GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #606: REREADING POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS

 

I found myself recently in a position where I felt it necessary to reread one of my books. For reasons. Reasons that may or may not become clear at some point in the near future. Anyway, that book was Poor Bastards and Rich Fucks.

I haven't read it since I edited the final draft, so it was . . . an experience. I've come a long way since writing this book, and it really wasn't published all that long ago. I found myself grimacing at times. Not at content, mind you, but at wording and phrases. Stuff I'd never do today. I kind of wanted to go back and do it all again, but I'll refrain from that. Once a book is out there, it's out there. Unless you're Stephen King, in which case go ahead and do it.

But I'm not Stephen King, and there will be no revised Gunslinger edition of Poor Bastards and Rich Fucks.

I also caught a few typos, which embarrassed me, and you know how difficult it is for me to feel embarrassed. It was kind of rough.

The good news: it's still the ugly, graphic book I'd always meant it to be, so that's good. It's merciless in its pursuit of poking at the class war that is constant and never ending in America. All in all, reading my own book did not make me feel too much like a loser. Just awkward. I imagine this is the same feeling parents get when their kid does something odd. Not necessarily evil or wrong, just unusual. Yeah, that's my kid. He's . . . weird, but he's OK.

Perhaps soon you will learn why I had to do this. There are things in the works . . . Stay tuned.

POST PRINTERS ROW BOOK SALE

 Since we got rained out on the second day of Printers Row, I still have stock of my own books. Here is what I have and what each one costs. And I'll tell you what, I'll give you a deal. Buy any three books? That's $30 in total, shipping included.

-THE LIFE AND TIMES OF HIERONYMUS ALOYSIS ZIEGE: 23 copies. $12 each. If you buy this book, you will also get a copy of SHIT POEMS NUMBER 2 for free! Limited to 30 copies! First come, first serve.

-TALES OF UNSPEAKABLE TASTE: 3 copies. $14 each.

-BLOOD: 5 copies. $12 each.

-POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS: 2 copies. $10 each.

-TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE: 2 copies. $12.

-STRIP: 1 copy. $15.

-GONZO RISING: 1 copy. $12.

And what the hell? I have a bunch of copies of issues 1 and 3 of TABARD INN. I'll throw those in for free for any purchase. I'd put issue 2 in there, too, but I'm pretty sure I'm out of those.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #418: LOOK WHAT ARRIVED TODAY

 

When I got home from my adventures today I was very pleased to see the new Lansdale had arrived. I took a look at that cover and thought, huh, that style looks very familiar to me. It took me a moment to think about my own books. STRIP and POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS in particular. And then it came to me.

Luke Spooner! I'd know his work anywhere! I'm glad to see that he's getting great work. I remember a while back I saw his work in Cemetery Dance, and now here he is working for my favorite living author! That's a hell of a gig, Luke! Congratulations!

Here's something very few people know right now. I can count the number of people on my fingers, in fact. Luke did the cover for my next book, too. One that has not been announced yet. One that some know I've been working on, but they have no idea that it's almost upon us.

I'd wanted it out in time for Printers Row, but things got in the way. I no longer had as much money as I was supposed to have due to surprise expenses, so I had to backburner the book. I'm going to try to get it out by Christmas just in time for the sick fucks on your shopping list, but in all likelihood it will probably be out early in 2022.

I can't wait to show you what Luke did for this one. It's an amazing cover, and you're all going to love it! Stay tuned . . .

BOOKS IN STOCK

 What in the unholy fuck?! I have my own books in stock! This hasn't happened since I sold the last of them at the last Printers Row book fair, and that was back in summer of 2019. So yeah, I have my own books again. Not all of them. Some have sadly gone out of print. But now you can order directly from me, if your heart desires. I'll sign 'em however you want. Well, more or less. Hell, I'll sign 'em Dinah Shore if that'll make you happy. (With apologies to Jello Biafra on that one. And Dinah Shore, probably.) So here's what I have. $12 for one book. $10 each for two books. If you get three or more, it's still ten bucks a book, but I'll throw in some kind of surprise. It'll be worth it, I think. I hope. I just don't know what it is yet. Maybe a signed manuscript of a short story? I'll figure it out. You'll like it. So! Here's the list. Let me know what you want. First come, first serve. (Shipping is included in the prices.)

--POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS 2 copies

--AND JESUS CAME BACK 2 copies

--BLOOD 4 copies

--TALES OF UNSPEAKABLE TASTE 19 copies

And hey! I still have a few copies of SHIT POEMS around here somewhere. Buy ANYTHING directly from me, and I'll throw in a copy. Quantities are limited. Uh . . . fuck it. If you just want to flat out buy SHIT POEMS, I'll sell it for seven bucks. That might seem a bit steep for a 'zine of poetry about morning wood, the forever wipe, pissing with fellow creators and Nic Cage movies, but there are only 30 copies in the world.

You can reach me at editor@talesofquestionabletaste.com. Or you can PayPal me at roadmapofpain@yahoo.com. Be sure to include your address and how you'd like me to sign the books. As always, thank you for your attention, and I hope 2021 brings us a lot more fun and a lot less plague.

PSA: MY GOOD DEED FOR THE DAY

 If you are not like me, meaning a small press author facing bankruptcy, then this post will hold zero interest for you. Feel free to skip this one. However, if you are indeed like me, this is going to be essential reading.

I've had a horrible run of shit luck for the past, I don't know, decade. It keeps getting worse and worse until this year finally broke me. I went crazy several times, and I made a slew of horrible and uncharacteristically bad decisions. Some of them were pretty public. Others I kind of kept to myself, more because it might hurt someone else instead of me. If it hurts just me, I put it out there. It's my self-therapy.

One of the worst things ever happened to me in January this year: for the first time since I was 18, I found myself without a job. Having worked so long in technology companies, I decided to look for a similar job. The problem is, I'm 42, and no tech company wants a middle-aged guy working for them. Heed this warning, youngsters: when working square jobs, your expiration date is your 40th birthday. I've been trying to get a new job for a long time, and all I got were warehouse job offers. I am not just middle-aged, I am also disabled. I get around with a cane most times. I explicitly state in my resume that I can't stand for 8 minutes, much less 8 hours. But HR always skips that part because they see I can operate a forklift. (Which I can, but I never got my license. So yeah, if you need me to illegally operate your forklift, count me in. Pay me under the table if need be. Taxman don't need to know shit.)

Needless to say, my money ran out. I lived on the kindness of friends and family. I am ever so grateful for those who lent me money in this difficult time. This disaster led me to do the thing I swore I'd never do: I cashed in my 401(k). I was able to pay back everyone, and I had some money to throw around for a bit. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten into drugs and sex workers quite so much, but it's been a tough fucking year. Give me a break, all right? But I still have a good sum of money pigeonholed as a last line of defense as well as a decent chunk of savings.

Unfortunately I also had a stack of bills thick enough to gag an elephant on. I decided to file for bankruptcy. I just got around to putting in an appearance with my lawyers today. I have no real estate. No assets of any worth. I don't even own the bed I sleep in at night. The only thing I had that I feared my creditors might take away is my car, a 2012 Honda Civic (bought when it was still the year 2011). Yet at the same time, there is so much damage to that car, and I rode that thing into the ground over the course of almost a decade. I figured if they had one look at it, they would just forget the whole thing.

IF YOU GOT LOST IN THE EXPOSITION, THIS PART IS THE PART YOU REALLY, REALLY NEED TO PAY ATTENTION TO IF YOU ARE A SMALL PRESS AUTHOR FACING BANKRUPTCY.

The attorney asked me if there were any other assets, or if I had copyrights on anything that would get me royalties. I said that I was an author of several books, but I wasn't making much money at it. Who among us really does? But I felt it necessary to mention that because when people hear you're an author, they think you make Stephen King money.

She asked me how much my royalties are, so I told her. She thought about it for a moment, and then she said, "Yeah, I don't think they would be interested in those books as assets."

Wait a minute. Losing the rights to my books was on the table in the first place?! Well, yes. And yes, I am focusing on the brighter side of her statement to me, and not the negative connotation that I'm kind of a loser. Hm. Maybe I should make this out in big caps for those who are skimming.

IF YOU ARE A SMALL PRESS AUTHOR FACING BANKRUPTCY, IT IS A VERY REAL POSSIBILITY THAT YOUR CREDITORS WILL WANT TO TAKE THE RIGHTS TO YOUR BOOKS AWAY FROM YOU.

