Epiphany
For Valeriy, my half-friend, half-vagabond straigh out of Skid Row
For Henry, oh, you bald motherfucker!
For Eugen, my friend, my neighbor, my guardian
And for bad writing
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A father of three struggles to unchain his demons: drugs, whores, twisted lifestyle, alcoholism, and, of course, the shadow of his responsibly deceased father. My ralph, my raaalphy as his wife used to mew in the past century; OBTUSE GOAT! - to quote ralphy's mother, a true Gem, the Eternal Console against the tornadoes of the big daddy, the Marvellous Teacher, the real Mother. William Childers is his name. Willie comes equipped with his daddy's porno mags, a cheap shower gel and the empty Monday promises for his wife, a 6-years-old and two stepdaughters he secretly calls stepdowns. Willie can't type down his father's first name in capitals, except on the postcards for Christmas. He wages endless wars against the so called writers as Stephanie Meyer, E. L. James, Shakespeare, Stephen King, and he kinda hates Vladimir Nabokov. Mostly for his writing style. Some of his enemies are delirious about wimpy kids, bitches ever, daytime vegan bloodsuckers, those pale, lame vampires, about your first million in seven years after you stop reading fifty shades about nothing in the page two. "Oh, you supermommies, you IKEAian freaks! – you'd better get ready for me. Forget the Sunday cookies. And those discount vouchers, those last minute deals of yours – they won't save you. I'm coming for ya! In all its forms, I needed an escape. Badly. I didn't find one.”
For Valeriy, my half-friend, half-vagabond straigh out of Skid Row
For Henry, oh, you bald motherfucker!
For Eugen, my friend, my neighbor, my guardian
And for bad writing
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