A Town Called Suckhole reviewed at AIN’T IT COOL

Tis a truly epic day.  A TOWN CALLED SUCKHOLE has been read and reviewed by one of the biggest nerd hubs on the web, AIN’T IT COOL NEWS!  And despite being born a yankee, this reviewer has great things to say about my little book.  Gigantic thanks to you, Mr. Pasty (never thought I’d say that again).  Click over and read for yourself: http://www.aintitcool.com/node/52730

And while you’re at it, head over to Amazon and buy yourself a copy.  A Town Called Suckhole is both entertaining and part of a balanced country breakfast:  http://www.amazon.com/Town-Called-Suckhole-David-Barbee/dp/193638387X

A Town Called Suckhole @ Monkey Faced Demon!

FUCK YEAH!  A Town Called Suckhole was recently reviewed by Jonathan Moon, fellow author and all around lover of weird shit.  He posted his review on his blog, Monkey Faced Demon.  He gives a good rundown of the book’s plot and characters while also sharing what he liked about my little mutant book baby.  Go here and enjoy: http://mrmoonblogs.blogspot.com/2012/01/mr-moons-review-of-town-called-suckhole.html

Have Yourself a Meaty Little Christmas

Hello, kids.  We here at David W Barbee want you to have a joyous and weird-as-hell Christmas.  So after you’re done watching Gremlins and Rare Exports, between readings of Sausagey Santa and Christmas on Crack, make sure you pick up this Christmas album, Have Yourself a Meaty Little Christmas, the yuletide brainchild of Dave Willis, the madman behind Aqua Teen Hunger Force.

Get it at Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Have-Yourself-Meaty-Little-Christmas/dp/B002SSUUWA  I’m listening to it this season, and I promise you that I’ll NEVER hear the song “Feliz Navidad” the same way ever again.

REDNECK MASTERPIECE THEATER: Episode 3: KnowhutImean?

Let’s face it, redneck entertainment is basically a shuffling procession of drawling buffoons, be they half-baked characters or the actual actors themselves.  Perhaps they mean well.  Perhaps the public can only accept these backwoods types of characters when they are portrayed as harmless dolts.  But that’s no excuse for jingoistic crap like Joe Dirt, Forrest Gump, Earl Hickey, and those Blue Collar Assbags.  In each case these characters, comedians, and actors are so stereotypical and condescending that they make Huckleberry Hound and Yosemite Sam come off as more relatable and human.  Except one…

That’s right.  I’m talking about Mr. James Albert Varney, perhaps better known to you as Ernest P. Worrell.  But he was also the Slinky Dog in Toy Story.  He was a European prince on Roseanne.  And he was the only man to play Jed Clampett besides the original Buddy Ebsen (shoes that had to be hard to fill, but Varney not only pulled it off, he made it look easy). More intelligent than Jeff Foxworthy, more sincere than Larry the Cabletard, and packing an entire megaton of talent in his back pocket alone, Varney was a force of nature, a born performer who’d been entertaining folks since he was a kid telling jokes and doing impressions.  And besides all that, Varney could actually, y’know, ACT.  And sing.  And dance. And quote Shakespeare.  Even Tom Brokaw has to respect that.

Still, Ernest is what the man’s most known for, and so it shall be Ernest that we talk about in today’s Redneck Masterpiece Theater.  The Ernest character started as a simple pitchman for local commercials, chatting with ‘Vern’ about everything from gutters to hamburger joints.  Kind of like the “Can you hear me now?” guy, only not a douchebag.  Varney had a nice little racket going, but then the character blew up.  Ernest found himself a member of the pantheon of 80’s cultural icons.  He got a Saturday morning kids’ show and a phalanx of cheap comedies.  Were the people hungering for a simple-minded hillbilly selling them aluminum siding?  Maybe.  But I like to think that the real cause of Ernest’s success was the way Varney brought him to life, with a genuine voice and natural enthusiasm.

