The website of the greatest pulp fiction writer who ever lived
When Hack went out grocery shopping for the staples of his diet during the coronavirus scare (Jack Daniels and Hershey bars), he found himself surrounded by so many people wearing surgical masks that he had a panic attack and collapsed. He woke up in Tijuana the next day with this manuscript in his pocket.
This novel was based on Hack’s experiences growing up in the brutally harsh Romanian Catholic Church that his strict father Vlad dragged him to every Sunday. Now an avowed atheist, Hack sometimes reenacts episodes from his youth following a typical church service where he is Vlad and a prostitute with an open mind and a high pain tolerance portrays him.
Hack was inspired to write this book after he was being threatened by some young thugs in the Shakey’s parking lot where the van he lives in is parked, and his cover artist Jonny M.’s pug Boris scared them off by peeing on their shoes. When Hack leaned over to pet the little dog in gratitude, Boris peed on his shoes.
This book was the result of Hack getting hammered and watching a bunch of Dudley Doo-Right cartoons with his cover artist Jonny M and his pug Boris. There’s a very disturbing sex scene between Boris and a Canadian moose who describes himself as a “power bottom.”
“The Man Who Farted” was such a huge success that Hack wrote this sequel in which a group of people are forced to take a long car ride during a blizzard while the title character keeps cutting massive farts. The plot sounds thin but this is one of Hack’s longest books at 1,217 pages.
When Hack’s friend world famous dominatrix Snow Mercy was traveling internationally, he dropped acid and hallucinated that the crew of the airplane she was on took over the jet and she had to overpower them with her whip. To this day, Hack thinks that this actually happened.
Hack is an obsessive fan of “Third Rock from the Sun” star French Stewart, and claims one of the highlights of his life was briefly sharing an elevator with the actor. The only thing that marred the experience, Hack insisted, was when Stewart “let a massive one rip between the third and fourth floors,” so he went home and wrote this novel about it. His cover artist Jonny M. was also in the elevator and claims that it was actually Hack who cut one, a statement which put additional pressure on their already tense relationship.
Hack wrote this book when his cover artist Jonny M. pontificated his idiotic political agenda one day at lunch, convincing Hack that he had nothing inside his skull but shredded porn magazines from the early 1980s.
A nostalgic reminiscence from Hack’s teenage years when he would take girls to the movies, buy a bucket of popcorn and punch out the bottom, and then wait for them to inevitably dig for a handful of his Johnson. He ultimately spent so much money on popcorn without result that he fantasized that someone would just play the trick on him. It never happened.
This is Hack’s final book about the stern and passionate Madam Rosie. His friend Rosanna De Candia told him that she’d “slice him from neck to nuts” if he completed it, so the story stops abruptly on page 78 and the rest is filled out by a short story Hack wrote in 1959 about cross-dressers in the US Coast Guard. Strangely, no one seemed to notice.