(1) Question: So why in the hell is your first novel entitled "Chaos and Rage"?
(1) Answer: Because I knew I couldn't get away with calling it "Clusterfuck". (Wouldn't have played well in the supermarket checkout aisles....)
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(2) Answer: Hey man, just chill. Buy my book Chaos and Rage and the other title will be obvious.
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(3) Question: So it's a sequel?
(3) Answer: Fuckin' A, yeah! It's a bad ass sequel.
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(4) Question: Is that you modeling that worthless demon of a man, A.J.? Do you harbor some sick, sociopathic, mass murder fantasy like those pathetic Columbine kids?
(4) Answer: Yeah it's me as A.J.. Lookit, I blogged about this on myspace. And here's what I had to say:
"Before anyone worries....."
Some
furious and gruesome pics are gonna come up on here. And before anyone
starts accusing moi of fantasies or tendencies like that pathetic POS
who shot up VA Tech, let's get our perspectives centered.
I'm
modeling (oooo, baby! No autographs, please.) for the covers and merch
for the novel of mine (Chaos and Rage) that my agent is shopping to
publishers.
In the pics I'm portraying A.J. Burmeister, easily the most memorable and prominent of the characters I tossed in that tome.
A.J.
is a great catalyst for the story. He ain't no hero. He ain't even an
antihero. But he runs the story up through the redline. Yep, his "fuck
you, I'm gonna kill them all one way or another" attitude serves as a
bad ass catalyst.
And he does that by being a completely sociopathic piece of shit.
This
guy's the kind of bloodlust intoxicated monster who's only stayed in
check through the decades by placement in rigidly structured
environments: boarding school, military service, and employment in a
private military corporation where everyone was deathly afraid of the
proprietor. Take those shackles off, as happens in my book, and a
turbocharged, rocket-propelled splatterfest freaking ensues,
Having
this guy around other humans is like trusting a pit bull or wolfhound
around little kiddies. They may be in the mood to be all playful and
friendly, but it's still a wild animal. When feeling foul tempered, and
keeping company with the weak, these kind of animals will satisfy their
ravenous hunger for blood.
Lt. Col. (Retd) Dave Grossman, in his
seminal work, "On Killing", classifies people by their willingness to
naturally accept killing another human being in the course of a job as:
sheep (98%), wolves, and sheepdogs. Sheep are normal. Sheepdogs are our
protectors, like the kind of personalities that inhabit SWAT cops and
Special Forces. And Wolves, well... just hope you're not wearing a
little red riding hood when you cross their path.
And A.J.? He's one lone psychopathic lobo.
So
why am I modeling him for a book cover? 1) I don't have a great big
pool of people to grab as models. 2) A.J. in my mind's eye looks enough
like me that I can pull it off, once Photoshop finishes the detail
touches.
Do I wish to emulate him? Fuck no.
Do not act like A.J., kiddies.
A.J.
deserves every bump, cut, scratch, and brutalization that befalls his
sorry ass. And I'm all too willing to see this wolf as the antithesis
of who I am.
One more time! Never forget that A.J. is a:
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AND
For those of you not 100% sure about what I think about my characters cursing, engaging in violence, being crude, or (sometimes) just plain racist, I have this little rant prepared.
(Or..., Don't Say I Didn't Warn You!)
Read Before Buying!
I Mean It!
Dagnabbit!
Read The Following!
Right Now!
Now! Now! Now!
Before flipping any more pages, you better make yourself aware of just what kinda of novels I've done cyber-scribbled. I set out to concoct the literary equivalent to a Pantera album, and Great Jumpin' Jeehozafet, your humble keyboard tapper thinks he's nailed it square!
But what the hell do I mean by "the literary equivalent to a Pantera album"? Well, for starters, dear reader, ask yourself: "Am I easily offended by anything?" Seriously, scour the dark corners of your mind, and don't forget to overturn all the stones you use to tamp down your nightmares. Y'see, within this text, I dumped in a little of EVERYTHING that would disturb, offend, or horrify anybody and everybody in your neighborhood. (Okay, I left out the tentacle porn. Maybe next book.)
