FREE BOOKS!

Hola Comrades!

There’s 7 days left in the Placenta of Love Goodreads giveaway. 200 people have requested a copy so far. I would love these two signed copies to go to Bizarro-, weird fiction-loving homes, so if you haven’t, please sign up.

Also, Powells (one of the greatest, if not the greatest, bookstore ON EARTH) is offering those who post a comment about Placenta of Love the chance to win free books. (I KNOW! FREE BOOKS! SO EXCITED!)

I’ll let you know if I hear about more awesome free book opportunities.

Also, for you Bigfoot lovers and ale connoisseurs, the wonderful Ross Lockhart has posted a review of Bigfoot Barleywine Style Ale, complete with suggested book pairings, at Bizarro Central’s new feature: Thirsty Thursdays. YUM!

Love the Placenta Entries!

Hola Comrades!

I’ve started to receive entries for the Love the Placenta! contest. They’re strange, and amazing, and funny, and weird and gorgeous.

Keep them coming!

 

The Justin Grimbol Interview

Here it is, the Justin Grimbol interview! The Grimbolina exposes his emotional state, his addictions and himself! Outtakes were posted Tuesday the 21st at Bizarro Central.

In The Crud Masters, when a car battery needs charging, Crud Master Soda Can attaches his cock to the battery in an attempt to jumpstart the car. When you need to jump a car, how do you get it started?

I would get anxious and have a hissy fit. This would probably not get my car started, but it is what I would do.

The Crud Masters have awesome names like Boogers, Snuggles, Clitty, Soda Can and Pussy Bear. What’s your Crud Master name, and why?

The Masters are real. Sort of. You see, I grew up in the Hamptons. Kids dressed really nice, real hip. The kids who dressed poor were called Crud Meisters. That’s where I got the name. I was a Crud Miester. I wasn’t poor, but I was chubby and had a mullet and I dressed really badly. I was the cruddiest Crud Meister.

And I’ve had lots of nicknames. Table butts my favorite nick name. Usually people call me Grimboly, or Boly.

My dad had a great nick name in college. He was called War Head, because of the way his dick would poke out of his boxers shorts. My cock does the same thing. I think I should be called War Head Junior.

Crud Master Boogers got his name because he’s addicted to nasal spray, which has resulted in him being constantly congested. What are you addicted to, and what’s the unfortunate side-effect?

I was actually addicted to nasal spray for eight years. That part of the book is based on my actual life. I couldn’t breathe without using the stuff. I couldn’t sleep without snorting that shit. Sometimes I would run out and go on crazy journeys in the middle of the night to find some Afrin. It was intense. Then I started working at a drug and alcohol rehab. I was watching people detox off of heroin. Some of the clients had really rough detoxes. They got all sweaty and shaky. They would see things and vomit all over the place. They were going through hell. And I was complaining about having the sniffles. I felt like a dork. So I quit using nasal spray. That was about a year ago. I couldn’t breathe through my nose for almost three months. My nose still doesn’t work properly. I have so many boogers. I’ve gotten used to it. No big deal.

The Crud Masters is essentially a retelling of the YA classic The Outsiders, only with Transformers and Japanese-style monsters. What books did you love as a teenager?

I read comics. I read underground stuff, like R Crumb and Pete Bagge’s Hate and Love and Rockets and shit like that. I didn’t start reading prose and poetry until I was 21. My buddy Gorcoff told me to read Ham on Rye by Bukowski. Then all hell broke loose.

Justin — I keep seeing naked, or almost naked, pictures of you. And when I don’t see such pictures, you’re offering to take your clothes off. Are you a nudist?

I love getting naked.

