What Kind of Scumbag are You?

We are all scum, and the sooner we embrace that reality, the better off we’ll all be.

The first step is to resign ourselves to this harsh reality.

Next, we need to determine what kind of scumbag we are, and that’s what the following quiz purports to do.

Using scumbag archetypes from Die Empty, the quiz will help you understand what kind of scum you are. Are you a user? A selfish drunkard? A delusional pervert? A vegetable? Click on the image of the douchebag below to take the quiz and find out:douche.jpg




New Release: Die Empty


Have you ever felt like most of the dreams you had convinced yourself were worthy of your pursuit really didn’t amount to much?

Like everything was vacuous?

Like you’d been stringing yourself along with goals that were starting to get too lofty or unwieldy for the steps you were taking towards them?

Lance has.

The one thing he doesn’t have is a way out.

He’s not sure he’d take it even if he did.

Someone would have to push him through the escape hatch . . . and that’s exactly what Death intends to do . . .

About the Book

In sum: Midlife crisis. A character who has no purpose and direction finds autonomy in trivial pursuits. Petty, white, middle class toxicity that serves as undercurrent to all the charms and trappings of Americana. The grime beneath the fingernails of the dream you’ve come to loathe, long for, or you’ve deluded yourself into believing you’re a part of.

A depiction of the most practical hell you could imagine.

Check it out:

More Free Fetus Soap! And Free Fetus Cookie Cutters!

Hey, gang:

It is time for a giveaway. Not for books, necessarily. This time, we’re giving away another bar of fetus soap

Remember this?

Remember this?

We’re also giving away some fetus cookie cutters. Cover your creations in red frosting and bring them to pro choice rallies! Bring them to pro life rallies and become the coolest kid on the block! You can throw them at folks walking out of Planned Parenthood! We don’t condone it, but you could hypothetically, we suppose.


If that doesn’t float your boat, how about one of these stickers?


And of course, I’ve got my abortosphere pins as well:


So how do you get your hands on all of these goodies?

Write a review on Amazon or Goodreads (or both!) before December 23rd and you’re entered to win. Drop me a line on Facebook so I know who you are if you use a pseudonym on Amazon or Goodreads.

Here are the prize packages:

1st winner gets the soap, a Nuke the Fetus sticker and 2 pins.

2nd winner gets a fetus cookie cutter, a Nuke the Fetus sticker and 2 pins

3rd place gets a fetus cookie cutter, a Nuke the Fetus sticker and 2 pins as well

4th gets a Nuke the Fetus sticker and 2 pins (and I’ll throw in a copy of Uncle Sam’s Carnival of Copulating Inanimals if you don’t have it or if you want one for a friend)

5th gets a Nuke the Fetus sticker and 2 pins (and I’ll throw in a copy of Uncle Sam’s Carnival of Copulating Inanimals if you don’t have it or if you want one for a friend)

6th: sticker and a pin

Six winners, so the odds are in your favor unless 20 people do this. It doesn’t have to be a positive review, just a review from folks who read the book. 

Fetus Soap! (and cheap books, but seriously: fetus soap)

Billy Mays here! I’m going to cut right to the chase!

Billy Mays

Look at all this shit you get for only $14!


Just to break it down that’s:

1 signed copy of Journey to Abortosphere

1 signed copy of the 2010 NBAS release Uncle Sam’s Carnival of Copulating Inanimals

1 8×10 glossy print of cover art from Uncle Sam’s Carnival of Copulating Inanimals, signed by artist Anastasia Sultzer

3 2” pins with the cover art from Journey to Abortosphere. That’s Revert art right there, folks! And it fits so perfectly in that pin. Use it to gain entry into ultra conservative pro-life rallies!

$14 includes shipping for folks in the states.

International bidders PM and Kirk will pay half of the shipping costs once calculated. Then you’ll get your total.

Payment accepted via Paypal. PM Kirk Jones for details, or send your payment to jonesk@canton.edu. Ask him to write potentially incriminating messages inside the book for you!

As if that deal isn’t sweet enough, each buyer is entered to win this awesome human fetus soap. We only have one bar of this shit!

There are only 10 bundles available. Buy two and increase your chances of winning that kick ass soap! You know you want to rub that shit all over your body!


Controlled Abandon


I bleed words, dudes. I BLEED them.

I got a few responses to my previous blog, mostly concern from other authors hoping I’m alright. I guess that’s what I get for a dismal title like “We’re All Going to Die, etc.”

I guess I should have prefigured that post with a warning. Coming to the realization that many of the reasons we do what we do might not add up at the end of the day, or at the end of one’s life, isn’t for everyone. I’m just trying to explore why I write, and in doing so realizing that many of the reasons were pretty vacuous when it came right down to it.

One of my biggest realizations was that my “selfless” motivations for writing, like leaving something for my kids, was actually relatively selfish. I do think it is important to leave some writing behind for my kids, but in retrospect, I can’t imagine them spending a large portion of their lives sifting through my word-shit, trying to understand who or what I was.

There have been times where I’ve stayed at my office late to write a book while my kids are at home. How can I really convince myself I’m “writing for them” in a circumstance like that? Since then I’ve borrowed a habit from one of my co-workers. He doesn’t take his work home with him. It never occurred to me that this was a possibility. But for the past year or so I have left my work at work, and most of my creative writing time at work. It works wonderfully and has reduced my stress levels immensely.