Granted, it probably won't happen. But if you make better royalties than me? I'd step very fucking lightly, my friend.

Here's another thought, though. If my creditors really did want to take my books away from me, what the fuck would they do with them? There is a small perverse side of me that kind of wants to see what the holy shitstain fuck they would do with a title like Poor Bastards and Rich Fucks. Or how about Tales of Questionable Taste? You know, the one with the space giant fucking the sun on the cover? If only Dong of Frankenstein was still in print!

Well, I'm pretty sure I'll walk out of this with my books still belonging to me. But I never even imagined that the possibility of me losing them was even a part of bankruptcy. Armed with this knowledge, I am doing my good deed for the day. I know a lot of you who read my posts are fellow authors, and I know some of you are probably doing better than me financially. May these words of wisdom find you well.

BOOK SALE!

My short-term disability check may have finally cleared, but I'm still in deep water with my creditors. While I'm doing this week of shameless self-promotion, I figured I'd dig into my own stock and see what I've got. Sure, you can buy these through Amazon, but if you buy them from me, you can get them signed. If I can physically put these books in your hand, there is no shipping charge. If I have to mail it, though, there will be a $2 shipping charge. So here's what I've got. If you see something you want, let me know. First come, first served.


--BLOOD (8 copies) $10 each


--STRIP (1 copy) $12


--STRANGE SEX 3 (1 copy) $7


--DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN (1 copy) $5


--TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE (1 copy) $10


--ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! BRAIN BANG! (2 copies) $10 each (contains "Pack Rat")


--POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS (1 copy) $10

POST-PRINTERS ROW SALE

The Printers Row show in Chicago is my favorite place to sell books, and once again I have been very lucky. I sold out of almost everything. The following is a list of everything I have left, but I'm giving you Printers Row prices. Each is $12 (plus shipping, unless I can hand deliver to you), or if you go with the 3 for $30 deal, you don't have to pay shipping. Act fast. These books are all I have.


--DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN: 1 copy

--STRANGE SEX 3: 1 copy

--STRIP: 1 copy

--POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS: 1 copy

--ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! BRAIN BANG!: 2 copies

BOOKS IN STOCK

It's been a while since I posted what I have in stock of my own books in case you want to buy directly from me. I'll even do the 3 for $25 deal that we usually do at conventions and book festivals. Otherwise they're $10 each. (Or, if you're just buying DoF, $7.) If you live close enough to me that I can hand deliver it, cool. If not, shipping charges will apply. If you see something you like, let me know.

-STRIP: 2

-TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE: 3

-POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS: 1

-DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN: 6

-STRANGE SEX 3: 4

-ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! BRAIN BANG!: 2

-STRANGE FUCKING STORIES: 1

WANNA BUY A BOOK PERSONALLY FROM ME?

I just did a book fest in Morris, IL, and it was not as successful as I was hoping. Right now I'm sitting on a treasure trove of stock. If you want to buy from me directly, let me know. Everything is ten bucks, or I have a 3 for $25 deal. My stock is as follows:


-STRIP: 2 (You should really buy from me. If you go to Amazon you'll be charged an arm and a leg. With me it's either $10 or cheaper if you go with the 3 for $25 deal.)

-TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE: 3

-POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS: 1

-DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN: 7

-STRANGE SEX 3: 4

-ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! BRAIN BANG!: 2

-STRANGE FUCKING STORIES: 1


I also have one more thing. It's not included in the 3 for $25 deal, though. I have the very last copy of STRANGER DANGER by Kevin Strange and Danger_Slater that you will find on the market. Go look at Amazon. See? No one's even selling it used. This book is out of print, and while you can purchase the novellas within separately, the likelihood of this book ever going back into print in this form is very, very slim. It is also signed by both Kevin and Danger. This is a super collectible right now. I could be a dick and charge $100 for it, but you can have it for $15. That's right, for $15 you can have the final copy of STRANGER DANGER for sale.


Let me know if you want some books. If you don't live close to me (so I can hand deliver to you), there might be shipping charges. If it's just for one book, I'll eat the cost, but if you want more than one I'll have to find out how much that costs.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #186: THE WRITER'S BLUES

This is the beginning of week two of me not writing anything worth a damn. Or at all. That doesn't happen to me often. I know, I feel like one of those guys who can't get it up for the night and try that lame ol' excuse, but in this case it's true. I might write 2,000 words in a day, and at the very least 500 of them will be worthwhile.


