, so when I didn't have to drive I drank quite a bit. At least while drinking I had my wits about me. I have cadaver bone in my mouth even right now, and that was an endless source of humor and fascination for the weekend.


For as much as I poke fun at Kevin for ranting, he's a great and entertaining friend and navigator. Buy his books here. I'm a speed demon. Imagine how far I cut loose on the open highways of IN, OH and PA. I've never gotten my Civic up to a hundred, but I wanted to. The closest I came was 99. And Kevin was there to warn me of cops he saw that I didn't. There was one time a car wasn't going fast enough to suit me, so I started speeding around it. Kevin then informed me that it was a cop. It looked nothing like a cop car, but HOLY SHIT! There's the State Troopers of IN decal on the side! It was touch and go for a moment, but I lucked out. Zero speeding tickets. That's pretty good, and I owe it all to Kevin.


When we got close to the end of our journey, it was dark and scary. His GPS had us taking back roads, and we suddenly realized, as we DROVE THROUGH A FUCKING COVERED BRIDGE, that Lombardo had secretly invited us to stay with him because he planned to ritualistically murder us. Our surmise was not dispelled when we finally arrived at his place. We rang the bell, and the door very quietly, very slowly opened by itself . . .


Mike Lombardo is an incredibly generous guy. Not only did he give us a place to stay. Not only did he show us a rough cut of I'M DREAMING OF A WHITE DOOMSDAY. But he also gave us this:

How fucking cool is that? I'm super tempted to do a review of WHITE DOOMSDAY for Forced Viewing, but the only thing holding me back is the fact that it was a rough cut. I want to see the finished product before I do that. Suffice to say his work is taking a very interesting new direction. I fucking love it, and I can't wait for you all to see it. You can find out more about his work here.


The next day we got these great burritos. I forgot the name of the place, but I'm fairly certain that the name of the burrito was the Cowboy, or something along those lines. Great hangover food. We also went to a used bookstore (which I also cannot remember the name for), and this was my haul:

The guy who ran the place was an older gentleman, and I think he was impressed with my taste (me being a younger guy). He liked my selection enough that he gave me LANDO and THE QUICK AND THE DEAD for free. If I'm back in the area, I've got to go back to that place. (PS: LANDO has nothing to do with STAR WARS. Spoiler.)


And then came The Horror Show with Brian Keene. It's kind of funny. Kevin and I went out to my car to fetch something when lo! and behold! We ran into Brian Keene and Mary SanGiovanni as they were approaching the house. It kind of threw us for a loop. First of all, I had no idea I was going to meet Mary. That was a great surprise. And to top it all off, they both arrived bearing gifts. Kevin and I got a bottle of Knob Creek for Brian, and I got a shark for Dave Thomas. I had no idea that we'd be getting gifts in return. Their generosity is amazing. I went home with these (and I thought I'd missed out on the Scares That Care 'zine!):

We did the podcast. It was amazing. You don't need me to tell you that. If you haven't heard it already, you're going to. The link is above. It was great meeting Phobe, too. I had no idea she was going to be there, or I would have brought something for her, too. After the show we had a big signing party. I'd brought stuff for Lombardo and Kevin and, of course, Brian. He's so awesome he signed the shit-ton of books I'd brought:

The collections of Hail Saten are very important to me. I'd put them up there with Laymon's A WRITER'S TALE. I'm proud to have signed copies.


We spent a wonderful evening hanging out, and I got drunk and treated everyone to the Grade A John Bruni Blackout Show (C). I haven't been that far gone in a long time. No, it's not bad. I'm told I'm entertaining when I'm in that state. Weird and loud, but entertaining. So far I haven't shot a man just to watch him die. SO FAR.


The next day we went out to breakfast/lunch-ish at a place called Friendly's where Lombardo kinda-sorta convinced the waiter that it was Lex Quinn's birthday. He requested Jim Dandy crowns for us all. My head is too fucking big, but I wore mine as best as I could. Lex Quinn insisted to the waiter that it was not her birthday, but when he came back, he uncertainly asked, "Uh, is it really your birthday?" And I knew in that moment that Friendly's had a tradition of getting the waitstaff to sing a birthday song for just such occasions. Lombardo instinctively knew, too, and he insisted.


