Clown Tear Junkies Douglas Hackle Arthur Graham Books
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“Hackle may be the best absurdist story writer working today.” —Bradley Sands, author of TV Snorted My Brain Within the whacked-out worlds of these twisted tales, only one thing remains the same Everything is better when laced with the tears of a clown… When a sexually adventurous couple decides to spice things up by bringing bees into the mix, they learn it’s never wise to dial 811 in case of an emergency. A deadbeat dad gains employment as a lady-in-waiting in a fairytale bromance where every character looks exactly like someone else from John Carpenter’s The Thing. The unknowing victim of a cruel prank, a simpleton spends his entire life waiting on a park bench for the hottest girl in school. Using only his twenty-sided die and good old-fashioned D&D magic, a man must continually resurrect the neighborhood kid regularly murdered on his own front lawn. An aging slaughterhouse worker and the iconic figure from Edvard Munch’s The Scream hit the clubs every weekend in a vain attempt to get laid. These and many more absurdities await in Clown Tear Junkies, the debut collection from Douglas Hackle.
Clown Tear Junkies Douglas Hackle Arthur Graham Books
An honest disclosure: I've been taking small doses of Clown Tears for years. I use them as an age-retardant. The sh*t is AWESOME, but it has a high risk of addiction. This book came with my first dose so that I would know what to expect should I take too much. But really - guess how old I am! You can't!Have you ever wondered if Bizarro is for you? Here is a great place to start. (I started with Dr. Seuss.) How Much Is That Hospice In the Window - this story had me singing the damn rhyme for days on end. Finally, my husband said, and I quote: " 8hdh$fd*fgsV#(h<6:7df>265i?=fdgs!!gql$6^." Then this happened:
Those are three blank pages. Do you like them? No? Go look for a big blue dick. A witch named "Where'd-You-Get-Those Eyes?" showed me something scary. Now I hang out with The Scream. We don't talk much, but we are surrounded by beautiful swatches of paint and pastels. Who needs the real world?
Brony. I have nothing more to say about that. Did you know that there are ghosts in the graffiti? Look again, quick! Death metal and other delectable music exists in space, but you can only hear it from Indiana. Join hands with a longneck, and you will hear it, too. A twenty-sided dice can do wonders, especially if you have been decimated. Please don't be an unkind person. We are all doing the best that we can.
I ate up the stories in this book without utensils. They were delicious. Maybe I am a junky, but I think there may be a junky in you, too. Here. Just try one.
Quicquid.
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Clown Tear Junkies Douglas Hackle Arthur Graham Books Reviews
I thought I reviewed is already. Apparently not. Well, it is a great foray into surrealism.
Generally, surreal writing takes a leap off a precipice into depths beyond my ability to suspend disbelief. But this book is really good. It does what surrealism should, in my opinion. Surrealism should challenge the conventions of whatever genre it falls into. When it comes to fiction, Hackle's work definitely pushes the boundaries on storytelling and stylistic conventions, featuring everything from characters being pelted with #, ^, and @'s to characters with infinite stutters. It goes off the deep end, as surrealism is wont to do, but Hackle does it with tact, never compromising the integrity of the craft for the sake of making the reader say, "What the?" In sum weird AND awesome.
If you're a fan of surreal writing, this book is for you. If you've given surrealism a chance and found it wasn't your cup of tea, this book is for you as well. Hackle will regale you with tales of big blue dicks, personified hospices, inebriated ID ID's and more. By the time you're done, the boring-ass collection of fiction at your local library will seem like a pack of cheap wax crayons at Ponderosa in comparison.
Do you know that painting The Scream by Edvard Munch? Okay, now imagine that that character there in the foreground is real, and he’s called The Scream, and he doesn’t talk or make any noise at all, and he usually keeps his wavy hands next to his gaunt face unless he’s doing something else with them. And he hangs out with an immature, blue-collar jerk who takes him clubbing all the time, trying to pick up chicks. And the chicks all think the Scream’s friend is a loser, but that’s okay, because he’s got a pat response that puts them all in their place he tells them they are 7s. Then goth chicks start to dig The Scream and he becomes a horror movie star, so the two part ways….
That’s pretty much what it’s like inside Douglas Hackle’s mind all the time.
And that’s pretty much the story The Scream, My Dog, part of Hackle’s collection Clown Tear Junkies. I spoilered the crap out of it, but you should still read it because it’s still good.