Last week: nothing. A few sentences, all of it shit. When I try to move on to something else, I get the same result. Shit. It's getting to the point where I don't even want to call myself a writer.


I've got a great idea for a story, except I don't have a story. I have a situation. I have characters. But I don't have a story, and that's pretty fucking important. It's also a pretty timely idea, what with all of the gun violence that is getting coverage these days. It's like we're living in the Wild West again. Granted, I'm a huge fan of westerns, but I'd rather not actually live one. (Unless it's at the Wild West Show in Union, IL. I love that place.)


But no story. So I can't do it justice.


I tried a couple of other projects. Nothing. There's a book that was going to be published at a company that went out of business before they could put it out there, and I've been thinking of doing it at Riot Forge mostly because it's, uh, a romantic crime story, and no one knows what that means. But I look at it, and I can't make any sense of it.


I also had a good idea as to how I can bring back my vampire book from the grave (ha ha), but I'm still not getting any signals from the lizard portions of my stupid brain.


A week of nothing but shit writing work from me. What caused this? Well, it's not hard to figure out. One week ago I began my new job. It is taking up my entire life right now. I'm trying to cram insanely technical facts into my head because I know that very soon I'm going to have to use them, and I won't have a lot of time to hunt and search for them on a shared drive. I'll need them immediately to deal with customers and carriers alike.


I always say that the only thing worse than working is not working. This is true. I lusted after this job, and now that I've gotten it, it is giving me headaches.


Fear not. I will get over this. When that day comes I will no longer be wallowing in this pit of writing despair. When I get a grip on this madness I will conquer it and get back to writing fucked up things that got me fired from my previous job like DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN and POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS. Or possibly "Attitude Adjustment," my statement on the horrors of the PC office. But probably not that last one. I doubt my HR department read it. It doesn't have the same ring as DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN or POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS.


I know I won't get back my writing abilities until I finally fit my round peg into this job's round hole, but that won't stop me from trying, even though I just got two rejection letters today. Fuck.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #174: DO YOU WRITE FUCKED UP SHIT LIKE I DO?

So many of you know that I was fired recently because my former HR department found out about me writing fucked up books like DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN and POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS. Something has been working at the back of my brain. Unfortunately I don't know how to proceed because I don't know shit about starting a nonprofit organization.


I live and work in Illinois where you can be fired for any fucking reason in the world unless you 1) are part of a protected group or 2) you have a contract with your employer. That means that if you wear a black shirt and your boss doesn't like black shirts, you can be fired. Or if you think the Cubs are better than the Sox when your boss is a Sox fan, you can be fired. Or . . . well, you get the idea.


There are a lot of states like this. I think it's bullshit, but I guess being the boss is included in being a protected group, so what the fuck do I know? Anyway, I looked into taking legal action. I signed a paper saying that I can't sue the company, and in exchange for that I would get my severance. I had to make a really bad decision, but I needed the money so I signed. I figured that meant I signed it under duress. Turns out, the legal world has a very different definition of the phrase "under duress" than the rest of us. According to them signing something "under duress" means that I would have to have a physical, literal gun to my head while signing the paper. I consulted three lawyers. Two of them didn't know enough, and the third was pretty sure I couldn't do anything, but at least he looked into it. They decided not to take the case.


Here's the thing: I think it's unfair to fire someone because they moonlight as authors of fucked up fiction. Just so long as that other life doesn't interfere with the job life, I should be able to write whatever the fuck I want. If I want to write about Frankenstein creating his own man just so he can have sex with him, then by Christ I will.


Here's what I want to do: I want to create a nonprofit organization dedicated to helping authors who have been fired from their square jobs over the fiction they write. I don't know the first thing about setting this up. All I know is it's got to be nonprofit. It's got to be a charity. I want to help people who are in my position. I want them to have legal recourse. I want them to have at least some kind of stream of income while they're down on their luck. In other words, I don't want people to suffer like I have.


I remember several conversations with other authors of fucked up shit. Over the course of these discussions they have told me that they write under a pseudonym because they don't want to be discovered by their places of employment. I never understood that. I figured it would be fine because the author life very rarely has an impact on the square life. I was wrong. It happened to me. Even though I just got hired at another place I still feel the pain from being fired for something I wrote.