Yes. There was a birthday song. And a birthday balloon. It was glorious.


We went to Philly because I'd expressed my desire to see the Mutter Museum. I wrote about it here. Surprisingly enough the Mutter Museum read that post and loved it. That made me feel really good. Also, they asked me to take part in a survey, and my reward was a bunch of cool Mutter postcards:

Unfortunately my shit tooth was getting the better of me. I couldn't enjoy any food in Philly. We did go to several bookstores and curio shops, though. I found this at one of them:

Wow! A book on Clint that I had no idea existed! It took me a while to figure it out, but I'd never heard of it because it was published exclusively in the UK. But look at that cover! He looks like he needs a bearskin rug to recline on!


That's when we went back to Lombardo's and we had a private screening of WHITE DOOMSDAY. We passed out and got up waaaaaay too early to drive home.


It was a great experience. I hope to do it again someday even though the toll roads nearly throttled us to death. I hope you all enjoyed our appearance on The Horror Show with Brian Keene. I hope you've enjoyed this mini-account of our adventures. I hope you'll buy a bunch of kickass books, and maybe--POSSIBLY--vote for me for US president.


But mostly I hope you enjoyed all of this. I know I did.


PS: on our first night we went to a place called Giant. I gather it's a version of our Jewel/Osco. I found this there:

I tried to explain why I loved this little movie, but I don't think I sold Kevin or Lombardo on it, even though I went straight for the messy diarrhea scene with RDJ trying to help Duvall in the bathroom. Ah well.

KEVIN STRANGE AND JOHN BRUNI ON THE HORROR SHOW WITH BRIAN KEENE!

Check it out here.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #150: THE POST-CON DEPRESSION

This is a bit late in posting, but mostly it's because I've been super fucking busy. I just wanted to take a quick second to talk about something that I don't usually see writers discuss: the post-con depression.


There is something magical about a convention. It's exhausting because you have to perform for hours on end, doing your absolute best to sell your books (or, if you're fortunate enough, your table partner's books). Writing is an introverted thing; to suddenly be a book-slinging extrovert is hard to pull off for that kind of personality.


But a writer has to be both. When creating, a writer must be isolated and alone. Yet when selling, a writer must be outgoing and fun and adventurous. When you think about it, it's the perfect combination. It's the yin-yang personality all in one. It's actually a lot of fun because you get to talk with a bunch of strangers that are into the same shit you're into. Most times you don't even have to talk about your own work. You get to talk about cool shit you like, and if you sell a book, cool. That's the best part: talking about cool shit. That even extends to the fortunate few who have a table partner. At Flashback Weekend, I was lucky enough to have MP Johnson by my side. I could talk shop with him for hours on end because we've been at this for the same amount of time, and we have a lot of similar stories. Plus it helps that he's got a deep punk background and has some supercool stories. If you get the chance to work with him and you don't, you're a fool.


I'm wandering a bit from what I meant to talk about, but it's worth noting that hanging out and selling books with MP Johnson is fucking awesome, and it makes the post-con depression a little harder to take because even now, as I go to bed early to make it in time for my square job, I miss it. I miss it a lot.


By the end of Sunday, I was fucking exhausted. Yet I knew it was a rewarding experience, and not just because I sold a bunch of books. I took Monday off to recover, but when I woke up and realized that I couldn't go to Flashback and sell and talk and have fun because it was over, I felt a darkness wash over me. I didn't even want to get out of bed.


(Something else happened, and it hurts me waaaaaaay too much to talk about right now. Maybe someday, but it certainly added to my overwhelming depression that day.)


I don't want to write. I NEED to write, and I've been doing this for a long time. It's great to have the modicum of success I've had, and it's a harbinger of what's to come. But when I clocked into my square job on Tuesday, the finality crept in. I couldn't do the awesome shit I really had fun with because I had to work at a 9-5 (except in my case it's more like 5:45 am to 2:15 pm). I honestly believe I was meant to do these shows and sell books and talk to awesome people all day, every day. To be stuck dealing with a square job? It nearly killed me.


