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covered in sharpie and suing for peace by adam johnson

We are taking pre-orders and providing a $5 discount coupon until 7/22/23 for this amazing book!

adam johnson is the best damn author going these days and we are super happy to be publishing his book.

This book will be hardcover, with super sick artwork done by the amazing artist Yoko Molotov Jr.

A poem that weaves through insanity and yes, more Larson. If you know his stuff, this book is a must have.

Check it out and check out with it.

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FREAK BUCK by Alexi Zeren

Comic Anthology curated by Alexi Zeren featuring the following artists: Marti, Christopher Revels, Gary Stevens, Gregory Jacobsen, Corrine Halbert, Cemre Eraslan, Erik Lundorf, Steven Arnold, Jake Pyne, Jason Hodges, Victor Cayro, Karmichael Jones, Abraham Diaz, Vicky Healy, Glenn George Salazar, Michael Scott Younger III, Sylvain Labourayre, Gunnar Lundqvist, Harry Nordlinger, Josh Bayer, Marco Testa, Dylan Languell, Josh Simmons, Lars Hallgren, LONGMONT POTION CASTLE (interview), Luis Roldan Torquemada, Alexi Zeren, Arden Love, Alexis Rose, Igor Hofbauer, Emily V. Brown, David Kennedy, Heather Bryant and Jasper Jubenvill.

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Conch Fritters

     Key Largo is a place where you can remain anonymous. There is opioid addiction and many of the horrors of street life.  I rented a shack with a boat dock to swim by with my children, naked, they swam in between pontoon boats and anchors, metal shards shot out of the water, fish swam amongst us in the diesel run-off. There were fish that I could not tell them their name because I was ignorant, but then again, who cares out here? We went for a canoe ride with broken yellow kayak paddles. Nothing was matching, but everything lined up here in total synchronicity.  Police on every highway, the radio played, “Son of a bitch, One more night, This can’t be me, Son of a bitch, If I can’t get clean, I’m gonna drink myself to death.” At the end of the line, 90 miles from Cuba, this didn’t feel like Amsterdam.  You can get a line on the water any way to access it, live in your house boat.  People from Connecticut take this drive every week, meeting the local croaker, coming back on 95 with a zip lock freezer bag of “blues” to distribute in my back yard, what a vacation. 

The place is not void of culture, Salt Life, the last resort.  I picked up a piece of metal that was stabbing  into my foot, it was a dime from 1956, it was paper thin.  I ate some raw meat, Dolphin, something dense, in a taco. I was asked if it should be blackened, seared, or fried, being from home I thought fried, it would taste best, but it was actually chicken, a rooster outside of where Ernest Hemingway wrote Farewell to Arms before someone convinced him to go to the Mayo Clinic in Idaho for Electro-Convulsive Therapy two weeks before his birthday when he offed himself with a shotgun. They killed that soul.  I read about 20 pages whilst beer-shitting in Key Largo. 

 The kids were outside screaming near the pool table on the porch. Once I got out there I looked at all the license plates that were nailed to the walls, about 20 of them from Pennsylvania, none from Connecticut. Whatever, Hemmingway, from Cuba to Idaho, what a transition. I ate the chicken tacos dry. 

     The children romped and played in the filth.  What a country. I never knew this madness was going on in the middle of winter while I was up there in Connecticut shoveling snow. My shit was red as opposed to its usual brown. I suppose it is all the fried food and those best Bloody Mary’s.

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Fur Hammer

We gathered on Mother’s Day. There was nothing to talk about. After the weather and Netflix I mentioned the feral cat I had been feeding. That narcissistic cat wasn’t much, although a young racoon had been coming by at 10 pm most nights and cleaning up the bowl of cheap cat food. I took to looking at it through the sliding glass door. I would get down face to face with it at first. Then I would slide the glass door open a bit and that scared it a little. Soon we became friends and I went to the extent of putting racoon calls into YouTube on my phone and inviting him over for nightly dinner. I’d stick my hand out there and his wet little nose would sniffle me. He’d take Cheetos, over and over, with his cute little hands. That cat would sit ten feet away, gawking like an idiot…

     My mother said, “Did you see the forum? Someone just got bit by a racoon earlier today.  The thing was under their car and it lashed out and snapped at them, it bit the neighbor. Your brother saw the EMTs go by and he asked them what the hell had happened. They said the racoon was jumping on the kids and everything.” 

     Father chimed in, “Yeah, I read on there that it got on the back of their dogs and bit em’, wouldn’t let go. The town’s new animal control officer cornered the thing in our yard, down near the swamp, she shot that bastard.” He says to my brother, “Have you seen the new officer they voted in? Cute blonde, and the way she got out her Glock, she really can handle that thing.” 