Ah, that voice is like thick Kentucky molasses poured into my ears.  Even when puking.  I watched Varney’s show, Hey Vern, It’s Ernest!, religiously when I was a kid.  All one season of it.  The Ernest schtick never gets old when you’re eight, but that was only the tip of the iceberg.  Jim Varney had an entire sideshow of other characters besides Ernest, each one unique, fleshed out, and sharing the same sense of goofy humor.  Varney dressed in drag to play the malicious Aunt Nelda, and took on a stiff military posture while playing Sergeant Glory, a tough drill sergeant.  Then there was Lloyd Worrell, Ernest’s great uncle, who was sort of an evil and crazier Ernest.  The most unique was Dr. Otto, a mad scientist that Varney had actually created long before Ernest.

 This image = proof of awesome

And this isn’t even getting into the movies.  Ernest had epic adventures that rivaled any daring deed done by Tarzan, Sherlock Holmes, Doc Savage, James Bond, or Super Mario.  In his movies, Ernest single-handedly: went to school, went to jail, joined the army, saved Christmas, slam dunked, went to Africa, went to camp, was scared stupid, and rode again.  If you’re interested in any of these adventures, I recommend going to camp and saving Christmas, as the quality of the series took a gentle and excruciating dive as the years wore on.  Since this is the holiday season, and I can’t possibly do justice to the cinematic spectacle of all ninety-four Ernest movies, here’s a clip from Ernest Saves Christmas.

And to bring this theater post to a close, I’d like to toast the legendary Jim Varney, who’s been dead for nearly twelve years now.  Lung cancer’s a bitch.  But let’s remember the man as he’d want us to, with laughter…

 Zombie Varney, keeping us laughing whilst eating our brains

What a hero.  On the next episode of Redneck Masterpiece Theater, we delve once more into hillbilly culture to examine its worst VILLAINS.

REPORT! Fast Times at BizarroCon ’11

Hi, folks.  As you may know, BizarroCon wrapped up just less than two weeks ago.  There was a fuck-ton of hugging, drunken conversations, and insane laughter.  My head is still spinning and I didn’t even party that hard.  My geek gland is just so easy to stimulate that the awesomeness of BizarroCon hits me like a nuclear-powered seizure and my gland spooges against the back of my eyeballs, effectively pooch-screwing my perceptions of reality.  Anyway, let’s get started.  I, along with my faithful wife and partner Sonya, arrived in Portland Thursday afternoon.  At the airport, we were greeted by the great and powerful Steve Lowe and the lovely Laura Lee Bahr.  Vince Kramer picked us up and ferried our already-weary bodies to Edgefield, where the festivities would soon begin.  As soon as we walked in, we ran into some of my favorite bizarros, publisher Rose O’Keefe, my bestest pal Kevin Shamel, and the godfather Carlton Mellick III.  Hellos were had, but for the rest of the afternoon, I was on a mission to accomplish one of my lifelong goals: holding Kevin Donihe in my powerful arms.

Was the Bodyguard theme song playing in my head?  Maybe.

I love Kevin Donihe, possibly more than any mortal man should.  Zeus may punish me for it some day.  Anyway, the next morning was the Writer’s Workshop.  I was in Jeff Burk’s class.  Around twelve of us ate breakfast and tore into each other’s ideas.  My pitch didn’t make the cut, but this only served to give me more hang-out time.  I didn’t get into the advanced workshop like I did last year, but I got to see some readings and art stuff going on at the time.  Besides, I have plenty of shit to work on in a short amount of time.  My to-do list is long and mighty, just how I like it.

Damn we look gangsta.  Those “Attack the Block” kids better watch the fuck out.

That afternoon was the Bizarro Writer’s Association meeting.  There were so many people at the convention this year that only writers were allowed to attend this meeting.  I sat between Robert Devereaux and Mykle Hansen, and made sure to listen as a ton of really smart writers batted around ideas about the future of bizarro fiction and our plans to take over the world for all weirdokind.

Suckhole cake!