To be fair, my square job is pretty nice. Plus I recently got a promotion. More money, better hours. Not bad, right? But I would much prefer to be doing cons and meeting people and selling shit and--you know. The best is when you have an awesome fellow author to sit at a table with. I've done it with MP Johnson and Kevin Strange, two awesome dudes who never run out of awesome things to say, whether it be about past experience or the industry. I wish I had those guys attached to each hip, just to remind me of how cool the cons are when I'm not stuck with my square job.


I guess the whole point of this rambling piece is to say that I would much rather hang out at cons with awesome people than be stuck at my square job. I'd really like to make that happen before I die. Until then, I guess I'm going to stick it out through the dark times of my mundane life.


PS: For those interested, my grandfather is doing much better. They moved him to hospice, but he's been getting better. I think he might actually be able to come home. Better news: the VA shaved his head. For as long as I've known him (ie. my entire life), he's been trying to pull off the worst comb-over in history. My grandmother noted that he looks like Bryan Cranston on BREAKING BAD, and I couldn't believe her. Not until I saw him. Holy shit, he looks younger and tougher than he's been in a while. I think he might actually pull through this. I'm an atheist, but I thank you all for your prayers. Your thoughts. All the friends who offered to help me. Everything and everyone. I wanted #150 to be a blockbuster, but it doesn't seem like much. Yet at the same time, it does. I think all of the anniversaries have something to do with Gramps.


Thank you, and goodnight.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #90: THE THIRD STRANGEHOUSE GENIUS (FOR REAL, THIS TIME)

A while back, I talked about the three geniuses I've met through my work with StrangeHouse Books. The first was K.M. Tepe. The second is Jesse Wheeler. For the third, though, I pulled this fuckery. I thought it was pretty funny, and I think everyone else thought so, too. I hope.


But I've kept my silence long enough. Fuck it. It's time to name the third genius and eliminate the mystery. The genius in question is . . .


Hold that thought. In all honesty, the identity of that third genius should surprise no one. It's very obvious who this person is. No one has asked me privately about who this person might be, mostly because they might have been nervous about the scenario I mentioned in that third GF piece. Either that, or maybe it was because everyone knew who I was talking about in the first place.


So without further ado, let's pull the mask off the third genius, whose name is . . .


I wonder if I got to anyone with that third piece. I wonder if anyone cares about it, or if anyone is even reading this. That third piece racked up a ton of readers, but the GF numbers have been down lately. Anyway, the third genius of SHB is . . . someone whose name I'm going to announce next week!


Just kidding. It's Kevin Strange, of course. He was the mastermind behind SHB. It not only took a lot of smarts, but also a ton of balls, to take on a project like that. Most of all, it took a lot of generosity. In this world of self-publishing, who the fuck would want to publish anyone else? I asked him that once, and here is his response.


Not only did he pull off the juggling act of being a publisher, he also wrote some great books. My favorite is probably VAMPIRE GUTS IN NUKE TOWN. Or maybe it's the uncut McHUMANS. Or perhaps THE LAST GIG ON PLANET EARTH? Or . . . I could go on forever. You get the idea. He's full of batshit crazy ideas about down-on-their-luck dudes who find themselves in situations where the odds are totally against them, yet they rise to the challenge. He's the champion of the underdog, and he stomps assholes flat, as evidenced in "Inside an Asshole" (found in MURDER STORIES FOR YOUR BRAIN PIECE, which I helped edit along with Sean Ferrari).


Today is his birthday. Help him celebrate by buying his books, which can be found here. You won't be disappointed. Happy birthday, Kevin Strange, you mad genius bastard, you!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #66: MY LIFE AS A PORNOGRAPHER

Longtime readers will remember my brief career as a pornographer. Even newcomers might know about this; if you're viewers of Strange the World (especially this episode, which is NSFW-ish, since my dick is seen on Kevin Strange's phone in one scene), you'll know certain elements of my past.


When I was younger, I thought I'd sell my talents as a writer cheaply in the name of porn. As it turned out, porn was waaaaaaay more lucrative than regular writing, especially since I was willing to write gay porn.


But never mind that. It's all documented, and you know about it. Here's something you might not know: writers today don't have to deal with tear sheets. Some of you older writers might recognize the term. Back in the old days, if you wanted a regular writing position with a publication, you had to send them tear sheets. In other words, you had to take your contributors copies and rip out the pages your work is on. Then, you send them to the prospective publisher with a query. If you're lucky, you get hired. If you're sorta' lucky, you get a reject letter with your tear sheets back. If your luck completely sucks, then you get no response, and you have to find new copies of your shit so you can get fresh tear sheets again.


