"Judging from the signs and slogans which are so often on display during 'tea parties' and other tawdry public gatherings of the Radical Right, there seems to be a lot of confusion within the United States about the meaning of the word 'socialism.' As described by the political shock jocks of Talk Radio and Fox News, 'socialism' is a dictatorial, freedom-hating ideology characteristic of the Obama administration, North Korea, Nazi Germany, and France..."
"While familiarity may breed contempt in some social circles, most people who get to know me are more commonly afflicted by morbid curiosity. It takes only a few conversations of any depth before I find myself confronted by an inevitable question. 'So, what was it that turned you into such a depressed and bitter drug addict?'..."
"I was a bland and humorless child. The causes of this condition are legion. Start with the combed-over, slicked-down hair, parted just above my left ear and extending in a single horrifying mass all the way to my right ear. Throw in debilitating shyness, paralyzing social anxiety, and a genetic inability to catch, hit, throw, or run while holding a ball of any kind, and you have the makings of one sorry specimen of American boyhood -- me. And it was all down hill as I made my way into an awkward adolescence and dysfunctional young adulthood: glasses with lenses as thick as bricks, volcanic pustules of cystic acne, and a nearly terminal case of protracted virginity..."
"At the time, it seemed like the ideal moment to make my move.
It’s not every day I find myself engaged in rapt conversation with a beautiful woman fifteen years younger than myself; her eyes fixed on mine with an intensity suggesting more than a passing interest.
Smoothly, coolly, nonchalantly, I said, 'We should get together sometime. Like, go somewhere. Or something.'
Perhaps my wooing abilities had grown a bit rusty. But I hoped the sincerity of my offer would convey an endearing sense of innocence..."
"When the first of my failed marriages finally came to an end, there was one thing I wanted above all else: sex. Not passionate lovemaking infused with deep emotion, but raw fucking that leaves a really big wet spot. I seriously entertained the idea of hiring a hooker for her services, but I was a 'high-end call girl' kind of guy on a 'toothless crack whore' budget, so paying for sex was out of the question..."
A pulpy brew of science fiction and action, of dark humor and social satire, replete with gun violence, drug abuse, promiscuous sex, hemorrhagic disease, and paranormal powers.
"Rik was half dead when he awoke.
He opened one eye and stared at the nightstand. To one side of the bleating alarm clock lay his overturned pipe and lighter, partially buried in a prodigious pile of weed. To the other side sat a half-drained vodka bottle.
The sight of the bottle provoked a wave of nausea that he choked back with a single dry heave. Without moving any more of his body than necessary, he extended one arm, palmed the lighter, grabbed the pipe, and packed a bowl with his thumb. He gripped the pipe between his teeth, fired up the lighter, and took a long, deep drag. One more drag finished the bowl and settled his stomach..."
(published by Montag Press)