Camera zooming out for a moment, Clown Tear Junkies (WARNING Contains zero clowns and/or circuspunk elements) is a collection of 27 very short stories. People like to use the term “absurd” to refer to this style of prose, and while some of it is absurd, Hackle’s style is much more nuanced. He draws equally from the wells of the existentially absurd turf mined by Kafka (see Struggle of a Description); the playful, list-loving postmodernism of Barthelme; and obscure pop cultural references—Stiles from Teen Wolf makes an appearance alongside the chain-smoking Indonesian toddler of YouTube fame. What makes Hackle’s writing so much fun is his unpredictable wordplay and his juxtaposition of low brow fare and academic trivia. You’ll find quite a bit of recursive humor tying the stories together, not the least of which will be the intoxicating and addictive nature of clown tears (esp. when mixed with mime tears and mainlined—what a rush!). You’ll find yourself looking up words to see if they are in the real dictionary or at urbandictionary.com (yes, both chyme and chyle are for real). You’ll find yourself expecting the stories to be going in one direction; you’ll be surprised where they end up taking you.
Now, there are a few moments when the stories just get downright silly, and there’s probably a story or two that doesn’t stack up to the rest of the collection. But 27 is a nice round number, and who are you to tell Hax to the Max to drop a story from his baby? I mean, these stories are like his children, and just because some of them are born with beards or flippers or lobster faces doesn’t mean you love them any less, right? Are you asking the man to pick his favorite child? What kind of a monster are you? Quit Sofie-ing his choice! When you do see one of these freak babies, do not make direct eye contact. Just keep your head down and push through to the next paragraph, which is bound to be creepily brilliant, like Crispin Glover playing Sherlock Holmes.
And there are a few moments where you think to yourself, “Is Douggie Hacksaw trying to tell me something?” It’s possible some of the stories actually have a meaning. Racism, homosexuality, intimacy, education, cosmology, music, art, life and death, puppets/poppets, chyme and chyle are all examined in varying degrees of insanity. At the end of the book, I learned that Strange House advertises within Rooster Republic books, and this seemed like a sort of conflict of interests, but nowadays networks advertise their shows on other networks, so whatever. It just makes it harder to remember which station the shows come on, but I have a TiVo, which doesn’t seem to get confused and can always figure out how to record the shows I tell it to.
I’d point out the highlights, but that’s almost the entire book. If I can only recommend three of these stories to strangers, I’d say that you, stranger, should start with The Perfect Popcorn A Recipe, Fishing with Higginsworth Fig VII A Tale of Denial, and Give Courtney Cute Anything She Wants.
The Scream, My Dog could really act as a sort of synecdoche here. Meaning, I could say, “You read The Scream, My Dog yet?” and you would understand that I meant, “Have you read Clown Tear Junkies by Dig Doug Hackensplatz yet?” We just have that kind of understanding of each other, don’t we, stranger?
Wait, forget it. Just read the whole damn book. We’re done here.
An honest disclosure I've been taking small doses of Clown Tears for years. I use them as an age-retardant. The sh*t is AWESOME, but it has a high risk of addiction. This book came with my first dose so that I would know what to expect should I take too much. But really - guess how old I am! You can't!
Have you ever wondered if Bizarro is for you? Here is a great place to start. (I started with Dr. Seuss.) How Much Is That Hospice In the Window - this story had me singing the damn rhyme for days on end. Finally, my husband said, and I quote " 8hdh$fd*fgsV#(h<67df>265i?=fdgs!!gql$6^." Then this happened
Those are three blank pages. Do you like them? No? Go look for a big blue dick. A witch named "Where'd-You-Get-Those Eyes?" showed me something scary. Now I hang out with The Scream. We don't talk much, but we are surrounded by beautiful swatches of paint and pastels. Who needs the real world?
Brony. I have nothing more to say about that. Did you know that there are ghosts in the graffiti? Look again, quick! Death metal and other delectable music exists in space, but you can only hear it from Indiana. Join hands with a longneck, and you will hear it, too. A twenty-sided dice can do wonders, especially if you have been decimated. Please don't be an unkind person. We are all doing the best that we can.
I ate up the stories in this book without utensils. They were delicious. Maybe I am a junky, but I think there may be a junky in you, too. Here. Just try one.
Quicquid.
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