Luckily, I came in near the end of the tear sheets age. I didn't have to do this very often. Even so, I didn't feel comfortable with destroying the only copy I had of my shit. What did I do instead? I made photocopies. Keep in mind, this is in an age when your basic home printer did NOT have a scanner or photocopy capabilities. So, what did I have to do?


I had to find a photocopier for public use. I could go to the library, but they charged 10-cents a copy. However, the drug store charged 5-cents. I had to go with them, because I could barely afford to copy my own tear sheets.


As you can imagine, back then I wanted work as a pornographer because at the time, it was the only genre I had success in. Of course I'm going to look for more work in that area. So I had to send in tear sheets. So . . . guess who had to make photocopies of his tear sheets? IN PUBLIC?! That's right.


Picture this: I'm standing in line at the pharmacy photocopier. The little old lady in front of me is having problems because she doesn't understand the technology. I have to give her words of advice to fix it. As soon as she's gone, I have to make my own copies. One of which involves a guy sucking his own dick. (OK, that wasn't on a tear sheet, but I wanted to have something I could slip into friends' belongings, just to fuck with them when they least expected it. Many of them were alpha males deathly afraid that someone might find evidence that they were gay. So yeah. Fuck 'em. But there is plenty of smut on the pages I'm copying. So yeah.) I'm copying all sorts of horrid shit, Meanwhile, the young woman behind me is waiting for me to be done so she can copy her son's medication instructions. How awful a person must I be?


Could you imagine what would have happened if the copier had jammed? Or if something else had gone wrong? What if I'd walked away to get help just as my copy came out, and the single mom behind me tried to sneak a few copies in? What would she say upon seeing the horrible acts of full-penetration porn she'd find on the tray?


It was honestly nerve-wracking, because for as much shit as I talk, I would be very embarrassed if someone discovered I was copying porn at a pharmacy copier. That's creepy might-fuck-your-child-if-you-turn-your-back shit.


Luckily, that never became an issue. No one ever caught me copying pictures of dudes getting their dicks sucked, either by dudes with impressive cocks or by chicks with great tits. But I'm sure I would have been in the police reports if I had been. Yikes.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #23: WHERE IN THE WORLD IS JESSE WHEELER?

Last night, I named K.M. Tepe as one of the three geniuses I met through my involvement with StrangeHouse. I kicked around the idea of doing a quick piece on the other two, and this morning, I decided to take the plunge. As you can gather from the title, the second is Jesse Wheeler.

THE FARROWING is great. I loved it. However, it is not a work of genius. It's a great homage to books by Laymon and Lee, and while homage can be amazing, it can never be genius. No, Wheeler wrote TWO things that made me keenly aware of his mad, lunatic genius: "Lips" in STRANGE SEX and the amazing collection of novellas, DINNER AT THE VOMITROPOLIS. Holy shit, he is a mad bastard. Don't take my word for it. Click on the links and buy these books for yourself. If you're anything like me, you'll fall in love with the guy's work. DatV got to me. It's one of the sickest, most grotesque things I've ever read. It's a life-changer.

And if you have time, look up some videos with him in it. There are a few on YouTube from cons over the years. Also, listen to SHB's old podcast, READING TO MONSTERS. I forgot which episode he was on, but Kevin Strange has great, crazy stories about the guy. Wheeler is a genuine madman.

There's one thing that baffles me, though. Where the hell did he go? One day, he releases THE FARROWING, and then the next, he's fallen off the face of the earth. He's not on Facebook anymore. What gives? I'm almost tempted to print up missing posters of him.

I worry about the guy. He's crazy, and crazy things happen to crazy people. Wherever he is, I hope he's all right. I also hope he's writing more repulsive, offensive stories, wherever in the world he may be.

Stay tuned tomorrow night for the third SHB genius.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #22: I AM A HARD-ASS

Some of you may be aware that I'm an editor at StrangeHouse Books right now. That's kind of new, public-wise, but I've been doing this for longer than expected at SHB. Waaaaay longer than expected.


