THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #1: LIFE OF SIN

This is the very first thing of mine that was “published.” There were maybe 25-30 copies in existence, and I’m guessing the extant copies are a lot less than that now. This is the weird ‘Eighties action movie sensibility that drove me back then. Except, when I got the chance, I never actually included the action movie fight scene. This story makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. How is this ordinary guy going to kick the ass of a villain so powerful? Why did—never mind. Forget it. This is a ridiculously awful story. There are six chapters before it, but I wrote none of that. I also drew this childish (because, you know, I was a child) picture of a giant moon with a suggested sneering face on it. On the left was a house. On the right was Rick kneeling and crying upon seeing his brutally murdered wife Christy in a garbage can.

This is the first of a series about curating my lesser knownwork. Oh yeah, and remember this? Whoops. I remembered it wrong. Montgomery is actually the son of the protagonist, not the protagonist. Please forgive me not just that, but also the fact that I was in junior high at the time. Everyone sucked when they were in junior high.

LIFE OF SIN

By Melvin Yoga

Chapter 7

Mourning at Night

July 24

It was a bright summer day when I walked out to the mailbox where I found a large stack of bills, Christy’s novel, my Muscle magazine, and a package from my old friend, Zack.

As I threw my bills on the table to open the package from Zack, a cold chill went down my spine.

The letter said:

Dear Rick,

I told my butler to mail this package to you when I died, so I guess that I’m dead right now. I want you to read my obituary at my funeral. I left it and a little bonus in this package.

Best wishes,

Zack

Christy was so happy that her novel was accepted and was going to be printed. She called up some of her friends and said she was going to have a party. Christy went for a walk. Three hours later the authorities found her dead in a garbage can. She was stabbed to death.

That day I went to the alley where she was killed. I found a note next to where she was. It said, “This is for all the things you said about us in your book.” I didn’t know much about the novel. I just knew the title, Life in the Fast Lane. Christy said she would show it to me when it was published. I guess it’s time I know what this novel is all about. I’ll read the book tomorrow.

I almost freaked out when a lizard scattered between my feet. I stepped on the tail, and it fell off. I decided to keep it. It might bring me luck.

So Christy was dead, and I had a lizard’s tail. Lucky me. I was determined to find the killer. I brought the threat letter to the police. They said they were on the case. At the funeral, I saw a very suspicious guy. I tailed him to a mansion. I went home and I read Christy’s novel. I came across something. “Chang was filthy scum. Something that the cat dragged in.” The name of the mansion that suspicious guy lived in was called The Palace. It all makes sense now. The note said that Christy had said something bad about him. Scum was bad. I went to the mansion and beat up the bad guy and brought him to the police along with the novel. I busted him.

Suddenly, everything became dark. I had a heart attack!

July 27

I woke up in the hospital. My neighbors had seen me fall and called 911. They saved my life. I was in a coma for three days. I would be in the hospital for three more days.

July 30

I was released from the hospital. I got home. I heard the phone ring. It was Mary. Montgomery was a hero! He broke up a fight between three students. It was a brawl with chalkboard erasers and pencils. He broke up the fight in after a wooden eraser cut his arm. I couldn’t believe it.

August 7

I was still so happy for Montgomery. I ate out two shelves of the refrigerator. I felt suddenly sick. Then I had a pain in my chest! Another heart attack!

August 9

I woke up on the floor of my house. I ate too much. I was surprisingly still alive.

August 15

I was watching the news. Bombers were sighted crossing the California border. They were getting closer to Las Vegas. Then, I heard planes overhead right no—

THE END

TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE extras

I remember when I first held a copy of TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE in my hands. It was a marvel to behold. It was my second book. STRIP, my first book, didn't do so well, but TOQT made me very happy. It put me on the map. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be here now without its publication.


I did find it odd, however, that a few things were left out or changed. When I submitted this collection, I didn't know what StrangeHouse would want out of me, so I gathered all of my published stories and a few I really wanted to get out there, and I told them to pick which stories they wanted, which they did.


I always kind of wondered why they changed the name of the final story from "The Skyscraper of Forbidden Delight" to "The Skyscraper of Suspicious Delight." I suspect it was a typo or a misunderstanding, because in the story notes, the title remains "The Skyscraper of Forbidden Delight."


They also left out the copyright page listing where the stories first appeared and my dedication. Here's a little extra material that you haven't seen before.

