My father's crotch sang many songs, and the first of them all, was me.
Now it is my turn to sing, and I will sing to you of many things.
Here are my stories. Here are my songs.
I will sing of a man who wrestles furniture, and of a sister who disappears.
I will sing of modern day cannibalism, and Dwayne Johnson's elbow.
I will sing of foul-mouthed butterflies and plastic sharks, and I will hum a few bars about cartoon trains.
I will warble on about beards, sentient houses, monsters and Roald Dahl.
But mostly, with this collection of short stories, I will sing songs about my father's crotch.
Bizarro outsider, Dustin Reade, presents eleven stories of weirdo lit, culled from the deepest recesses of the human imagination, and sprinkled with thoughts and flakes from other parts of the body as well.
Don't miss it. Or do. Whatever.
Now it is my turn to sing, and I will sing to you of many things.
Here are my stories. Here are my songs.
I will sing of a man who wrestles furniture, and of a sister who disappears.
I will sing of modern day cannibalism, and Dwayne Johnson's elbow.
I will sing of foul-mouthed butterflies and plastic sharks, and I will hum a few bars about cartoon trains.
I will warble on about beards, sentient houses, monsters and Roald Dahl.
But mostly, with this collection of short stories, I will sing songs about my father's crotch.
Bizarro outsider, Dustin Reade, presents eleven stories of weirdo lit, culled from the deepest recesses of the human imagination, and sprinkled with thoughts and flakes from other parts of the body as well.
Don't miss it. Or do. Whatever.
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