I just want to help authors. Anyone have any suggestions?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #152: WANT A FREE BOOK?

So many people have been telling me all kinds of crazy shit I did on Halloween during a boozy black out. I don't know what is true or not, or if it's true, how true it is. A contest just occurred to me. How many of you have read my book POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS?


Here's what I propose: I'm going to give out a free book of PB&RF to whoever can give me the best version of what I did on Halloween night. I don't care if it's true or not. The best story gets a free copy of the book. Add comments here or on my Facebook or Twitter or however you follow me. The deadline is when I get back from my Vegas vacation on Tuesday of next week. We'll say on Nov. 10 at midnight Central time. Good luck and have fun at my expense.

HEY FUCKERS #23: ALL PACKED UP AND READY TO GO

I'm all packed up and ready to go to the Printer's Row Lit Fest this weekend (and, of course, the new Bizarro Hour at G-Mart Comics on Saturday night). Two big boxes and one small box, all full of books, magazines and other wonders. You should see the box Shamus and Erika at Rooster Republic sent me. It weighs a shit-ton, and it's completely full of amazing books. When the fest is over, I'll be half-tempted to say that I shipped it back, but it must have gotten lost in the mail. (Heh.)


Seriously, I haven't seen so many StrangeHouse books in one place, not even at the horror shows when I worked their booth. Plus, there's a lot of Rooster Republic titles in there. If you're going to the fest, and you haven't gotten any of these books yet, you're going to need to stop by our table, which is 205/207 in Q2. I don't know where that is, specifically, but that's where I'll be this Saturday and Sunday with some kick ass writers, eager to sell some books.


This box is so fucking heavy, though, that I want it to weigh a lot less when I take it back home with me. A LOT. It is my mission to sell so many of these books that I can carry the box for blocks without it bothering me. I want to make it so that it weighs three-quarters less than what it weighs now before this weekend is through. Not just because I have a broken tailbone and shouldn't be lifting heavy things, but also because dammit, I want these writers to make some money and get some recognition.


As it turns out, all my books sold out at Texas Frightmare, so none of the books that were included in the package were TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE or POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS. I'm supplying my own copies for the show. That's what's in the one small box I mentioned before. The other big box, though?


Here's the deal. I have fourteen of my own books with me. I also have fourteen incentive packages. If you buy my book (either of them), I will give you one of these packages for FREE. FREEEEEEEEEEEE. These packages include all three issues of my old genre fiction magazine, TABARD INN, in addition to two bumper stickers I used to sell back in those days (PUSSY SATISFIES and IT'S A PARASITE NOT A CHOICE) and the brand new Bruni/Danger US presidential bumper sticker. All of that for free with the purchase of one of my books.


Hell. If you're still at the show near the end of the day on Sunday, and I have some of these packages left, stop by and I'll give 'em to you, no strings attached, just so I don't have to take that giant fucking box home with me. But don't count on that. I might just sell all my books and not have any packages left.


Or if you want to be a cheap bastid, come out for the Bizarro Hour, and I'll give away free issues of TABARD INN just for showing up. It'll just be single issues, not the packages, though.


Bottom line: I want to go home with zero boxes. I'm a realist, and I'm going to just have to accept that it's probably not going to happen. I don't want to come home with any incentive packages, though. And I will consider it a failure if I haven't reduced the RRP box to a quarter of its size. Help me make this happen.


By the way, I've been told that book prices are $10 each. $25 if you buy three. Those are some great prices. I hope to see you all there, and I hope you all take it easy on my broken tailbone. Thanks for reading!

POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS GOODREADS GIVEAWAY!

I'm giving away a signed copy of my third book, POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS, at Goodreads! Get in while the getting's good. Check it out here.

JOHN BRUNI FOR PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES IN 2016!!!

You read that right. No joke. I'm really running for President in the next election.


This morning, as I ate breakfast, I watched the news and saw a story about the usual bunch of assholes gathering for some kind of thing called Politics and Pie, or some such shit. In that moment, however, I realized something: for the first time in my life, I can be one of those assholes.


There are three requirements to run for US president: you have to be born in the US, you have to have lived in the US for the last 14 years and you have to be a minimum of 35 years old.