I went to a hippy college in Vermont. Kids got naked all the time there. Heather, my fiancé, and I met at a naked party. Everyone there was naked and dancing to some shitty jam band music. I hated the music but I loved being naked. I walked right up to the her and I was like: “What’s up baby, check out my dangus!” We danced. It was romantic.
Sometimes being naked can be embarrassing though. A couple of weeks ago my belt broke. I tried to fix it with tape. It didn’t work. The tape came loose while I was at this sleazy club called BUBBAS. My pants kept falling down. At one point I started dancing. I was having fun shaking my rump around. Then this bouncer came up to me. “Sir, you have to pull you pants up,” he said. “We’ve been getting complaints.”

I got really embarrassed. People were complaining! What have I turned into? I kept thinking. I felt like a complete degenerate. I might as well been pushing around a shopping cart full of empty beer cans around the club.

Being an adult is horrible. I wish I could find a loop hole.

I’m resilient though. I keep getting naked and showing the world my stuff. I got naked for a promo I did. It was a good time. You can find it on my website (NSFW).

______________________

Justin Grimbol grew up in Sag Harbor New York. His parents were both Presbyterian ministers. He attended Green Mountain College, and majored in partying. He is the author of Drinking Until Morning and The Crud Masters.

The Crud Masters is currently available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and through your favorite indie bookstore.

Ride the Placenta of Love

Hola Comrades,

How are the fan fic stories and banners going?

Need some inspiration?

Here’s a description of all the rides on Venus!

Have a marvelous ride…

 

The Felini Wheel

     The Felini Wheel is an adult-only ride, and one of Venus’ most popular. Originally titled “The Fellatio Wheel” until mothers complained, The Felini Wheel allows male guests to stand around the outside circumference of a giant wheel. A stunning automaton, male or female, depending on the rider’s preference, kneels before the rider. The automatons look up at the riders, and smile the same blank, brilliant smiles.

As The Felini slowly begins to rotate, the automatons pull the riders’ pants down to their ankles and begin to automatically fellate the guests. They service skillfully, mindlessly, for automatons have no minds of their own. During the course of the ride, the wheel begins to tilt up at an angle, spinning faster and faster. Eventually the wheel has tipped 180 degrees and spins 135 miles per hour.

After five minutes, the wheel slows and returns to its normal position. The automatons’ lifelessly offer the guests a moist towelette.

Riders disembark incredibly light-headed, on both ends.

 

The Flying U

     Another one of Venus’ largest rides, The Flying U is twelve stories of rusty and rickety metal that had been bolted together to form a massive U. On each side of the U, naked go-go dancers writhe in cages. It is the only ride on Venus designed entirely by the park guests waiting in line to ride it. The guests take the scrap metal and bolts that fall off its creaking structure and affix it in whatever fanciful ways they dare. The U’s car holds six passengers at a time, and tumbles down from one peak of the U to the other, and back again, at 175 miles an hour. Every ninety seconds, a giant flame shoots up through the U’s bottom, usually missing the car full of park guests. The car repeats this motion until enough parts fall off for the crowd to reinvent the ride.

 

The Tilt-‘N-Hurl

     The Tilt-‘N-Hurl is primarily popular with teenagers who are old enough to not pass out during the ride from fear, yet are young enough to not vomit throughout the entire ride. Despite the name, it is preferred guests do not hurl on The Tilt-‘N-Hurl, or any other Venusian ride.

Similar to the Earth favorite, the ”Tilt-a-Whirl,” the Tilt-N-Hurl sends guests turning from side-to-side and head-over-wheels as the ride’s platform slings the guests past Venus’ atmosphere and into low orbit. The ride then falls back to its platform. Guests are asked to keep heads and limbs inside the Tilt-N-Hurl at all times to prevent injuries. If necessary, replacement automaton body parts are available at Guest Services for a reasonable fee.

 

The Ziggurot

     The Ziggurot is one of Venus’ largest rides. The cars in which the guests ride take the form of mythological creatures. Unicorns and griffins and phoenixes are particularly popular among young children. The Ziggurot lines upon which the Ziggurot cars race are thirty stories off the ground. The lines zig and zag every twelve feet. Via The Ziggurot, guests can quickly make their way from Venus’ north most pole to the south most pole. Because the lines are above the car, guests aren’t always sure when they’ll be jerked into a new direction or in which land they will stop. It’s the wildest, fastest way to travel through all of the lands of the park.