     I knew the forum, it was the hive of Karen. These people adored controversy. If it wasn’t a local teacher they were lynching it was some bullshit about the price of beef at the market. Everything was a conspiracy, a non-stop manic episode, lunacy. I knew all about these busybodies and I knew they were lying about that racoon. 

     The next two nights my friend didn’t come by… The cat sniffed the bowl, then walked away. He only likes the Rachael Ray stuff. I waited a few nights but he was a no show. I felt deeply saddened, and responsible, for my little buddy’s death. I acclimated him to trust the meanest of the forum. He was the only one who showed an ounce of love to me. 

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Totem of the Depraved by Nick Zedd

Almost a year ago Pig Roast Publishing was granted the honor of re-issuing Nick Zedd’s autobiography Totem of the Depraved. It was at this point that the voyage began. I had a 2.5 hour phone call with Nick, me in RI and him in Mexico City. We discussed everything from The Swans and his having been roommates with Michael Gira, to modern government conspiracies and living through the hell-scape of Covid. It was a great call and I’d say we really clicked. It was such a treat speaking to an icon like Nick, and we ended the call feeling optimistic about the re-issuing of his legendary book.

The publishing process was difficult, as one printer scammed us, and another seemed to sabotage the process (although I cannot prove this, it seemed they were offended by the content and made a great effort to ruin it and charge hundreds of dollars for ineffectual printing work and general fuckery on all levels.) We spent months and many sleepless nights working on formatting this book. It is a facsimile and since the photos scan at different resolutions, blah, blah, you get it, I hope. It was a rocky road! But it got done.

Nick was ill and sadly passed away on February 27, 2022. We were very sad and wish the book could have been delivered sooner, but such is life and death. He will be missed. Nick’s work is unprecedented and it is doubtful such an innovative force will ever come through the world again.

It is our sincere hope that you, the reader, can understand the content of this book, appreciate it, and read first-hand the story of Nick Zedd’s life he conveyed within.

We give you (once again) Totem of the Depraved by Nick Zedd

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Therapists Gone Wild by Jeff Schneider

THERAPISTS GONE WILD – Jonathan is a young mental health therapist, fresh from the ivory tower, who naively embarks on an eye-opening and destructive experience within a dysfunctional healthcare system. He navigates through many difficult situations, both personal and professional. A cold break-up with his girlfriend, coupled with difficult client sessions and a cynical supervisor, make matters worse for Jonathan. Trouble intensifies when one client, a professional criminal, exploits him. Through a series of tragic events, Jonathan ends up in a mental state of anhedonia and eventual psychosis, a “client” in the very system he once passionately believed in, that now traps him in a schizophrenic hell. The plot is a reflection on societal collapse, satirizing the blind faith that is so often placed in therapists and the health care system.

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The Pahrump Report by Lisa Carver

Hello folks. Want to let you know that we picked Thursday February 25, 2021 as the official release date for Lisa Carver’s amazing book THE PAHRUMP REPORT. Typically we’d be having a huge party and going on a book tour and all sorts of fun stuff, but the Coof got us down. Lisa is planning a move to Botswana soon. I am freezing my ass off in Rhode Island. Regardless, the book will be available and we will have to figure out a way to celebrate together!

Be good,


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GALLONS PER MINUTE by Jeff Schneider Recipe

“This is a very easy and no fail recipe for a yummy short stories collection.  It might take long to make, but it is quite good to read!” – Martha from Cleveland 

“For pairing, you can’t go wrong with a medium bodied Cotes du Rhone with Jeffrey’s book. Within the Rhone is a peppercorn and spice note that would go well with the spice of his short stories, both ending with a satin finish.”  – Udo Garten from Munich 

• • • •

6 ½ pounds ground David Foster Wallace

1 Raymond Carver

1 J.D. Salinger, chopped 

1 cup 1% Low-Fat roxanne gay

Gene Gregorits to taste

1 -2 cups dry Tao Lin OR Joseph Grantham if mixture is too spicy

2 tablespoons Chris Kraus reduction

2 tablespoons prepared Albert Camus

⅓ cup Ashleigh Bryant Phillips 

• • • •

Directions Instructions Checklist

 Step 1

Preheat brain to 98.6 degrees F (37 degrees C).

 Step 2

In a short Word Doc, knead the Foster Wallace until texture is soft and pliable. Combine Foster Wallace, Raymond Carver, J.D. Salinger, roxanne gay, and Tao Lin. Season sparingly with Gene Gregorits to taste (very spicy) and place in a 1 inch (2.54 cm) margin Word Doc, OR form into a pdf and send an e-mail to self to use later.

 Step 3

In a separate small Word Doc, combine the Chris Kraus, Albert Camus and Ashleigh Bryant Phillips. Mix well and pour evenly over the manuscript.

 Step 4

Send to press in Florida for 4 weeks.