As evening approached, so too did my birthday.  My lovely wife Sonya produced a birthday cake for me and all the bizarros.  Huge thanks to Kevin Shamel for helping in this scheme.  And a huge “you’re welcome” to all the drunks who nursed their hangover the next morning with my birthday cake.  Glad none of it went to waste.  I also got a midget beer glass from Zoe Welch and Cat-Man Lawyer gave me a can of tuna.  My eternal gratitude to those two little weirdos.  Did I also mention that my book got an official BEER?  Suckhole Stout, a mixture of chocolate and habanero cooked up by my publisher Rose.  I was scared of it at first, but then I tasted it and nearly orgasmed over how delicious it was.

Tastier than hell!

Then came time for my reading.  I wore some raggedy overalls and snapped into character to tell all the people the magnificent history of a town called Suckhole.  Some were captivated.  Some were frightened.  Many laughed.  A few people got handmade Suckhole action figures, most of which broke.  But I got a lot of really nice compliments afterward.  Everyone said it was great, and the camera crew (yes, it was taped!) were having fits over it.  They bought copies right then.  Let that be a lesson to aspiring writers:  ranting and raving like a madman will get you far.

Sir, I’m here to date your billy goat.

Once upon a time I used to be a New Bizarro Author.  On Saturday I got to attend a reading from the next generation of NBAS’ers.  The Crazy Eights.  They were great, especially Michael Allen Rose and Troy Chambers, who gave me lap dances for my birthday (cake and beer was obviously not enough).  I also saw cunnilingus performed on donuts, a voodoo ritual, and got some awesome California Raisins figurines from Justin Grimbol.  Read the NEW New Bizarro Author Series, folks.  There are a lot of promising books in this batch.  There’s freakin’ EIGHT of them this time.

My coat has been enchanted to repel all ballsacks

As male body parts were pressed against me, other panels were going on.  I didn’t get to see it, but Cody Goodfellow and Nick Gucker did a totally awesome reading called “The Greedy Tree.”  I can’t imagine a better combination.  Cody’s words and Nick’s art are equally intricate and deranged.  Luckily, their performance was recorded for posterity’s sake, and it’s worth taking a look:

That evening was the Wonderland Book Awards.  J. David Osborne won Best Novel for By The Time We Leave Here, We’ll Be Friends and Cameron Pierce won Best Collection for Lost in Cat Brain Land.  Both are extremely talented writers and very deserving of these awards.  Put these books at the top of your to-buy list.

Me, Cousin Cody, Uncle Jere-Bob, and my wrestling buddy for the weekend Karl 

Over the course of that weekend, I hung out with A LOT of amazing people.  Wordsmiths, artists, musicians, filmmakers, young lovers, old pros, nomads, cross-dressers, punks, fine ladies, geniuses, madmen, badasses, and weirdos of every stripe imaginable.  So to all of you, thanks so much.  Now to drop a few names: I got to sit next to great minds like John Skipp, Robert Devereaux, and Mykle Hansen (twice!).  We laughed, joked, and I got to pick their brains a bit.  Also, monumental props to Cody Goodfellow and Jeremy Robert Johnson, who believed in my weird little book and were kind enough to say so publicly.  And finally, I got to meet BRIAN FUCKING KEENE!  And I’m here to tell you, he’s badass.  Like the “sipping whiskey and talking about Batman” kind of badass.  He did a reading from his book “The Damned Highway”.  Hunter S. Thompson meets Richard Nixon, dipped in Lovecraftian goo.  Buy it.  And as I was stuffing my face with breakfast Sunday morning, Keene complimented my own readings and compared me to a young Edward Lee.  I’ve heard that Keene won’t be doing as many conventions next year, but I hope to see him at the next BizarroCon.  I want to have a way-too-drawn-out discussion with him about how badass he is.  He’s badass.  Yeah, it’s worth saying a few times.  Make sure you buy some of his books, whether it’s his comics or his vast collection of books printed by Deadite Press.