Let's take cursing. If the oft repeated use of words like fuck, shit, nutbuster, twat, cunt, motherfucker, pussy, jizz, cock, merda, foda, caca, chingao, chingate, joto, fag, asswipe, asshole, scheisse, yob tvoyu mat', tittie, rim job, cooze, spooge, bugger, dingleberry, monkeyfucker, cuntlapper, pendejada, clusterfuck, goatfuck, zakennayo, kak, cum gurgler, cock slap, goddamnit, bug baller, donkey slut, blery, or wanger raise your hackles then you're probably perusing the wrong web page. The Complete Idiot's Guide to Crocheting a Sweater is easily located through a search engine like Dogpile.
Curse like a sailor, even in church? Well, everybody's gotta have a hobby. Read on.
But how is your tolerance for violence? I don't mean no clumsy, drunken fisticuffs like you might see at your sister's wedding. Naw, we're talking all guns blazing, cutting tool heavy, explosives laden, smorgasbord of a brutish splatterfest. Can't stand the mention of bodily fluids spraying everywhere? (And not just blood, neither.) Severed limbs get you heaving? We got biting off whole chunks of skin. We got throats cut. We got disembowelments. We even got massive shrapnel trauma. How about folks getting torched with second and third degree burns? Or teeth knocked out and eyes being gouged? That do anything for you? Decapitations and spinal injuries come as a sheer for-the-hell-of-it bonus. Wheeeeee! So if you can't stand nasty, gritty, constant violence, I'm sure some search engine will gleefully direct you to the fuzzy kitten calendars.
Still hangin' in there? It gets even more ticklish.
Those of you who venture out into the real world understand not everybody's gone colour blind. The world's full of people who decide their gonna hate others based on who their parents were, the shape of their lips or eyes, or what patch of the globe they first plopped out into. Not everybody's keen on holding hands and singing, "It's A Small World" while they dance around the daisy field. Racists abound, and I threw several characters here in my narratives who vent those kinds of very human feelings. So if you take any kinda umbrage to words like nigger, spic, white trash, trailer trash, Jap-trash, nip, gook, chink, rag, spic-nigger, nigglet, junglebunny, honky, spear chucker, nightfighter, jigaboo, jibagoo, jep, limely, frog, kraut, polack. quai-loh, gwai-loh, gaijin, jingai, hafu, round eye, pale face, redskin, gringo, yanqui, cracker, wop, greaser, wetback, beaner, kike, goy, slant, zipperhead, guinea, towley, camel porker, diaperhead, red dot, CBC (Chutney Breathed Cocksucker), fag. fudge packer, choc-cock, dyke, deep sea fisherwoman, ABC (American Born Chinese), sandnigger, mout, or little yellow shithead, then you'll probably turn all red and notice the big vein in your forehead swelling and throbbing as you follow along with my brain blasteing stories.
And let me make this clear before you fire off a dozen flame e-mails: Every bushel contains a few wormy apples amongst all the sweet, tasty ones. Doesn't matter what the differentiating factor is: there are good Caucasians and bad Caucasians, good East Asians and bad East Asians, good Botswanans and bad Botswanans, good Jews and bad Jews, good vanilla ice cream lovers and bad vanilla ice cream lovers, and so on ad infinitum. If you're so insecure that you think that this here author's a malicious person solely due to me whipping up characters who hate certain people based on some broad generalizations; then do me a favor and beat your own damn thick skull against the wall, save me the trouble of hunting you down. Spare me the tears, I'm fresh outta tissues. Yeah, I sprinkled my dramatis personae with blatantly racist nogoodniks, that doesn't mean I allow that kind of drek at my dinner table. Get over it, the world's full of detestable people, and this book's cast of characters includes a frickin' double-decker bus full of bad, baaaad little boys.
Face it, if you get offended easily, my books will flip all your switches. I don't really care if it does, I'm just not keen on receiving nasty letters complaining about something I warned you about wayyyyy wayyyyy, wayyyyy beforehand. So, consider youself admonished, dude.
Now that all the queasy folks have found themselves a corner for which to rock back and forth in the fetal position, allow me to entice further the rest of you iron-stomached lads and lasses. Prepare to smack your lips in anticipation. This sucker'll grab you by the lapels and toss you straight into the tempest. You want action adventure? How about more than you can shake a stick at? A verrry BIG stick, buckaroo! Prepare to be exhausted. Break out the Band-Aids for all those paper cuts you'll get from turning the pages so dang fast. In fact, hook up your five-point harness, don your racing helmet, and wrap your fingers white knuckle tight 'round the grab bar. You ain't gonna forget this face-first plunge into pandemonium. Yeeeee-haw!