I was born in Elmhurst, IL, which is firmly placed in the heartland of the US. Not only have I lived here for the last 14 years, I've lived here for the last 36 years. Which means, by the way, that I am 36 years old.


I can run for president, so I will, but not for the reasons you'd expect. I did a little research into what you need to do in order to run for president. One part sounds easy. The other? That's a bit more difficult.


The easy part: fill out this form. That is, if you plan on spending money for your campaign. Which, if you really want to win, you should probably do. I won't be doing this because I won't be spending any money. That's right, my campaign is going to cost me zero dollars. Any contributions sent to me will be returned posthaste.


Since I'm not going to spend money, I'm certainly not going to do the harder part: getting on the ballot. If you run for president and want to win, you will need to get 50 petitions together in order to get enough signatures to make it onto each state's ballot. (Unless you know a few secretaries of state. Some states allow their secretary of state to put you on the ballot without the petition.) You need something like 1% of the population to sign each petition. While I have the organization to do that, I know I wouldn't succeed at it. That's crazy talk, and it's a lot of legwork for something that's just not going to happen.


However . . . some states have write-ins on their ballot. If you feel that I would make a kick ass president, feel free to put my name on that line.


But chances are, I'm not going to win. Hell, I'm not even registered to vote, so not even I will be voting for me. Why am I running for president if I'm not going to win? I hear you ask. The better question to ask is, "Why run if you don't even want to win?"


Because I don't want to win. I have zero plans on how to make this a better country. Ask me how I'm going to reform our tax system. No. Seriously. Ask. Or how's about my plan to turn back inflation and return value to the American dollar? Am I coming for your guns? Am I going to legalize PCP?


I don't fucking know. I don't care, either. I'm really running for president because I have a new book to promote, and I can't think of a better way than to see if I can get on TV as a presidential candidate. Perhaps I can convince the American people that the secret to saving the nation is within the pages of POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS. Speaking of which, I'm looking for a running mate who also has a new book out to promote. Any suggestions? Volunteers?


And I can hear you Negative Nellies. "YOU CAN'T RUN FOR PRESIDENT! YOU'RE NOT MARRIED, YOU'RE AN ATHEIST, YOU'RE A DRUNK, YOU HAVE A PICTURE OF YOUR PENIS ON YOUR WEBSITE AND THERE'S A LONG HISTORY OF YOU DOING QUESTIONABLE THINGS." Well, those things only matter if I want to win. And even if I wanted to win, I wouldn't deny these things. I'm pretty proud of most of these things. There will be no lies from me. No cover ups. Nothing but the truth. Which means I'd make a lousy politician, I guess.


Anyway, I guess I'd better start writing my press release and start sending out requests to be interviewed. Maybe I can run on a platform of raising awareness of writers. Tell the people that we don't make as much as Stephen King. Maybe I can get a bill going requiring publishers to pay authors 20-cents per word for short fiction. We currently make the same (if not less) than the pulp writers of the 'Thirties, and considering inflation, that makes no sense. Got any more ideas for my platform? Let me know. I'll leave you with my campaign slogan:


ZERO LIES
ZERO MONEY
ZERO PLANS
ZERO CHANCE OF WINNING
JOHN BRUNI 2016


(I want to add on BUY POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS, but I think it ruins the flow. Maybe I can put that in parentheses at the bottom in small letters, so it looks like more of an afterthought.)

NOW AVAILABLE: POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS

At long last, my new novel, POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS from StrangeHouse Books, is now available! Check it out here. If you're on the fence about it, be sure to look inside for a taste, and I'm sure you'll want the book. Fucked up fiction from me and a knock-your-dick-off cover by Luke Spooner? All from StrangeHouse? You can't possibly go wrong.

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO MY NEW BOOK FROM STRANGEHOUSE?

You might remember that back in July, POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS was announced as the final book to be released as part of the Slaughter Summer promotion. However, since then SHB was acquired by Rooster Republic Press. It's now winter 2015, and the book still hasn't come out. People have been asking me, "What happened?"


Don't worry. The book is still coming out. The folks at RRP are still working through everything that comes with acquiring a publishing house. They're back on track, since they just published a new book by Andre Duza. I'm told that PB&RF will be out soon, probably this month. I'll let you know as soon as I know more. I greatly appreciate your patience, and I assure you it will be worth it. This is a fun and savage book, and it will be worth the wait.