 

Anyway, I said goodbye on Sunday morning and headed to the airport, sharing a ride once again with Steve Lowe.  Steve fought the good fight this past year and earned a contract for his efforts, so make sure you congratulate him.  At the airport, tragedy struck.  I tried to take some Suckhole Stout home with me, but it was confiscated by the TSA.  The inspector was terribly polite about it, so I understand.  I told him to drink them himself because they were awesome, but he said that was against regulation.  He better drink them, goddamnit.  On the plane ride I sat next to a 90-year-old lady.  She started talking to me when we began landing in Atlanta.  When I told her I was a writer, she asked if I write “funny stuff” or “nasty stuff.”  I told her that when I do it right, it’s a mixture of both.  And now here I sit, reading to punch another year in the face.  Bizarro is going to do big things in 2012, so stay tuned to all your favorite bizarro authors as we execute our plans for world domination.  Now, I’m off to work on the next installment of Redneck Masterpiece Theater.  In this episode… the legendary Jim Varney.

A Town Called Suckhole @ The Austin Post

My man-on-the-inside of the Austin Post just published his book review of A Town Called Suckhole.  And he had really great things to say, including comparing me to one of my own favorite authors, Joe R. Lansdale.  Huge thanks to Gabino Iglesias for the review.  There’s too many awesome lines in this review for me to pick out a blurb right now, so get your ass to the Austin Post and read the whole thing!

http://www.austinpost.org/content/book-review-a-town-called-suckhole

Georgia Aquarium Day

Last weekend the wife and I went to the Georgia Aquarium for some anniversary monkeyshines.  Monkeys in an aquarium.  That’d be funny.  Here’s some stuff that happened…

 

A shark tried to eat my book.  What a promo whore.

 

Lady gets gangbanged by hungry stingrays.  Narrates the whole thing to children.

 Pitched my book to Television Dolphin for a possible series.  We’ll see.

 

Overall, had a nice time.  Go support an aquarium, everybody.  Fish are people too.

REDNECK MASTERPIECE THEATER: Episode 2: Cuyler Family Tree

There are plenty of family legacies in redneck culture.  The Williams dynasty.  The Jenningses.  The aforementioned Whites.  Those abominable Cyruses.  But perhaps the most legendary clan on the scene is the Cuylers, the stars of hit reality cartoon Squidbillies.  That’s right, anthropomorphic redneck cephalopods, known better by scientists and cellmates as the Appalachian Mud Squid.  In this installment of Redneck Masterpiece Theater, we will attempt to trace the lineage of these inbred, tentacled plebeians from their humble beginnings to the highly evolved navel-gazers inhabiting the North Georgia Mountains today…

IN THE BEGINNING…

The first squid born with both gills and lungs crawled out of the North Georgia mud and into the annals of post-Confederate zoological history.  She went on to buy a wig, drop out of high school, and spread her genetic traits all across Dougal County.  This first squid, known only to genealogists as Mammy, would give birth to countless offspring that would set loose an infestation of mud squids in the North Georgia Mountains.

 

Mammy, Ga Ga Pee Pap, and Ruby Jean Cuyler

The alpha male of Mammy’s brood was the infamous Ga Ga Pee Pap “12 Gun” Cuyler.  A bank-robber-slash-aggressive-sexual-predator by trade, he was legendary for “getting them again” and had even trained bees to do his evil bidding.  Ga Ga’s wild antics drove him to rob and steal from anything with a pulse, repeating “I got you again,” like a religious mantra.  He would go on to have a strained marriage to his cousin/sister Ruby Jean Cuyler, a former-slave-slash-aggressive-sexual-predator.  Their coupling would produce the next and perhaps most famous breed of mud squids, but Ga Ga Pee Pap left the family to pursue new opportunities in getting them again.  Ruby Jean was left to raise-slash-flush the next generation of Cuylers…

THE SQUID BOOMERS: 

Many more squid were birthed.  Most were eaten, or died on a mythical strip of road known as the Cuyler Killer Curve (one of Dougal County’s major landmarks).  The only squid brave-slash-dumb enough to carry on the family name would be the raging alcohol-fueled sumbitch known as Early Cuyler, the Booty Hunter himself.  Early would find his calling as an artist, destroying vehicles, property, and those closest to him in apocalyptic displays of the existentuational turmoil raging within his own spiritual identinality.  He’s done hard time, inks on his territory, and brews his own Party Liquor.  Early is the present patriarch of the Cuyler Clan, though challenges to his leadership and manhood remain at large, including threats of aliens, corrupt corporate schemes, and younger squids whose badassery may outstrip his own.

