Tuckford Bunny Press
© 2009-2019 William Frank | Tuckford Bunny Press |  Selden, NY  |  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication or website may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
A   fresh   and   timely   Satanic   masterpiece   for   today’s   free-thinking,   forward-facing   misery   enthusiast, this   book-length   poem   in   Rhyme   Royal   is   a   musical,   vortical   and   colorectal   romp,   with   all   the wonderful    temerity    that    makes    us    human.    Follow    Slumgullion    as    he    recounts    an    unfortunate temptation   gone   deliciously   awful   and,   in   a   lyrical   tragicomedy,   refutes   the   confusing   theodicy   that underpins   our   hapless   lives.   The   book   is   expecially   exciting   for   the   faint   of   heart   and   suburbanites so pick up a diabolic copy today! Below is the first few pages excerpted from the book,,,                                                                            a Wickedly delicious it    out of a black and horrid gale finishing fat the little bit,    licking the bone until it's pale    of what's scrummy in travail, you've quite surprised me, I confess. I'm Slumgullion. Forgive the mess. But while you're here, why not sit    and listen to the tale of this bone and savor it    out of a black and horrid gale?    It's jovial, if somewhat stale, but dolts, disasters, folderol, I have found, don’t get old. When I was in the world just lollystrolling    about the easy foolishness of suffering, attentive, but not so much patrolling,    fanning in my great, God-Given wings    the attar sweet, the hopelessness of things, I saw a man against a tree and leering which beguiled me to take the sheep for shearing. I know the awful shape of things to come.    I am beyond all mercy and salvation. I am in the painful shadow of that Kingdom    where the Jewel Wasp stings and life goes on    through the thirst and gnawing of damnation and even though I was one of many men I’ve no compunction now tormenting them for I have known them all, and quite enough,    the selfish, belligerent idiots who go heads up their ass though overstuffed    and guard from there a worldview    that swells their balls until they shoot and you get sperm accidents, murder, adultery, addiction, vanity, the sob story. As expected, he wasn’t much of a prize:    short, stupid, boring, a jerk-off, common in every way that common dies    not even worth the stamp or salvage cost    for, clearly, he was already lost to some other simple, pointless devil, the imbeciles they take at Junior level….

Slumgullion

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$8.00, 36 pages
Tuckford Bunny Press
© 2009-2019 William Frank | Tuckford Bunny Press |  Selden, NY  |  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication or website may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Slumgullion A fresh and timely Satanic masterpiece for today’s free-thinking, forward- facing misery enthusiast, this book-length poem in Rhyme Royal is a musical, vortical and colorectal romp, with all the wonderful temerity that makes us human. Follow Slumgullion as he recounts an unfortunate temptation gone deliciously awful and, in a lyrical tragicomedy, refutes the confusing theodicy that underpins our hapless lives. The book is expecially exciting for the faint of heart and suburbanites so pick up a diabolic copy today! Below is the first few pages excerpted from the book,,,                                                 a Wickedly delicious it    out of a black and horrid gale finishing fat the little bit,    licking the bone until it's pale    of what's scrummy in travail, you've quite surprised me, I confess. I'm Slumgullion. Forgive the mess. But while you're here, why not sit    and listen to the tale of this bone and savor it    out of a black and horrid gale?    It's jovial, if somewhat stale, but dolts, disasters, folderol, I have found, don’t get old. When I was in the world just lollystrolling    about the easy foolishness of suffering, attentive, but not so much patrolling,    fanning in my great, God-Given wings    the attar sweet, the hopelessness of things, I saw a man against a tree and leering which beguiled me to take the sheep for shearing. I know the awful shape of things to come.    I am beyond all mercy and salvation. I am in the painful shadow of that Kingdom    where the Jewel Wasp stings and life goes on    through the thirst and gnawing of damnation and even though I was one of many men I’ve no compunction now tormenting them for I have known them all, and quite enough,    the selfish, belligerent idiots who go heads up their ass though overstuffed    and guard from there a worldview    that swells their balls until they shoot and you get sperm accidents, murder, adultery, addiction, vanity, the sob story. As expected, he wasn’t much of a prize:    short, stupid, boring, a jerk-off, common in every way that common dies    not even worth the stamp or salvage cost    for, clearly, he was already lost to some other simple, pointless devil, the imbeciles they take at Junior level….
Buy Now Buy Now
$8.00, 36 pages