Oscar Legbo is the 7-time winner of the Tour de Saucisse-Dommages, but lately he's been under stress. Having survived the Ebola virus and witnessed the death of his coach in the same 365-day period, he must now withstand the taunts and insults of riders who don't understand his two all-encompassing motivations for living... ... the sharing of Agape Love and the protection of bugs everywhere.
Thirteen years after a police officer searching a suspected child molester's home spilled a vial of silver pollen, America is still struggling with how to recognize its sentient fruit population. Charles is just a normal guy working at a doughnut shop until an apple and a banana shoot each other in a mafia dispute, leaving a briefcase full of foreign currency and a specimen bucket at the corner booth. When Charles turns the wiseguys into doughnuts and steals their luggage, hoping for a better life for himself and his kiwi fruit girlfriend, he finds himself in the middle of a mafia war. As his girlfriend travels the DC metro area, selling off the contents of the bucket, Charles finds he is the target of a seasoned hit-tomato, who happens to be the biggest Michael Jackson fan who ever lived.
Meet Manny. He's your average shut-in with a penchant for late night television and looting local fountains for coins. With eight locks on his door and newspapers covering his windows, he's a more than a bit paranoid, too. His wasn't a great life, but it was comfortable-at least it was until the morning he awoke with an egg between his legs. But what might have been a curse becomes a charm as this unlikely event leads him to all night diner, where he finds inedible pie, undrinkable coffee, and the girl of his dreams. But can this unexpected chance at love survive after the egg cracks and time itself turns against him, dead-set on rerouting history and putting a shovel to the face of the one person who could bring real and lasting change to Manny's world?
A beautifully observed narrative of American sport: character, grit, tragedy, unremarked heroism, and, always, the illuminating story behind the story. As a columnist for Time magazine, among many other publications, Tom Callahan witnessed an extraordinary number of defining moments in American sport across four decades. He takes us from Roberto Clemente clinching his 3,000th, and final, regular-season hit in Pittsburgh; to ringside for the Muhammad Ali–George Foreman fight in Zaire; and to Arthur Ashe announcing, at a news conference, that he’d tested positive for HIV. There are also little-known private moments: Joe Morgan whispering thank you to a virtually blind Jackie Robinson on the field at the 1972 World Series, or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar saying he was more interested in being a good man than in being the greatest basketball player. Brimming with colorful vignettes and enlivened by Callahan’s eye for detail, Gods at Play offers surprising portraits of the most celebrated names in sports. Roger Rosenblatt calls Callahan “the most complete sportswriter in America. He knows the most and writes the best."
Tony dreads the idea of going to his wife's company dinner party in Eagle Hills; the new upper-middleclass gated community that just popped up outside of Scottsdale, AZ. He hates these Southwestern-style planned suburban neighborhoods. All of the streets look the same. All of the houses look the same. All of the people look the same. Because everything in Eagle Hills looks exactly the same, Tony has trouble finding the dinner party. He quickly becomes lost in the sea of red tile roofs. The streets seem to go on forever. The addresses don't seem to make any sense. After hours of navigating the suburban labyrinth, Tony discovers that there is something terribly wrong with the Eagle Hills gated community. There is something unnatural about the houses around him. There is something inhuman about the people staring at him through the windows. And no matter how far he drives, he can't seem to find his way out. Ultra Fuckers is a work of absurd suburban horror in the tradition of Mellick's previous short novel, The Menstruating Mall.
Jack Orange is a twentysomething guy who works at a place called The Tent packing dirt in boxes and shipping them off to exotic, unheard of locales. He thinks about his girlfriend, Gina Black, and the ring he hopes to surprise her with. But when he returns home one day, Gina isn't there. He receives a strange call from a man who sounds likes he is smiling-- Mr. Grin. He says he has Gina. He gives Jack twenty-four hours to find her--Publisher's description.
"...One snowy Christmas Eve, while visiting the Fry family, Sausagey Santa is attacked by an evil force that is driven to destroy Christmas forever. ...Santa calls upon Matthew Fry and his wife, Decapitron (a brutish warrior woman with a strange Christmas fetish and a candy cane sword), to help get it back and save Christmas for everyone."--Back cover.
Steve is madly in love with his eccentric girlfriend, Stacy. Unfortunately, their sex life has been suffering as of late, because Steve is worried about the odd noises that have been coming from Stacy's pubic region. She says that her vagina is haunted. She doesn't think it's that big of a deal. Steve, on the other hand, completely disagrees. When a living corpse climbs out of her during an awkward night of sex, Stacy learns that her vagina is actually a doorway to another world. She persuades Steve to climb inside of her to explore this strange new place. But once inside, Steve finds it difficult to return... especially once he meets an oddly attractive woman named Fig, who lives within the lonely haunted world between Stacy's legs.
The sports world according to Michael Rapaport—actor, Top 50 podcaster, award-winning film maker, and sports fanatic—from the greatest and downright worst athletes, players, teams, and jerseys, but minus statistics, analytics, or anything else that isn’t pure hustle in this “hell of a book” (Shaquille O'Neal). In 1979, nine-year-old Michael Rapaport decided he was going to do whatever it took to be a pro baller. He practiced and practiced, but by the time he was fifteen, he realized there was no place for a slow, white Jewish kid in the NBA. So, he found another way to channel his obsession with sports: talking trash. In the “crazy, passionate, funny and intense” (Colin Cowherd) This Book Has Balls, Rapaport uses his signature smack-talk style and in-your-face humor to discuss everything from why LeBron will never be like Mike, that Tiger needs the ladies to get his golf game back, and how he once thought Mary Lou Retton was his true love. And, of course, why next year will be the year the New York Knicks win the championship. This book is a series of rants—some controversial, some affectionate, but all incredibly hilarious. “Something is wrong with Michael Rapaport but that’s what makes him right,” (Charlamagne tha God).
