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The 10-Items-or-Less Apocalypse
AVAILABLE IN HARDCOVER, PAPERBACK, AND KINDLE ON NOVEMBER 26TH!
Short Essays for the Short Time We Have Left
The 10-Items-or-Less Apocalypse is what happens when a stand-up comic raids a think tank and leaves behind only cardboard forts, goat landlords, and a gingerbread HOA lawsuit. This collection of essays is a high-speed collision between cultural critique and comedic chaos—where a shopping cart becomes a philosophical monument, a mouse stages a corporate coup, and a man who uses the very wrong but very right hair gel.
Each piece kicks off with a delightfully weird image and spirals into something unexpectedly sharp: a joke that turns into an insight, and an insight that hits like a wrench to the soul. Whether it’s the Beatles brainstorming in a writer’s room or an overpass-dwelling economist explaining late capitalism, the book thrives on rapid pivots, oddball metaphors, and format experiments that somehow make perfect sense.
Smart, silly, and sneakily profound, this is the kind of apocalypse you’ll want to read in one sitting—preferably while standing in the express lane, wondering if that guy really has only ten items.
Advance Praise for The 10-Items-or-Less Apocalypse:
“I entered a gas station bathroom with this book and emerged three hours later a changed man. Also, the raccoons had unionized.” — Dr. Thaddeus Blorp, Philosopher (self-certified)
“This book made me laugh so hard I forgot to beep items. A man walked out with a ham under each arm. I respect that.” — Cheryl, Cashier & Reluctant Witness to Late-Stage Capitalism
“I was promised a cookbook. This is not a cookbook. But I did eat part of it and now I understand irony.” — Günther, Confused Survivalist
“A searing indictment of modern society, wrapped in a tortilla of nonsense, deep-fried in existential dread, and served with a side of goat cheese litigation.” — Zelda McCracken, Former Attorney for the Gingerbread People
“I read this aloud to my ferrets. They now run a small but thriving Etsy shop.” — @DumpsterOracle42, Influencer/Shaman
“This book is why I no longer trust shopping carts, metaphors, or Tuesdays.” — Kevin, Just Kevin
Short Essays for the Short Time We Have Left
The 10-Items-or-Less Apocalypse is what happens when a stand-up comic raids a think tank and leaves behind only cardboard forts, goat landlords, and a gingerbread HOA lawsuit. This collection of essays is a high-speed collision between cultural critique and comedic chaos—where a shopping cart becomes a philosophical monument, a mouse stages a corporate coup, and a man who uses the very wrong but very right hair gel.
Each piece kicks off with a delightfully weird image and spirals into something unexpectedly sharp: a joke that turns into an insight, and an insight that hits like a wrench to the soul. Whether it’s the Beatles brainstorming in a writer’s room or an overpass-dwelling economist explaining late capitalism, the book thrives on rapid pivots, oddball metaphors, and format experiments that somehow make perfect sense.
Smart, silly, and sneakily profound, this is the kind of apocalypse you’ll want to read in one sitting—preferably while standing in the express lane, wondering if that guy really has only ten items.
Advance Praise for The 10-Items-or-Less Apocalypse:
“I entered a gas station bathroom with this book and emerged three hours later a changed man. Also, the raccoons had unionized.” — Dr. Thaddeus Blorp, Philosopher (self-certified)
“This book made me laugh so hard I forgot to beep items. A man walked out with a ham under each arm. I respect that.” — Cheryl, Cashier & Reluctant Witness to Late-Stage Capitalism
“I was promised a cookbook. This is not a cookbook. But I did eat part of it and now I understand irony.” — Günther, Confused Survivalist
“A searing indictment of modern society, wrapped in a tortilla of nonsense, deep-fried in existential dread, and served with a side of goat cheese litigation.” — Zelda McCracken, Former Attorney for the Gingerbread People
“I read this aloud to my ferrets. They now run a small but thriving Etsy shop.” — @DumpsterOracle42, Influencer/Shaman
“This book is why I no longer trust shopping carts, metaphors, or Tuesdays.” — Kevin, Just Kevin
290 pages, Paperback
Published November 26, 2025
1 person want to read
About the author
Brian Gerard Lewandowski
6 books4 followersHE 10-ITEMS-OR-LESS APOCALYPSE arrives on November 26th!!!