Out of Early’s brethren, only a few are known to have survived, much less thrive.  And of those, only the pot-and-meth-dealing prostitute-slash-hairstylist Lil survived the Cuyler lifestyle.  For the most part, Lil escapes much of Early’s wrath by maintaining a near-constant state of drugged unconsciousness, but like all white trash, her various chemical dependencies and sexual diseases bear no hindrance on her ability to produce litters upon litters of crack-addicted young.

The mortality rate of Early and Lil’s siblings was higher than Early and Lil.  Cousin/brother Shannon was a seemingly valued member of the family until the Cuylers went underground for three years to escape Y2K.  With few provisions, Early Cuyler had to resort to eating cousin Shannon.  The cause of death was ruled as a deep-frying, and Early was kind enough not to share any of the cousin-meat.

But there were worse fates than what befell Shannon.  Cousin Derwood is the prime example.  Slightly smarter than his siblings, Derwood escaped the squids’ natural habitat of Dougal County and took refuge in urban society.  He married a drunken manipulative Chalkie and birthed a pair of ungrateful and modernized douchesquids.  He disguises himself as a human, speaks in a civilized tone, and feels genuine pity for the rest of the Cuylers.  The poor bastard.

THE MILLENNIAL SQUIDS:

Loving Chalkies runs in the Cuyler family, and even Early himself fell victim to their pasty tasty forbidden fruit.  Thusly, Early begat a son, whom he named Russell-Jesse-James-Kenny-the-Gambler-Rogers-#3-The-Intimidator-Dale-Earnhardt-Kenny-the-Gambler-Rogers-America’s-Number-One-Cuyler.  Rusty grew into an awkward and ignorant young squid with a love of books that cost him his sanity and a passion for guitar that nearly cost him his soul.  And perhaps most important of all, Rusty is the breadwinner of the Cuyler family, helping Early to benefit from his own inability to provide basic living conditions for a minor.

Unbeknownst to most of the Cuylers, Rusty had a brother.  Known only as Bug, he was accidentally flushed down a toilet by Ruby Jean.  And while Rusty spent his days watching Patrick Swayze flicks and failing to live up to his family’s backwards traditions, Bug found the time to go to medical school, become a doctor, and engineer a prosthetic arm to better fit into human society.  Bug steers clear of the Cuylers, though he saved Granny’s life at one time.

The youngest—and perhaps greatest—member of the Cuyler clan is Herschel-Walker-Cuyler-Them-Dawgs-Is-Hell-Don’t-They, who was dubbed by Early himself to be the greatest Gator Hater of them all.  Herschel was born amongst one of Lil’s clutches of crack-addled young.  But while the others were weak and perished, Herschel excelled in drinking, shooting, criminal activity, and a general absence of empathy for anyone or anything.  Herschel is perhaps the perfect example of the Appalachian Mud Squid, and he abandoned the rest of the Cuylers to pursue a life of wandering hardcore redneckery.  Will he ever return?  Who knows.

If you’d like to learn more about the Cuyler Clan and the scores of dead fetuses left in the wake of their evolution, head to Amazon.com and purchase their extensive DVD collection.  As a Georgian and a connoisseur of hillbilly society, I highly recommend it.  And while you’re at Amazon, it really wouldn’t hurt to grab a copy of A Town Called Suckhole.  Hell, grab a dozen.

 

REDNECK MASTERPIECE THEATER! Episode 1: The Dancing Outlaw

Welcome to the first installment of Redneck Masterpiece Theater, where I, David W Barbee, will usher you through the mangy wilderness of redneck culture.  We’ll see the sights and hear the stories.  We’ll laugh at the jokes and weep for the human gene pool.  And to start, we’re starting with a modern day outlaw.  Those of you who have read my new book (A Town Called Suckhole) will know that a character therein is named after Jesco White.