 

The Balbosa

     Like the most important features on other planets, The Balbosa is so large it can be seen from space.

The Balbosa is composed two enormous, one-hundred-and-one-story-tall hairless, muscular men’s legs facing each other across a field, and a thirty-story-tall mottled crystal ball. Guests sit in both the opposing sandaled feet and within the mottled crystal ball.

The legs then fight each other competitively to kick the ball into Venus’ atmosphere. The ball flies into space, and orbits around Venus once before bouncing back to land.

 

The Fairytale Castle

     The Fairytale Castle is the least known attraction in all of Venus; not a single tourist has ever been within its hallowed walls. The castle is magical. Like most magical castles, its inhabitants have fallen under a curse. Within its royal hall, automaton royalty and courtiers were meant to lie wide-eyed in eternal slumber.

High atop the highest tower sits a bed fit for a princess waiting for the kiss that would awaken her. It is as empty as the knee cushion fashioned for the prince that would kneel by her side. The automatons are lost elsewhere, forgotten in time.  Only two living people on Venus knew why the Fairytale castle was abandoned uncompleted. And now, one of them is dead.

 

The Driller

     The Driller is a canary yellow and royal purple twelve-hundred foot cage with one pointed end, while the other end is attached to a massive arm.

Guests sit on the inside of The Driller’s cage. When the ride starts, the arm lifts the cage off the ground and the cage begins to spin right and then left and then right again. The arm continues to lift the cage into the air, until the arm is completely extended and the cage’s pointed end scrapes against Venus’ pink cotton candy atmosphere.

Guests are discouraged from reaching out of the cage in order to grab some cotton candy.

Once the arm is fully extended and the cage is spinning at a rate of ninety miles an hour, the arm jerks back and thrusts the cage in a completely different direction. Again and again, the arm jerks back in another direction and thrusts the cage forward again.

The Driller has been described as resembling a flamingo having an angry seizure.

Guests who are prone to angry seizures are discouraged from riding.

 

The Carousel of Children

     The Carousel of Children is the delight of all those parents that want to leave their offspring someplace safe and distracting while they go out and sample Venus’s more adult fare.

The giant spinning building is staffed with automatons that are programmed to entertain and care for the crowds of laughing and wailing children. Puppet shows and balloons and sharp-toothed clowns amuse and keep the kiddies in line.

Parents usually return to pick up their beloved offspring bearing candy apples and neon-colored popcorn balls, but if they fail to appear, the Carousel of Children also serves as The Venusian Center for New Employees.

 

The Launch Shuttle

     The tourist launch shuttles are neither very exciting, nor technically part of the attractions on Venus. They lift slowly, maneuver like gentle balloons, and generally have a hard time getting out of the way of anything faster than a cotton candy cloud.

On the day Helen attacked the park, many of the fleeing tourists considered the Launch Shuttle the most harrowing ride they had ever seen.

 

The Flaming Riders

     Only the bravest, or most inebriated, of Venus’ guests venture inside The Flaming Riders’ sleek black tent. Inside, bleachers levitate over the outer ring of a one-hundred foot wide fire pit. The fire pit extends one-thousand feet below Venus’ surface.

Guests sit on the bleachers, and cling to one another, hoping they don’t fall from their seats. Seven motorcyclists burst through the tent’s seven flaps, shoot into the air, fly over the crowd’s heads, the flaming pit, and land on the other side of the tent. When the motorcycles fly over the fire pit, the wheels catch on fire.

Again and again, the motorcycles shoot over the crowd and over the pit, crossing each other, doing loops in the air, or arching at odd angles. The motorcycles go faster and faster until only crossing lines of flame can be seen.

