Bury the children in the yard (Andersen Prunty)

Dear Andersen Prunty, recently you and I began to officially court each other. I cannot say that all of our dates have been positive, but they have all been memorable. At first I was hesitant. I mix well with the strange, but your genre, Bizarro Fiction, is still fairly new to the recognized literature scene as anything more than inappropriate.

At first, I didn’t want to fully embrace you, but was bothered by the possibility of you passing me by.. Many times I have picked up The Beard and considered perusing it… Some how, you talked me into lowering my guard. Before I knew it you were poking me in my head orifices with your dirty body parts. I was disturbed. Then I was into it. then I was disturbed again.
More specifically: Billed as a collection of Horror stories, your work [Bury the children in the yard] was not appropriately labeled. Horror it was not, colorful and frequently brilliant, and disturbingly “spermy” at some points? All of the above are true of it.

You presented this to me semi-nude, dripping of milk, with one foot firmly planted in the a motherhood disturbing erotic sensationalism camp. The other foot was precariously lodged in the realm of speculative fiction. Six short stories and one novella.. Each story incrementally better and different, and the novella making me cringe. Your portions gave me mixed reactions.

  1. You held my hand during “Library of Trespass”. It was good, but seemed out of place. It felt as if it should have been one of many interconnected stories in a single volume, not a standalone.
  2. - You fed me sweats and said nice things to me. “Music from the Slaughterhouse” made me a mouth breather, eyes moving from page to page. I hate you for not having more here. I felt it was excellent, and for that I hate you, but I appreciate you as only a conundrum can be appreciated.
  3. - You let me smell a steak at dinner, before replacing it with a green salad. You clearly knew I was a meatatarian and knew that you were doing me wrong.. “Butterfly in Ice” and “The Spot” were conceptually good, but I found their endings abrupt or incomplete. I was not particularly a fan of these as the abruptness took away from other wise enjoyed items..
     
  4. You caressed my knee, You stuck it in me by surprise, lube free, and smacked me on the back of the head with a roll of twenty dollar bills while calling me a clown-whore. The final story, a novella called “Bury the children in the yard”… I had no idea this was coming. I have no idea what spawned this thought process, drove you to write it, or approved it for print. This was disturbing, disgusting, hilarious, well written, and rough as fuck.
  5. As we drove to your home for a nightcap and some cuddling. “Laundrymen” and “Warm House” were both very enjoyable for opposing reasons. No other commentary available.

All in all, some spit shine could have made this more pleasing to the individual reader as it was unpolished in many areas. You could have also warned me you were going to be so rough, the title story was drastically different in topic, presentation, and length.. You were kind not to stick me with the dinner bill.


Our courting is complete and I am now your semi-willing clown-whore booty call. stop by as you please, leave some cash on the table with my dignity.

~~

Others who are going to read this should be aware that the novella is “the Anti-50-shades”.. this is not for all housewives and teenagers sneaking a peak at books Oprah has approved of.

This is something you would find on a coffee table in Blue Velvet, next to an ear, in a world where Oprah doesn’t exist. Weak of stomach and easily vomitous folks should refrain from reading. The short stories however are accessible to a far greater number of readers.

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