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Jay Spencer Green - Jay Spencer Green

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179 pages

English

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A dystopian comedy with a difference. "Makes the Hunger Games look like Hungry Hippos. Makes 50 Shades of Grey look like Polyanna." The Bloomfield Review says, "Like an obnoxious spy-comedy seen through the eyes of a filthy drunk ... The language can be absurdly, almost heroically obscene." The TBR Pile says, "Bonkers. Weird. Surreal. Satirical. Politically incorrect. Clever. Absurd. Witty. Disgusting." It's debauched, depraved, delirious, delightful. Winner of the 2015 Lord of the Book Covers award.Joe Chambers is a CIA operative working in Dublin. Assigned to an agency-fronted publishing house, his problems include, but are not limited to, errant MI6 agents, insane profit-making schemes, a Francoist dwarf, and a tapeworm named Steve. He is an utterly reprehensible character, fond of submerging his head in a sink-full of whiskey and fantasising about brutally murdering irritating teenagers. He is, in other words, the perfect guide to this bizarre and repulsive journey into Dublin's gutters.Jay Spencer Green presents a twisted and exaggerated, but wholly recognisable vision of Dublin. A place of suicide bombings, mass canine culling in the Phoenix Park, "cheap Moore Street socks (35 euros for 6 pairs)", online divorce, and enough red tape and bureaucracy to drive a man to murder. A place where "cat's cheese salad" and a dubious pork/human hybrid meat share the menu. It is a Dublin of no redemption. The whole book is a dig at a country that lost the run of itself in the good times, and just lost itself in the bad.A raucous mix of double crosses, brothels, triple crosses, and cocktail recipes, Breakfast at Cannibal Joe's is a dark, twisted, and picaresque tale that fans of Kurt Vonnegut, Hunter S. Thompson, and Joseph Heller will love.

Informations

Publié par	Jay Spencer Green
Date de parution	28 octobre 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783018338
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Contents

Dedication
The End
The Beginning. No. 75: The Trotsky Surprise
No. 54: The Road to Basra
No. 22: The JFK
No. 62: The Cuban Invader
No. 25: The March on Moscow
No. 26: The Retreat from Moscow
No. 121: The Syriza Sling
No. 61: Profumo Punch
No. 70: The Vatican Banker
No. 103: The Litvinenko Stinger
No. 88: The Yeltsin Sunset
No. 68: Oliver's Army
No. 66: The 1066
No. 76: The Desert Shield
No. 118: The Christopher Hitchens
No. 119: The Peter Hitchens
No. 91: The Costa Concordia
No. 43: The Cold War Breeze
No. 13: The Rainbow Warrior
No. 8: The Edward Snowden
No. 30: The Berlusconi
No. 10: The Georgi Markov
No. 7: The Cristiano Ronaldo
No. 113: The WTF?!
No. 49: The Afghan Hound
No. 77: The Dubya
No. 27: The Pinochet Slammer
No. 112:American Spy: My Secret History in the CIA, Watergate, and Beyond, by E. Howard Hunt
No. 111: The Rimington Fizz
No. 31: The Juan Carlos
No. 133:The Crème de la Mare, aka the Rebekah Brooks
A Turnip for the Books
Acknowledgments
Further reading

BREAKFAST AT CANNIBAL JOE’S

by

Jay Spencer Green

Praise for Jay Spencer Green

“Irrepressibly funny, savagely indignant, and immensely readable.”
Olibhéir Ó Fearraigh, writer and broadcaster

“Funny, shocking. Demands to be read.”
Arthur Smith, comedian, writer, and broadcaster

“I first encountered Jay Spencer Green’s inimitable voice on his blog and became an immediate fan. His was the pitch of screamingly funny we all wanted to reach. He’s read everything and has byways in his mind you just want to linger in and poke around, watching his neurons spark. His particular blend of the philosophical and the absurd is wholly original, and his masterful narrative skill is strong enough to bind the deliciously anarchic and farcical elements of his stories into a rollicking whole. He writes, we delight. He’s the real deal. He also happens to be a thoroughly lovely man.”
Sami Zahringer, columnist, blogger, breeder of domestic long-haired Americans.

“Any time I read Jay’s work I expect my funny bone to be taken on a trip in a fast car that is then driven off a cliff.”
Donagh Brennan, editor, Irish Left Review

“Too clever by half. Too funny by three and five-eighths.”
Niamh Greene , author, The Secret Diary of a Demented Housewife, Coco’s Secret, Letters to a Love Rat, Rules for a Perfect Life (Penguin)

“A higgledy-piggledy hodge-podge of style which makes Swiftian use of Burroughs and Burroughsian use of Vonnegut. Set in an archetypal dystopia that may never have existed … or will it? A Catcher in the Rye for the Wi-Fi generation.”
Carlton B. Morgan, novelist, cartoonist, musician

“Savagely funny and deftly anarchic, Jay Spencer Green’s writing is as exquisite as it is deliciously dangerous.”
Lisa McInerney , author, The Glorious Heresies (John Murray)
“A number of things struck me while I was reading Jay Green’s book, but I was laughing so hard I only felt the pain once I’d finished.”
Richard McAleavey , blogger, Cunning Hired Knaves

“This book is a fat man standing on an air bed in a pool of over-ripe peaches.”
John Hyatt , author of Navigating the Terror (Ellipsis), artist, lead singer of the Three Johns, Renaissance man, quiet genius