The Flaming Riders is Venus’ only attraction to exclusively feature human performers.

 

     The Doors of Life

      The Doors of Life is so tiny that most park guests never find it. Seemingly large enough for one small person, The Doors of Life is marked by the tent canvas’ shifting colors–electric indigo one moment, blending into Mediterranean green, and back again.

Once inside the tent, each guest will find herself inside a twelve-foot-by-twelve-foot room, covered with doors of all colors. A small, copper automaton rolls into the middle of the room. The guest is instructed to place a headband on her head.

Instantly, movies of events in the guest’s life appear behind the doors. The guest can open one door and focus on any event she likes, or open all the doors to view her entire history.

Once the doors show the guest’s life to the present time, each door shows the guest’s possible futures, including possible deaths.

Once guests see their pasts and their presents, most report having a clearer focus on what they want their futures to be. Very few guests go insane.

 

 

The Crud Masters by Justin Grimbol

The Crud Masters is a classic story: a bunch of social misfits band together against a group of rich hotshots and win.

Except The Crud Masters is more than a John Hughes rehash (and I dig me a fine John Hughes film). The Crud Masters is twisted, kinky, honest and hilarious. And fun. So seriously fun. It’s a book that would make another time stream’s S.E. Hinton proud. (But not this time stream; this time stream’s S.E.  Hinton doesn’t get people like us.)

And the characters aren’t your normal rehash of a bunch of 80s characters in a coming of age film. No, this time they’re insane! There’s Boogers who’s addicted to nasal spray; Clitty… just the fact that someone is named Clitty is enough; there’s Soda Can, a sex robot, Bovy, the bovine-like smelly love interest; Pussy Bear, a modified giant bear with massive breasts; and but that’s just the beginning.

Oh yeah, there’s also massive monsters, like something out of a Japanese horror film, and a real life Transformer.

This book is a definite read for the characters alone. But this book’s real gems are the asides, like what it means to “Porky Pig,” or the details surrounding Booger’s nasal spray addiction.

And then there’s what makes the book absolute gold: its readers can completely related to the characters and their lives. Yeah, once upon a time, these were my friends and our lives were like this. I read these pages and I feel nostalgic for this crazy, fun time in my life. For the crazy, weird people I knew.

And I don’t have to miss them, I can go back and read The Crud Masters.

What to do when a Girl Asks if She’s Pretty

This week at How to Have a Paranormal Romance, a dude is approached by Kuchisake-onna.

Holy Crap!

Life Lived thus Far by S.D. Foster

Following a lifetime of sitting, a painful pressure pimple erupted on my buttocks. The Doctor’s prescription was an equal lifetime of standing. But I wasn’t—and now, more than ever, I’m not—the active sort, so I remained seated.

Soon my pimple was a rash—spreading, infecting…

***

“Operation!” cried the Surgeon, sharpening her instruments with the speed of one enthused by her vocation, then cutting out infected parts. Starting with my heart and moving on to my genitals, which I’d never found a function for, so it makes no sense to miss them. When that proved inadequate to cure, she kept cutting; then rearranged what remained into an unconventional conglomeration, but a living one at least.

***

How to spend a lengthened life? Ideally, on your buttocks. Provided you still have them. Provided that, in time, deaf to your protest, the Surgeon is not compelled to remove your rash’s root.

***

“Months, at most,” was the Doctor’s prognosis, after telling me the Surgeon’s treatment hadn’t worked. But, frankly, without my treasured twosome, I had little use for years.

Before death made its claim, I set some things in order. My will left the lot—an unused tube of toothpaste, the gum scraped from the soles of my borrowed shoes, the rusty nail I used to scrape them with—to Pressure Pimple Research, my charity of choice. And though I knew that none would mourn me, I composed an epitaph, lamenting how the loss of me would leave the world a poorer place.

