Now! (Pay Pal)
customers. We are mom and pop here, except mom's drunk and burning holes
on the sofa with her smokes, and pop left when we were five. Nevertheless,
we are professionals. Domestic orders can expect about a two-week turnaround
after we receive the order, international orders can expect around a three-week
turnaround, depending on your distance from Seattle.
$15.98 US (Inside the States) / $19.98 US (Rest of the World)
(these must, must, must be in US funds.)
payable to our generous benefactor, Mark Thompson
It started as a serious attempt at historical fiction. New Orleans. 1699. Beaureguarde Letrau Du Spoiler, an alcoholic, hedonistic, spoiled, loudmouthed, and violent young aristocratlong an embarrassment to his noble familyis exiled from France and given one last shot to make good. He's shipped to a plantation just outside of New Orleans. If he fucks up any more, he's gonna get booted from the family and, more importantly, all its wealth and the life of leisure that goes with it. So, it's six months after the move to the New World. How's he holding up? Well, his best friend is a bomb-throwing anarchist attempting to overthrow the colonial authority, his girlfriend is an escaped slave who's twice as smart as he is, his bar tab down at the Rusty Bone Saw is fast eclipsing France's national debt, the woman he's been arranged to marry has REALLY hairy arms, and, worst of all, it is looking increasingly more likely he will have togaspget a job
Like I said, it started out as a serious attempt at historical fiction. But as you can tell from the description above, it started to get silly. I have a problem taking anything seriously, myself above all else. So I deliberately started fucking up my own story. It became an obsessive pastime. Other people get addicted to gambling or video games, I couldn't stop ruining my book. I made it ridiculous and gave up any real thoughts of publishing it. And then, while sabotaging my fiction, my real life started falling apart. Instead of actually doing anything about my crumbling existence, I documented it as a passive observer within the context of the book, creating a fictionalized version of my downfall, highlights including: the loss of my job, getting dumped by a girlfriend of eight years, getting kicked out of my apartment, drinking to ridiculous excess, alienating and frightening away most of my friends, meeting girls just to have a place to sleep, living out of my car, blacking out, having panic attacks, getting really sick from some mystery illness and then things really went to shit.
I somehow managed to twist the two stories togetherquite a feat, considering the state I was in. Then, I stuck the manuscript in the trunk of my car for a year. After finally getting my shit back together and recreating a new (and much improved) life for myself, I sat down and rewrote the whole thing.
And here it is. Ain't the best book you'll ever read*, but it certainly ain't the worst. And you get my autograph, which will eventually make you rich. And the more books I sell, the less I have to scrounge for freelance, which gives me more time to spend updating my column and eventually transfer it all to a hardback graphic novel with action photos of me making out with zoo animals. Or at least Driver Presents: The Columns that Touched Your Bathing Suit Area. Or you can just keep gawking like a fucking freeloader. Freeloader! Do I beg? Do I put one of those sleazy Amazon donation boxes on my site? Do you get pop-up ads pathetically demanding you to look up people you wanted to hook up with in high school but never got the chance to? No. So buy a friggin' book, Charlie. Marky need burritos.
*I am currently working on the best book you will ever read.