The website of the greatest pulp fiction writer who ever lived
This was a “memory piece” from Hack’s teenage years when he and a girlfriend would taunt the bums in New York’s Bowery district by shamelessly making out in front of them. The bums finally had enough and surrounded the pair, let the girl go but made Hack stay and French kiss every one of them until he’d learned his lesson. They were surprised when he showed up for the next three weeks in a row for more lessons.
Hack’s dream was to start a writing movement and be inundated with loving fan art from his devoted followers, so he wrote this book to nudge them in that direction. He only received one drawing: a crude cartoon where his tiny penis was depicted as a hole punched in the piece of paper which infuriated him until it was purchased by a high-end art gallery for two thousand dollars.
A prostitution ring runs in secret out of a small, family-owned hotel in Torquay, Devon, England. The British Broadcasting Company sued publisher John Kane over an alleged likeness to one of their sitcoms with a similar setting and characters, which Kane responded to by telling the “Limey bastards” to “try and cross over the pond and find me” and immediately stashed all of his assets in a Cayman Islands account. The court case is still pending.
A gorgeous woman appears to have murdered her male roommate and hires her ex-lover Detective Jonny to solve the case. It turns out that the roommate faked his own death and the pair pinned it on Jonny, who gets as far as having the noose placed over his head on the gallows when Hack suddenly lost interest in the story and spent the last twenty pages railing against his abusive father.
Hack wrote this after having a dream where a character comes out of a movie screen at a drive-in and guns him down. It’s scientifically a lot more plausible than many of Hack’s book and not a bad read at that.
Hack wrote this book to coincide with his celebrity crush Frances Fisher’s birthday in the hopes that she would lift her restraining orders against him. It did not work.
Hack is a huge fan of the great John Cleese so he crapped out this novel to determine what actually happened to the Norwegian Blue. It turned out to be a suicide.
This was the second time that Hack’s cover artist Jonny M. posted his artwork on Instagram and the celebrity subject “liked” it. The first was the great Susanna Hoffs of The Bangles opining on Hack’s horror novel “Walk Like an Egyptian.” This time, it was when the great Mr. Cleese clicked his approval of “The Case of the Dead Parrot.” Hack wants both of those acknowledgements carved on his headstone.
The title of this book was supposed to be “Mob Informant” but the copywriter who came up with the text for the cover took his conversation with publisher John Kane too literally and laid out this instead. Hack was angry until the new title sold three times as many copies as expected.
Hack desperately wanted to serve in uniform but when he tried to enlist during the Vietnam war, he was judged to be too psychotic for the military. He was briefly a member of a private militia funded by a high-ranking member of The John Birch Society, but he was drummed out for fragging his commanding officer after he mocked the size of Hack’s tiny genitalia.
When someone walked in on Hack in the bathroom passionately kissing his own reflection in the mirror, he claimed that he was researching a new novel and that this half-hearted effort which came out a few weeks later was the result. The reality is that Hack has been seen making out with his own reflection countless times, as early as 1949, so no one really believed him.