Then, with the coins salvaged from the clefts of someone else’s sofa, I purchased a posterior, resolved to live out my remaining days doing what I’d always done.

And—owing to what, a misdiagnosis?—I’m still doing it.

I’ve considered suing the Doctor and his accomplice, the Surgeon; I could really use the money. But the effort required is too much. And the odds of me—barely more than a sentient pile of loose eyeballs, leftover bones and dusty shit, cradled in a pair of cheap prosthetic buttocks—winning a lawsuit are slim at best.

Besides, I’m alive, and there are worse things to be.

_____________________

Using his fingers as toes, S.D. Foster roams the hills of Dorset, England, for no apparent reason. Using his toes as fingers, he types. His first book, “A Hollow Cube is a Lonely Space” (Eraserhead Press, 2011), is a collection of fantastic fables featuring cartoonish characters and anthropomorphized fruit. Influences include absurdist prose-poet Russell Edson; the exceedingly silly Soviet, Daniil Kharms; Lewis Carroll; pulp horror; existentialism; Edward Gorey; b-movie auteurs Larry Cohen, John Waters and Frank Henenlotter; and, of course, Aesop.

S.D. Foster‘s A Hollow Cube is a Lonely Space is available at Amazon as a paperback and on the Kindle, at Barnes and Noble as a paperback and on the Nook, and through your favorite indie bookshop.

Interview with S.D. Foster

S.D. Foster, author of A Hollow Cube is a Lonely Space, is a brilliant writer of surrealist, absurdist, Bizarro fiction. His stories are thoughtful, with a strong emotional punch.

He was kind enough to answer some questions about Bizarro in the U.K., novels and failed ambition.

Outtakes from this interview were published yesterday at Bizarro Central.

Is there a short story written by another author you wish you had written?

Here’s just a few: “Confessions of a Corporate Man” by Bentley Little; “The Baby” by Donald Barthelme; “The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf” by Hans Christian Andersen. All three are wonderfully morbid and/or ridiculous.


What is the current Bizarro movement like in the U.K.?

With the exception of Steve Aylett, I’m not aware of any other British authors who are directly affiliated with Bizarro. There are a couple of small presses: Dog Horn Publishing (publisher of Tom Bradley’s Hemorrhaging Slave of an Obese Eunuch) and Jagged Books (which is looking to publish Bizarro fiction, and currently open for submissions).


Before you read Prunty’s The Overwhelming Urge and Wilson’s The Kafka Effekt (the two books that introduced you to Bizarro fiction), what kind of writer did you consider yourself?

First and foremost, a writer of short stories. I started out attempting to write more serious, literary stories (I’m a big fan of Raymond Carver, believe it or not), but my attempts were rather turgid. So, instead, I let loose all my inner demons of absurdity, with much better results. Then I searched around for other authors as absurd as myself, discovered Eraserhead, and never looked back…


If you ever were to write a novel, what would it be about?

The comically circuitous and ultimately pointless existence of a headless and, therefore, expressionless chicken named Farleigh Fowler. The novel would include, among other things, dismemberment, gratuitous implosions, auto-cannibalism, a legion of evil fetuses, and a river of molten robots channeling into a lake of molten robots. It would climax with the dissolution of the cosmos.

You’ve mentioned that frustrated ambition is your favorite theme. Would you tell us about your second favorite theme? What about your least favorite?

My second favorite theme—one that’s connected to my first—would have to be ageing, a ludicrous process lacking any meaning at all. Stories like “The Marvelous Head,” “Slothra,” “Subsidence,” and “The Lingering Death of Christmas” address this. I suppose my least favorite would, logically, have to be fulfilled ambition. Who wants to read a story about a character whose every dream comes true? Well, probably someone—but I don’t want to be the one to write it.

Justin Grimbol Endorses the Placenta of Love

On his website. (NSFW).

On Facebook. (Slightly more SFW.)

It’s super-sexy.