“Witty, acerbic, and wired to words.”
William Wall, author, This is the Country, Ghost Estate, No Paradiso

“Jay Spencer Green is the most exciting voice to pretend to come out of Ireland since the leprechaun in Leprechaun.”
Oliver Jones , animation rigging supervisor, Laika Inc. ( The Corpse Bride, Boxtrolls, Coraline, Paranorman, Fantastic Mr. Fox )

“I pride myself on having read Jay Green’s work without being physically sick.”
Caitriona Lally, author, Eggshells (Liberties Press)

“As they say round our way, that guy knows how to hold a pen.”
Lorcan McGrane , comedian and writer, Monaghan Arts Network

“I was there at the start of Jay Green’s writing career, and I hope I’m there at the end.”
Niall Quinn , broadcaster, columnist, Republic of Ireland soccer legend

“The comic writing of Jay Spencer Green always makes me laugh out loud.”
Karl Whitney, author, Hidden City: Adventures and Explorations in Dublin (Penguin)

“Scathing, scabrous, scatalogical, scary.”
Daphne Wayne-Bough , blogger and bonne vivante

Copyright © 2015 by Jay Spencer Green

The right of Jay Spencer Green to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the purchaser.

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real places, products, or persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For Mom and Dad
who are without blame for the contents

BREAKFAST AT CANNIBAL JOE’S

There is no document of civilization which is not at the same time a document of barbarism.

Walter Benjamin

If at first you don’t succeed, fuck it.
Lenny the Bruce

THE END

How long have I been in the dark? Days? Could be longer. I can’t move a muscle and it feels like there’s an anvil on my chest. Barely breathe. Something’s broken.

Me.

Another bomb? Is that it? The stench of sweat, of death. The wetness of blood.

Dust, dirt in my mouth.

Wait. Voices. Mumbling and scrabbling above me. I’m down here!

Piece it together. The party at the ambassador’s residence. The crucifix. The hooker. I showed her how to masturbate like an Iranian.

Ronald Reagan. He’s involved in all this.

Ronald Reagan. Ronald Reagan. Ronald Reagan. His lungs are in a hotel room in Thailand.

Focus, Dammit!

Bovril is the German word for bolt gun.

Chambers. My name is Chambers.

My wrists are stuck. What was in that Scotch?

Sounds like sniggering. Down HERE you bastards!

There is a tapeworm. His name is Steve. He is the high priest of a Wiccan coven at a U.S. Army base. He is fucking my wife.

Was fucking. He’s dead now. Stone ground brown bread. What’s my wife’s name?

Come on! I’m here!

Sinéad? That sounds right. Sinéad.

No. Not Sinéad.

Get. A. Grip!

My legs are laughing at me. I don’t even know what that means. I must be concussed.

It mussion be concussion.

They’re getting closer.

Come on, you bastards. Here I am!

I’m waiting for you!

Wearing a pedometer will tell you precisely how many fucking miles you’ve walked around Paris.

A cool dad never eats fruit.

They’re nearly here. Thank Christ for that.

Over here! Come and get me! Come on, you bastards. Come. ON!

They’re here. They’re here. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

THE BEGINNING

No. 75
The Trotsky Surprise
6 oz. Mexican Tequila
6 oz. Russian Vodka
No ice
Serve unexpectedly from behind

I had COITUS on the phone today. Paula Layton, Chief of International Trade (United States). Only briefly, mind you. She doesn’t go in for foreplay.
She was ringing to tell me that head office had looked benignly on Niamh Collins’s teleworking proposal. An assistant editor in the Political and Economic Science database, Niamh lives out in the wilds beyond Lucan and spends close to four hours a day traveling to and from the office, which makes it difficult—and expensive—to mind her two young kids properly. What if, she inquired, she was to work from home? The job is perfectly made for it: there’s no face time with the public, all communication is done via email, and any meetings can be held using conference calls. She had the whole thing worked out. Documentation, sample teleworking contract, the lot. On the plus side for the company, there’d be reduced heating, lighting, and electricity bills, she could use her own computer (with appropriate antivirus software), and the research shows that teleworking leads to reduced turnover of staff. She’d done her homework. Graduates have been coming to us to receive training before jumping ship for one of the better-paying multinationals down the road in Sandyford that promised them career advancement, hot meals, and the kind of half-decent wage that spoilt Southside dimwits find hard to refuse. Niamh had the sense to point out how teleworking would facilitate any staff member thinking about starting a family, not only by giving them more time at home but also by enabling them to move out of Dublin to places where the crap wage we paid them could stretch to things like diapers, food, and heating. She made a pretty good case. And New York is always on my back to get the bills down.
“We’ve done the math here, Joe, had the accountants run through Niamh’s proposal, and we’d like you to get this up and running as soon as you can.”
I hid my surprise behind clenched teeth. Whetstone usually has the turning circle of a beached whale.
“Encourage as many of your staff as possible to take up the option. If you can clear out a couple of the floors in the building, we’ll be able to sublet them and recoup some of the outlay from the original lease.”
“Sure.”
“I’m amazed you never thought of this option sooner. You’re our man on the ground there, Joe. We need you to spot these possibilities, the potential to cut costs, increase productivity. We aren’t paying you to sit on your ass all day.”
Jeez, cut me some slack, Jack. For one thing, that’s exactl