PS: if you want a preview of the book, you should pick up STRANGE SEX 2. It contains an excerpt in the back. (Plus, it also has a story by me in it called "Zero Recall," which is an incredibly fucked up love story.) Buy it here!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #95: A STORY YOU WON'T EVER FORGET

I just got my contributors copy of Big Pulp's new issue of MURDER & THE MACABRE, and I'm so proud of myself. If you've known me for any length of time, you know that occasionally I write a story that I feel will never EVER be bought by a publisher. Yet, I can't help myself. I've got to get it out of my head and onto the page.


"Going Down," which is in the new M&M, is one of those stories. I wrote it while I was in the hospital suffering from a mystery illness (no one knows what my problem was, although in retrospect--even though they tested it--I think it was my pancreas). I was full of pain and anger, and I had to get this vicious thing out of my brain, even though I knew no one would want it. I chalked it up therapy.


Much to my surprise, Big Pulp wanted it. Yet, the more I think about it, the more I realize that the stories I think no one will want actually turn out to be stories publishers really want. Maybe I'm stuck in the old mindset from when I started TABARD INN, a fiction magazine I created for stories so extreme that no one else would want them. I find it hard to believe that the rest of the publishing industry has caught up with that ideal.


For example, I never thought anyone would want "The Knot that Binds," and yet there it is in STRANGE FUCKING STORIES. I wrote a story about two meth-heads who want to sell their baby in a Wal-Mart parking lot, but shockingly, HARDBOILED wanted it. Or how about a story about a zombie apocalypse in which the zombies have total recall but they're still dead and still have a love life? "Pack Rat" wound up getting published three fucking times and is the story I will be remembered for if I die tomorrow.


I'm working on the final draft of a story I don't think anyone will want. If history has anything to say about it, my story will be purchased after four attempts, and it will be one of my biggest publications. But doubt still sets in, and it's right to. No one should want the story, but it's so batshit fucking nuts that someone will want it.


I hope.


I guess my message for tonight is, even if you think the story you're working on is so ri-fucking-diculous, you should finish it anyway. You never can tell.


At first, you will think that "Going Down" is about a guy who wants to be famous for being able to suck his own dick. By the end of the story, you'll wonder why you thought that in the first place. It's so grotesque that you can't forget it. Like "Pin" by Robert McCammon. It's just such a visceral, over-the-top story that it will find a place in your heart, even if you don't want it to.


This is Big Pulp's website. The magazine that contains my story hasn't been posted yet, but keep an eye out. You'll want this one. And hey! Check out the cover! It's by Luke Spooner, who did the cover for my upcoming book, POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #46: PATHS NOT TAKEN

I've wanted to be a professional writer for so long, I've completely forgotten what I wanted to be before that. I've always known I would need a day job, but what was my path before I went down the road that would lead me to STRIP, TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE, POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS and all the other projects I have waiting in the wings to be released?


I've been thinking about it a lot because, as I'm sure some of you have noticed, I'm not happy with my day job right now, for reasons I may someday publicly talk about. I look at all these smooth motherfuckers who make a living by creating their own jobs, which has its appeal, but I wonder if I would be able to live with myself. I could, for example, be a self-help guru. I help a lot of writers. I give fairly good advice. I think I could make a pretty penny at that.


But it wouldn't be my rightful calling.


Or how about being a "professional friend" or cuddler? You know the people who rent themselves out to other people who don't have friends. They hang out and pretend, and for a while the customer is happy. Or those people who throw cuddling parties. I think I could get into things like that.


But neither of these things would be my rightful calling.


When I was in junior high, I wanted to be a scientist for my day job. A biologist, in particular. I learned I had an aptitude for it. Science class was the only class I ever looked forward to. I got a kick out of the experiments we did. Would I have ever been a great scientist? Probably not. I could probably have made a living as a mediocre scientist working for a great scientist.


That might have once been a calling, but it wouldn't have been satisfying in the end. Who wants to just be good enough at something?


I think I'm stuck with dead-end jobs for the time being. But I still think about those paths not taken. I hope quantum physics is right about alternate universes, because I know that somewhere in existence, I'm a scientist. Or a self-help guru. Or a professional friend. Or a cuddler. And I think it would be fascinating to meet all those other versions of me.


Who knows? Maybe one of the me's in the multiverse is a bestselling author.