Sean Ferrari, who is the main editor at SHB, knows that I'm a hard-ass. I never vote for anything 100%. If I liked a piece, I will normally say, "I vote maybe, leaning toward yes." Just ask Sean, and he'll tell you, I'm not fucking around.


There is only one thing I've ever said 100% "yes" to, and sadly, I was in the hospital at the time. I was reading the book, but in the exact middle, my pancreas failed me, and I had to be hospitalized for a week. While I was in there, I missed out on the decision. When I got out and finished the novel, (and I should mention it helped me recover, since it was the first thing I read after I got out of the hospital, despite the fact that I was reading something by Brian Keene at the time, since he--and Joe R. Lansdale--can get me through anything) I told Sean that I would 100% agree with publishing this one book. The decision had already been made, so my vote was moot, but ask him, and he'll say yes, he received confirmation from me after the fact.


(He asked me for clarification for himself, and advice for K.M. Tepe, so at the time. I said I was happy with the book as it is. The only thing I said contrary toward acceptance was that she made stylistic decisions that I never would, but I was OK with that. Unsurprisingly, Tepe's book was published quickly after that. And you should all read it immediately.)


I've been an editor with SHB for a while now, but the other two I've given my blessing to came with heavy conditions. One I know was eventually rejected. The other is still in limbo. But the only one I've given 100%-yes to? I'm glad to say that the author in question has had her book published by SHB.


I'm so glad SLAUGHTERTOWN CIRCUS by K.M. Tepe is doing so well. Even better than my own book, according to tonight's vidcast. She deserves it. I wish I could say I had something to do with that success, but I didn't get my vote into SHB in time. Fuck you, pancreas. She is one of the three geniuses I've met thanks to my association with SHB. I hope to meet more in the future.


If you're not familiar with this book and author, go here. SC will blow your mind. I hate books about clowns, but Tepe got to me, despite my preconceptions.

ONE QUESTION INTERVIEWS: KEVIN STRANGE

Back in the day, Kevin Strange was a filmmaker. He wrote and directed several indie pictures, like COLONEL KILL MOTHERFUCKERS, DEAD SHIT and COCKHAMMER. Now he’s writing books and publishing them through his own company, StrangeHouse Books. He’s the author of ROBAMAPOCALYPSE, VAMPIRE GUTS IN NUKE TOWN and THE LAST GIG ON PLANET EARTH AND OTHER STRANGE STORIES, among others. I’ve been lucky to be a part of his company. They published stories by me in ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! BRAIN BANG! and STRANGE FUCKING STORIES, they published my second book TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE and we’re poised to do more business.

ME: After working in film for quite a while, you switched over to publishing. It’s easy to see why someone would want to publish their own work, but you’ve been encouraging a stable of writers for several years now. What drew you to championing other people’s work?

KEVIN STRANGE: Thanks for having me on your blog, John. You asked me this question a few months ago, and I’m still struggling with my answer. “Why did you choose to publish other authors?”

Why DID I choose to work with other authors? That’s a great question. And one of the hardest questions I’ve ever been asked. It’s a question I ask myself two or three times a week. I am constantly torn away from my own novels so that I can tend to and promote the needs and books of my fellow SHB authors. I’m always trying to find a balance between Kevin Strange the novelist and Kevin Strange the publisher.

Wouldn’t life be soooo much easier if I just wrote books?

Sure. And a lot less of a headache. And a lot less drama. But ultimately a lot less fulfilling. You see, when I wrote and directed feature films, I was surrounded by people. I had casts of actors who looked to me to direct them through their crazy dialogue and ridiculous scenes. I had the behind the scenes crew looking to me for guidance as they set up lighting and chose the angles and depth of their shots. I had musicians sculpting my soundtracks and editors putting all the footage together into a (mostly) cohesive whole. I was never alone in my creativity and yet, I was the driving force, the engine. The stop and the go. It was all up to me.

When I stepped away from that, there was a huge vacuum. I was now a guy alone in a room with a lap top. Sure I’d always pecked away at my own scripts, but not a single one of them was over 50 or 60 pages of mostly dialogue. My scripts were easy to write and basically just a reference for my actors to look at so they could memorize their lines. They took me a week each to write, once I sat down and did the job.

