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Oops, I Did it Again

Are you good and stoked for some more rude, crude semi-literate, nearly-obliterated dudes to read you a bad-night story? Too bad, they're going to anyway.

And who, you may ask, have we secured to unsettle you with tales of sex, violence and unnatural appetites? Well, because we're some slow on the uptake motherfuckers over here at N@B, we failed to learn our lesson the first time with brother Dan O'Shea (his first visit chronicled above - l-r Matthew McBride, Jonathan Woods, me, Chris La Tray, Dan, Scott Phillips -panther pose- and Cameron Ashley). I went and inebriatedly invited his Old School ass back for another notch on his arrest record. Seems his debut novel is going to drop like an object compelled by gravity any day now, and I got the terrible impulse to celebrate that fact.

Debut? But, I thought I'd read that crotch-pot before. You have, or you should have. Perhaps you recall his tale of meth-heads knocking over a Girl-Scout stand, Thin Mints in Noir at the Bar (Vol. 1), or you caught him reading live his tale of a man deciding to crash his car in hopes that it may kill his not-strapped- in wife in the passenger seat on absolutely the final trip to Wal-Mart he can haul her morbidly-obese ass on (these stories and more are also collected in his er, collection Old School, btw). So, yeah, perhaps now, you're realizing the magnitude of our mistake. I understand Dan will be dressed pretty, too.

And, and, and - who else? Sorry, we brought back the Hornorable John Hornor Jacobs (or His Horniness, as he likes to be called). Last time he was here, his debut novel Southern Gods hadn't even been released yet (let alone short-listed for a Stoker Award), or his second novel, This Dark Earth, or his short story collection, Fierce as the Grave, or the first installment in his supernatural YA (really, you're gonna let your kids read this guy?) trilogy The Twelve-Fingered Boy (insert Sleepers/Freddie Got Fingered mash-up joke here). And the first book in his next trilogy The Incorruptibles certainly hadn't sold yet. Nope, back then he was just some dude trying to help Steve Weddle not embarrass himself with Needle Magazine. Yup, I think I'll officially claim credit for all of his success.

Here's a picture from that night, in case you forgotted (l-r back-row Matthew McBride, John, me, Fred Venturini, front-row Frank Bill, Aaron Michael Morales, Scott Phillips, Matt Kindt, David Cirillo). Just in case that memorable night wasn't entirely John's fault, we're bringing him back.... so wear protection.

But that's not all, is that ever all? No, we've got some new blood to spill in the persons of Tawny Leech and J. Christopher Dupuy. They've been forewarned, fore-armed, twelve-fingered and dipped 'n chipped. The results are up to them.

SO??? BE THERE, MAY 4, 7pm Meshuggah Cafe... or listen to the live broadcast on a police-scanner near you.

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