My high school was made of cooch and watercress

I got jive-talked about in the comments section of this blog post, which is actually part of a sweet! blog novel by 'King Wenclas' of the ULA, who managed to completely miss the point of the post he is discussing.

That guy's still around? Oh neat.

'King Wenclas' has always kind of reminded me of those guys from high school who lived their glory days on the football crew and could never quite get over them, going on to live in the sad teetee of their beer-gut years as their wives grow oranger and fatter. That's just what he reminds me of, I can't help it.

I am in the 'in crowd' now apparently. Also neat.

Hang on, receiving txt msg from Jonathan Lethem re: wanna come over and touch dicks?

Gotta tell him no, I am busy shaving my facial hair into some kind of muppet for when the lit-luminati's brilliance-detecting cunt-sniffers finally sniff the cunt on my intensely post-MFA novel and decide to stick that cunt on a book made of matte paper with french flaps so someone will nod their head out of their M83 headphones and maybe sniff my words a minute.

So much neat.

That guy must feel tired.

It's okay, I feel tired too.

** EDIT ** Sorry, I had to add this, after looking around the ULA's geocities-esque website, here is one of their flyers that they intend will invoke the 'literary revolution.'



Oh man: LITERARY REBELLION HAS BEGUN!

That is pretty sexy. I feel it, I feel it.

Anyhow, for the next installment of my secret handshake publishing career, you should check out this new book from a massive mega-house illuminati BETTER NON SEQUITUR, who have just released the second volume of their sex-themed literary anthology, SEE YOU NEXT TUESDAY, of which I shaved a section of my mother's scrote off and mailed it to them with the promise of ownership of every hair I will future grow, as well as the fact that I've slept with people in important bands like Anal Dynasty and the Bulbs.

The cover, by Matt Furie, is fucking real:



This surely masturbatorily inducing set of 50 texts of 1000ish words includes work by myself (OK, I paid Annie Proulx's hot granddaughter to get me in) as well as many others who regularly get invited to King Wenclas's Random House backdoor circle jerk, including Aaron Burch, Lee Klein, David Gianatasio, Jimmy Chen, Elizabeth Ellen, Paul Kavanagh, Chelsea Martin, Harold Jaffe, J.A. Tyler, Justin Taylor, Kevin Sampsell, Savannah Schroll Guz, and Steven Coy, as well as goosh of others who've likely stuck their tongue into the proverbial glitter literati d-hole.

My story involves a man looking up a Mexican's cleaning lady's anus, it really does.

And really, the book is ten bucks, is sexy, you should do a buy.