Writing fiction was hard as fuck. I had to write EVERYTHING and it took a long time. Days and nights turned into weeks and months for a few dozen pages. Each short story took a chunk of my being with it. My longer works felt like black holes, threatening to drag me down into myself forever.

It was like going from a brightly lit party with driving music, sexy girls, cool bros and lots of drugs and booze, to a pitch black locked basement.

It was a hard transition, one I’m not completely through. If I was, I’d have six books coming out this year instead of three. Sometimes, I still hide from my work because it’s too lonely, too quiet, too ME. The easiest way to overcome this shocking loneliness was to team up with a crew of like-minded weirdos and do this thing together. It didn’t feel so lonely when it was HEY GANG! STRANGEHOUSE BOOKS!!!!! instead of just Kevin and his computer.

But one thing I wasn’t ready for, after years of being THE GUY who controlled everything from how much toilet paper we brought to the set, to how long a beautiful woman had to stand in front of me with her tits out while talking about buttholes and huge dicks, was that my new author buddies who I teamed up with to fight the good fight with . . . well, they had egos of their own.

I didn’t write their books. I didn’t control their books. As their publisher, they saw me as the guy who magically made them money, and I could fuck myself if I had anything else to say about it. Those two things, the ego of a film maker and the ego of a writer are two things you never want to see clash.

It’s been over two years now, and I’ve learned to adjust. Some people still think I’m an ego maniac who steals all of authors’ money and jacks off with it. But anyone currently working with me knows I’ve mellowed out.

I’ve learned to deal with author egos, and how to keep my own bullshit in check. I had to lose a few books from my catalog, and let several talented authors (and a couple of business partners) walk on down the road before I figured out how to run my shit. But we’re good now.

Today? As 2014 grows its first boner, I couldn’t be happier to work with my team of authors, artists and our editor Sean Ferrari. I understand that our authors’ books belong to them, emotionally, and I’ve learned to feel people out before I sign them to contracts. I don’t let the cunts ruin the fun for the rest of us. I’ve learned that blindly accepting novel submissions is mostly a waste of time, and that helping an author build a book that both of us are happy with is the best way to do business.

I choose to work with other authors because I feel like I have something to offer them beyond writing them a check 4 times a year. I feel like our team compliments everyone on our roster and that as a whole, SHB is stronger, louder and more successful than any one of us would be without each other.

Working with authors like you, John Bruni, and author/artist Jesse Wheeler makes me excited to be an author, makes me proud to be a publisher. I don’t’ know if I’d still be a writer today if I hadn’t met you guys and helped bring your books to life. You guys make me want to be a better leader and a better author. Without you guys, I’m just the guy typing in the dark.

Thank you for making SHB what it is, and for making me who I am today. YOU are why I do what I do.

Kevin’s books can be bought here. Follow him on Twitter here. Don’t forget to check out SHB and buy all of their releases (including mine).

DID YOU ALREADY BUY TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE IN A PHYSICAL EDITION? IF SO, YOU MIGHT HAVE A COLLECTORS ITEM . . . .

I was just notified by Kevin Strange, the master and overlord of StrangeHouse Books, that something got fucked up in the printing of my collection of short stories, TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE.  Apparently, the table of contents doesn't match up with where about six stories are actually placed in the book.  It's no big deal, and he fixed the problem, so future purchasers of this august tome will not have this issue.

But if you already bought it, you're going to get the misprinted edition.  My apologies.  The fiction itself has not been impacted, though.  If you look on the bright side, you now have a collectors item.  There are only a handful of these books, and if I go on to become a bestselling writer or a famous serial killer or legendary cocksman or something along those lines, this book will be worth a lot of money.

As always, thanks for reading!

IT CAN FINALLY BE REVEALED: THE COVER OF MY SECOND BOOK!

See?  I told you it was going to be awesome.  In fact, take my name off the cover, and I'll bet many of you would be able to say, "Yep, that's a book by John Bruni, all right."  It'll be out pretty soon, probably next month.  I can say with every confidence that I believe this book will blow your balls off.  Special thanks to Jesse Wheeler, who created this amazing cover, and to Don Noble and Kevin Strange for taking a chance on me.  And in case you're wondering about the giant guy fucking the sun, it's from a story within this collection called "Monster Cock."  I think you'll all get a kick out of that one.