© 2009 “The Space at the Bottom of Martin Oglesby’s Desk Drawer” (First appeared in TALES OF THE TALISMAN)

© 2008 “Outside Her Window, It Waits” (First appeared in LOST INNOCENCE)

© 2012 “Monster Cock”

© 2008 “Amber” (First appeared in THE MONSTERS NEXT DOOR)

© 2012 “Riding the Midnight Gloom” (First appeared in LIQUID IMAGINATION)

© 2007 “Virtuoso” (First appeared in AOIFE’S KISS)

© 2008 “Suicidal Tendencies” with Nicole Evans (First appeared in THE MONSTERS NEXT DOOR)

© 2011 “Family Man” (First appeared in A HACKED-UP HOLIDAY MASSACRE)

© 2007 “Pimp of the Living Dead” (First appeared in TABARD INN:  TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE)

© 2010 “Corpusplasty” (First appeared in TALES OF UNSPEAKABLE TASTE)

© 2012 “A Place to Be”

© 2008 “Shrink” (First appeared in FROM THE ASYLUM)

© 2010 “Timely” (First appeared in HOUSE OF BIZARRO)

© 2002 “Baseball Players are a Superstitious Lot” (First appeared in COLLEGE NEWS)

© 2004 “Slummin’ It” (First appeared in TABARD INN)

© 2005 “A Night in the Unlife” (First appeared in NIGHT TO DAWN)

© 2004 “Yum” (First appeared in THE NOCTURNAL LYRIC)

© 2012 “The Skyscraper of Forbidden Delight”

This collection is dedicated to all of the editors who have ever taken a chance on me.  I appreciate everything you have done for me, and I hope the publication of this book drives some new customers your way.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #265: HELP OTHERS

Every once in a while I read a book that is so important that I feel I must do more than just review on Goodreads or Amazon. I feel like I have to post here. BETWEEN THE BRIDGE AND THE RIVER by Craig Ferguson is just such a book. This is my Goodreads review:


I remember when I looked at my to-read list at home, and I saw this book was next, I thought this would be interesting. I like Ferguson as a stand up comic and a late show host. I listen to his XM show on Saturdays. I thought it would be cool to find out how good of a novelist he is.


And then I remembered that this book was located at the bottom of a very tall stack of books. Outside my bedroom, I have an overloaded bookcase with two stacks on top almost to the ceiling. On the right is another book pile, and on the left there are two book piles, almost to the ceiling. I've stacked them as high as I can reach, and I'm a smidge under 6' 2". This book was on the inside stack at the bottom, which means I had to take down both stacks to get to it, which is an incredible undertaking for someone as out of shape as I am. When I finally got the book, I said to it: "You'd better be worth it."


It was. It was worth it times a million. I'm here to tell you, folks, that Craig Ferguson is an incredible novelist. Very honest. Very intelligent. This might even be a work of genius. I love his style.


You know how, when he was a late show host, he would sometimes face the camera in such a close way so it felt like he was talking to you and you alone? This book is kind of like that. It's like having God tell you a bawdy yet meaningful story. He knows everything about all of his characters, no matter how it's necessary to the plot, yet at the same time he uses this to show that everything--EVERYTHING--is connected to everything else.


These characters are amazing. The things they do are wonderful. I even like that in the afterlife, authors are the guides (in particular one guy who popularized cosmic horror).


In the prologue he states: "This story is true. Of course, there are many lies therein and most of it did not happen, but it's all true. " I can think of no finer way to put it. To say anything more is criminal. You should discover the wonder for yourself.


This is a beautiful book. Smart. Funny as all hell. And it is even inspiring: "Help others." Spread the word.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #264: BIRTHDAY SPANKINGS

I turned 39 today. One of my friends wished me a happy birthday in sort of a back-handed kind of way. I was about to say, "When do I get my birthday spanking?" Then I realized, what the fuck? Birthday spanking? Where did that come from?


In kindergarten we had a teacher who gave us birthday spankings. Don't worry, she wasn't whaling on us or anything, but I'm not going to say it wasn't creepy. We would get a light slap for every year of our life (plus one for good luck).


I'm pretty sure that wouldn't fly today. I'm not traumatized or anything. There was no physical damage. But still.