Brian Gerard (Lewandowski) writes books critics call "aggressively adequate"—better than "aggressively terrible" but somehow more concerning.
He once traded a MetroCard for a pitchfork on a subway platform and now uses it exclusively for dramatic pointing. He lives on a farm outside Charlottesville, Virginia, which consists of three disappointed potted plants and a pig named Trouble McFussbucket who serves as his harshest critic. His wife just smiles politely. The plants have given up entirely.
His first manuscript was composed entirely of punctuation marks and confused sketches. One editor called it "what would happen if Finnegans Wake had a stroke." He's since published "Not Bukowski" (poems that don't rhyme, because discipline is hard) and "Slop and Swell from a Festering Mind" (essays so concerning that bookstores check on his wellbeing). His debut novel "Otter Boy" is forthcoming, assuming he resists replacing the manuscript with semicolons and otter doodles before deadline.
Brian once spent three hours photographing a rare bird that was actually a plastic bag. The bag hasn't returned his calls. His photos have graced both the Smithsonian and several Post Offices—the wanted posters captured his good side. He's the only person banned from church bake sales for "weaponized brownies" (cocoa powder in a Ziploc). He called it avant-garde. The pastor's wife called the authorities. The authorities declined.
Inheriting humanism from Steinbeck, absurdism from Vonnegut and Adams, sprawling narratives from Irving, and weaponized failure from Moore, he writes about conflicted everymen suddenly struggling through supernatural chaos—scenarios he understands intimately, since his entire life feels like someone else's fever dream he's forced to live through sober.
He does his best writing where people can't escape: DMV waiting rooms, his car in Target parking lots, and Scottish castles when someone else is paying. His characters are clever and fearless.
Brian remains unconvinced that birds aren't surveillance drones.
Brian Gerard (Lewandowski) writes books critics call "aggressively adequate"—better than "aggressively terrible" but somehow more concerning.
He once traded a MetroCard for a pitchfork on a subway platform and now uses it exclusively for dramatic pointing. He lives on a farm outside Charlottesville, Virginia, which consists of three disappointed potted plants and a pig named Trouble McFussbucket who serves as his harshest critic. His wife just smiles politely. The plants have given up entirely.
His first manuscript was composed entirely of punctuation marks and confused sketches. One editor called it "what would happen if Finnegans Wake had a stroke." He's since published "Not Bukowski" (poems that don't rhyme, because discipline is hard) and "Slop and Swell from a Festering Mind" (essays so concerning that bookstores check on his wellbeing). His debut novel "Otter Boy" is forthcoming, assuming he resists replacing the manuscript with semicolons and otter doodles before deadline.
Brian once spent three hours photographing a rare bird that was actually a plastic bag. The bag hasn't returned his calls. His photos have graced both the Smithsonian and several Post Offices—the wanted posters captured his good side. He's the only person banned from church bake sales for "weaponized brownies" (cocoa powder in a Ziploc). He called it avant-garde. The pastor's wife called the authorities. The authorities declined.
Inheriting humanism from Steinbeck, absurdism from Vonnegut and Adams, sprawling narratives from Irving, and weaponized failure from Moore, he writes about conflicted everymen suddenly struggling through supernatural chaos—scenarios he understands intimately, since his entire life feels like someone else's fever dream he's forced to live through sober.
He does his best writing where people can't escape: DMV waiting rooms, his car in Target parking lots, and Scottish castles when someone else is paying. His characters are clever and fearless.
Brian remains unconvinced that birds aren't surveillance drones.
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