Jesco is a hard-drinking, gas-sniffing, pot-smoking, tatted-up hillbilly tap dancer from West Virginia.  In the eighties PBS did a special on him and his family, the Whites.  The father, D Ray, created a totally new style of tap dancing and taught his sons how to do it.  They went on tour and had success, but Jesco is the only one still clicking and picking.  His dad and most of his brothers were killed by various forms of gunplay.  That’s right.  Shot.  Like some Wild West shit.  So suffice it to say Jesco’s had a weird and tough life.  It’s only natural that he’s gone a little crazy over the years.  Here he is in the second documentary made about him, The Dancing Outlaw, giving his opinion on his wife’s cooking:

Through the power of sniffing lighter fluid and gasoline, Jesco had other great thoughts about life, love, and human society.  While talking to Jesco, the conversation might drift from the Rapture to dinosaurs in the Congo to millions of Hitlers to terrorists to Vietnamese tests for STDs.  It’s legally crazy, but it’s also hilarious.  As Jesco has said, “Anybody will say anything under the influence of madness.”

I’ve met people with brain damage, and from my experiences they’re a lot more fun to be around than you’d think.  When your brain doesn’t function normally, you don’t take all of life’s bullshit so seriously.  Here’s Jesco (and his sister Mamie) explaining how part of his brain is like cigarette ash and how he enjoys getting “fucked up plumb out the frame” still to this day.  It’s from the latest doc on Jesco and the White family, The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia.

So Jesco White’s a crazy motherfucker.  But at least he’s enjoying his life (at least, he enjoys the times when being crazy is fun and games–the man’s got problems just like everybody else).  He’s a cult legend and he still gets to dance.  He’s part Elvis Presley, part Charles Manson, and he tap dances on picnic tables while Hank Williams III plays guitar and sings.

Jesco White is perhaps my favorite redneck of all time, and that’s why I named a character in my book after him.  And if you’re reading this, Jesco, just say the word and I’ll send you a copy of my book and some of my wife’s kick-ass fried eggs.

OUT NOW! Amazing Stories of the Flying Spaghetti Monster!

Eraserhead Press has just released “Amazing Stories of the Flying Spaghetti Monster,” an anthology of weird tales including my own story “Grumpy Old Gods.”  It’s about The Flying Spaghetti Monster and Cthulu living next door to one another in a cosmic suburb.  Here’s more…

On the seventh day, the Flying Spaghetti Monster said, “Read me, for I am good.”

In Amazing Stories, the Flying Spaghetti Monster goes on trial to earn his godhood among a council of deities that includes Jehovah, the Buddha, Ganesh, Cthulhu, and Charlie Sheen. He is interviewed for an exclusive episode of the celebrity talk show In the Monster’s Studio to discuss his relationship with Godzilla and other famous monsters. He rears his head at an archeological dig in a desert wasteland and dines with a horde of food demons in Hell. He rescues pirates, authors, and prisoners from the cold hand of death while banishing children to suffering and starvation. He is a just god, but only if you compliment his vodka sauce.

Like an all-spaghetti evening of Adult Swim, Amazing Stories of the Flying Spaghetti Monster will show you the many realms of His Noodly Appendage. Learn of those who worship him and the lives he touches in distant, mysterious ways.

Enjoy with Italian food and a side of Darwinism.

Featuring stories by John Skipp, Stephen Graham Jones, Kate Bernheimer, S.G. Browne, Mykle Hansen, Cody Goodfellow, Kevin L. Donihe, Bradley Sands, Kelli Owen, Jeffrey Thomas, Andersen Prunty, Bruce Taylor, David W. Barbee, Marc Levinthal, J. David Osborne, Poncho Peligroso, Kirk Jones, Steve Lowe, Kirsten Alene, Jess Gulbranson, Len Kuntz, Edmund Colell, and Adam Bolivar. Also featuring an illustration by Gwar lead singer Dave Brockie.

WOW!  That’s a lot of awesome writers.  Get your copy today at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Amazing-Stories-Flying-Spaghetti-Monster/dp/1936383977/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1318365338&sr=8-1