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Hack’s life-long belief in Santa Claus began when the madam of the brothel he worked in as a boy told him that she was Santa’s mistress, and that Saint Nick was into “rough trade” and that he would beat her sadistically on a regular basis. Hack spent the next forty years trying to track down the jolly old elf so that he could kill him.
Hack wrote this at the height of his cocaine addiction in the early 1970s and was consumed with paranoia that everyone he knew was out to kill him. That was an enormous exaggeration, although everyone he knew undoubtedly hated his guts.
This was based on a real-life incident where Hack invited three “nymphomanics” (in his words) over to trim a Christmas tree at a place he was house-sitting at while his van was being repaired. His plan was to use the ritual to start an orgy but things went awry when he went to the garage to get the ornaments and got locked in. The girls ultimately staged an orgy amongst themselves while Hack spent the night trying to fight off a rabid racoon that wanted to attack his genitals.
The prostitutes of worked in the brothel that he hung out in as a child would tease young Herschel that they had all had sex with Santa and that Saint Nick was into some pretty hardcore stuff. One day, an immensely obese man with a long white beard came in for a BDSM session and Hack attacked him with a butcher knife, claiming he would kill him if he ever saw him again. Hack spent the next forty years trying to hunt down Santa and even staged an expedition to the North Pole to track him down.
Of all the things Hack despises about President Trump, the one that he finds the most mystifying is the commander in chief’s alleged love of the Golden Shower. “I’ve been peed on more times than I can count,” said Hack in an interview with The Christian Science Monitor, “usually after having the snot beat out of me in a bar fight. Believe me, there’s nothing hot about it.” When Hack heard about Trump’s alleged fetish, he adapted a short story he had written in 1958 about an enormous retarded green slime monster who took over the planet. Its downfall was it’s fetish for being urinated on, which melted its leathery skin into dust.
“I really just had to change the color of the thing,” said Hack while accepting a National Book Award for his effort, “and it was about Trump.”
This was based on an incident when Hack was living in the basement of a woman he was attracted to, leading to (in Hack’s words) “a big misunderstanding.” It ended amicably, with the woman allowing Hack to publish this novel that he wrote in jail as long as he agreed to stay at least 500 yards away from her at all times.
When Hack was invited to Thanksgiving by a woman he was desperately hitting on, he discovered that everyone in her family were pro-Trump freaks. After listening to their psychotic babble for a few hours, he finally snuck out the bathroom window with the turkey stuffed inside his hoodie.
This was the second book wrote under this title after seeing Frances Fisher perform in the play. It was even less historically accurate than the first one.
Hack’s third book about the tenth century queen, this one written while he was having an acid flashback. Whatever your expectations are about this thing, it’s way weirder than that.
Hack’s obsession was still at it height after seeing Frances Fisher and Gregory Harrison perform James Goldman’s play. This book is nasty, even by Hack’s standards.