That's fucking weird, right?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #263: A NOT-SO-AVERAGE MOM

I just finished reading Doug Stanhope's book, DIGGING UP MOTHER. It's a wonderful book, and I recommend it to you all. Here is my Goodreads review of it. I think it will show a side of me that you're unaware of. Most of you. I pride myself on being an open book, but sometimes I forget some of my darkest moments. There have been four people in my life who have been able to get me angry enough at them to be cruel to them. Two of them are dead. One of them was my mother. I wish I could apologize to her, but . . . well . . . she's gone into the big nothing.



This is possibly the greatest autobiography I've ever read. I've been a fan of Stanhope's comedy for many years, and I know how brutally honest he is. He is even more brutally honest in this book than ever before. I like to consider myself an open book, but if my mom jerked off cats and dogs just to make 'em feel better? You would never hear about that from me. If I tortured and killed animals, again, you would never hear that from me. You can hear it from Stanhope, though.




I, like Stanhope, am a hearty drinker who despises the idiocy of AA. Also, I am the product of a severely alcoholic mother (she died of cirrhosis of the liver and was as yellow as a Simpson when she passed). As you can imagine, this book hit really close to home for me. It also taught me something about myself.



Stanhope was angry with his mother for most of the last years of her life. I was angry with Mom during that period, too. I never really thought about how much of a jerk I was to her, but reading about him berating his mother for being a burden brought back some memories that I probably shouldn't remember. I was horrible to Mom. I yelled at her. I never called her names, but when I'm driven to the point of no return, I can be an exceptionally cruel man. I know exactly the worst things to say in any given situation, and I will say them if I'm angry enough.



(The only time I yelled at Mom that I don't feel sorry about was the time I came home to find her racing downstairs to the living room, where she lived at the time--ironically in the exact same spot where her father, my grandfather, died--with a glass of what looked like alcohol. Specifically, MY alcohol. I ran upstairs because I had two bottles: a handle of Ten High and a fifth of $75 scotch. Sure enough, she had opened the box and hastily wrapped the paper around the bottle. Almost all of the scotch was gone. The Ten High? Which is a mere $13 (at the time) for a handle? Untouched. I ran downstairs and berated her for a good ten minutes. Why did she have to steal my expensive scotch? The cheap shit was right there! If she had stolen from the Ten High, I wouldn't be upset in the slightest. I ranted and raved. I'd been saving that bottle for the end of my DUI trial because I had a good chance of being found not guilty. I made her cry, and that made me feel good. I know, I know. I'm a miserable human being for it. But that scotch was so important to me. I'm getting kind of heated up thinking about it now. I still think about the absolutely defeated look on her face by the time I was done. It makes me a bit queasy now. No wonder I blocked out the memory. PS: I was found not guilty of DUI. One of the few, the proud.)



This book is amazing. All the wild parties, heavy boozing, hallucinogens, the not-your-average-mom, everything. Even Extreme Elvis makes an appearance. This is the most savage love story I've ever read. It's honest to the point of lunacy. I hope Stanhope checked to see if the statute of limitations was up for all of the crimes he talked about committing. You need to read this book.

Thank you, Doug Stanhope. This one got into my skin as if I'd lived it. Some of it, I did.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #262: CURATION

It's been a while since I've done one of these. Mostly it's due to my medication. By the time I'm ready for a GF, I'm too drowsy and fucked up to do it. I remember a while ago I said that this should be an accounting of my life, and I'm wondering if maybe I can make my blog do more for me.


I am by no means a great writer, but I think about writers I admire, and I can't help but wish that I had all of their published writings available to me, even if they're not proud of it. I have so many small press publications that will never see the light of day again, and I wonder if maybe I should reprint them here.


I'm not talking about zine publications. I have another collection in mind that might satisfy that desire. I mean the smaller than zine publications. I used to write for my college newspaper, for example. Why not have those readily available to the public?


How many of you would like to read Stephen King's college writings? I certainly would. Not to equate myself with King, but I think that it would be valuable to the handful of die-hard fans that I have. Your thoughts?

BOOKS I HAVE IN STOCK

If you see something you like, let me know. $10 each or 3 for $25. There will be a shipping charge unless you live close enough for me to hand deliver to.

-AND JESUS CAME BACK: 5 copies


-THE DOCTOR IS IN . . . 4 copies


-DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN: 2 copies


-TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE: 5 copies


-STRANGE SEX 3: 3 copies


-ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! BRAIN BANG!: 2 copies