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Slop and Swill from a Festering Mind
"Slop and Swill from a Festering Mind" is a collection of many of the humorous essays Brian has penned over the years. Politically and topically in tune with the world, he has assembled such greats as "Pia Zadora's Head", "Sears Can Suck My Ass", and "Golden Afro Jesus"... along with a plethora of his stand-up bits and writing seen on his web site. Get it while the getting is good.
249 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2003
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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