There was a time when I could delude myself into believing writing was the most important thing in my life, because it directly contributed to every other important thing in my life. I was a good father in part because I wrote for my kids, etc. Now I realize that’s bullshit. It’s a delusion onset by selfishness, just like working your ass off for money and never seeing your kids is “working for your kids.”

Do I write less after removing this potential motivation from my roster of inspiration? Yes. I do write less now. But when I write know I do it for the right reasons. And when I’m digging through my shit loads of story ideas late at night, I keep them for the right reason, and I delete the shit I’ll never work on.

Cutting Bullshit Motivations for Writing Helps Cut Shitty Story Ideas from Your Well of Ideas

For me, motivations for writing work in the same way motivations for keeping story ideas do.

I look at an old file, open it up. Ask myself:

“Is this story original?”

Answer: not really anymore.

“Am I trying to say something important?”

Answer: others have already said it. I just didn’t know they said it because I isolated myself for years when I was younger to preserve my ego.

“Does it say something about me?”

Answer: yeah. It does! It humbles me, and reminds me of who I was. It might provide my kids or family with insight into who I was some day. I better keep this!

That’s the one I always fall back on, that last question.

Yep! This is my magnum opus . . . one of them, anyway. Better keep this around!

Yep! This is my magnum opus . . . one of them, anyway. Better keep this around!

But there’s plenty of work I have had published that does the same thing. There are other aspects of my life that speak to my flaws. I don’t really NEED to keep this old fucking story about a delusional kid who has hidden away in the confines of his mind to preserve the delusion that he’s a God, but then it turns out he actually IS a God in this world he’s created. Shit’s been done before. Withdrawing in an attempt to preserve ego is a part of the human condition. Most people go through it at some point or another, in some way or another. Toss it.

One of my old NBAS buddies recently wrote a blog post about minimalist living in the digital age. You can check it out by clicking


The post addresses a lot of things, but the one thing I took away from it was that there’s something very tranquil about turning on a computer and seeing only a few folders. There’s something valuable about letting go of shit, literally shit that we ascribe value to.

This concept isn’t alien to me. I have tossed so many books over the years it isn’t funny. Last year my wife and I started going through all of our possessions and donating them to charity. We did this because we lost a lot of things to mold in our basement. Most of it, we realized, wasn’t really that important to us in the long run anyway. It was just shit.

Same thing happened to me when I was in 10th grade. Our house burnt down, and while I was sad that I lost a lot of stuff, I remember walking away from it with a guitar, an amp, a microphone and an 8-track mixer/recorder. And for the next few years, I had a greater level of focus than I ever had before. I dove into recording head first instead of dabbling in different shit and being a jack of all trades. Now when I look back, I can count on one hand the things I regret losing in that fire, just sentimental shit. I lost two book shelves worth of books and probably 100 CDs. I can’t think of one that was irreplaceable. Come to think of it, I have virtually none of those books or CDs in my small collection now. They couldn’t have been that important.

Anyway, since I abandoned several of my motivations for writing, I’ve also scrapped several motivations for keeping old stories. Subsequently, I’ve scrapped a shit load of old stories and blog posts and other junk that I’ll never use. It felt great to objectively look at the old entries I wrote for a feminist encyclopedia that lost its publishing contract back when I was in grad school. I was never going to publish those anywhere else. Sure, they took hours to write, but why keep them? Trashed.

Or the articles I wrote for a Magic: The Gathering website back when I was really passionate about the game. I had close to ten and had planned on doing a monthly article for the website. Then I lost interest in the game for a year and by the time I returned the articles were essentially obsolete. Why keep this shit around? I will literally NEVER use it. The only thing it does is soak up time while I’m looking through my files trying to figure out what to work on next. Junk it.

Or the essays I wrote for my college newspaper that I never published because I got caught up in other things. They were too juvenile to publish, even on my pretentious, self-absorbed blog. Why were they still around? I remember thinking I could scrap valuable insights from them to use in stories. But it just made me stagnate, relying on things that I had already thought about. Tossed.

A lot of this material kept me looking back instead of looking forward. I was losing steam, but still caught up in a mentality that I could dig inspiration out of old stories instead of coming up with new ones. I noticed this when I started digging through old pitches to try to “create” new ones. I knew I needed to purge this shit.

I’m willing to bet there are a lot of writers who already made it past this part of their career. But I’m also willing to bet there are quite a few who haven’t.

I’m also sure there are plenty of people who don’t need this in their writing career. Maybe they still dig from their well of tales. Maybe they need their assortment of motivations so they can write every day. I know there are folks who say “who gives a shit why you write, as long as you write!” I respect that, but it isn’t for me.

I needed to abandon some of my motivations as a writer, thus my previous blog post. Though I write less now, when I do write, I know it is something that is valuable to me for all the right reasons. It has abolished self doubt. It has taught me which genres will work best for me. It has helped me delete countless files I’ll never use due to my improved focus. It has provided me with an improved sense of direction. Most important, it has allowed me to accept my place in the world, separate delusion from reality.

Twisted Tuesdays: 13 Creepy/WTF Websites

This is a great collection of weird websites. Love this!

Bizarro Central

internet mold

Most of these sites are from the “golden age” of the internet and some are newer. They all have something in common, whoever created them wanted to scare you, make you go “WTF,” or even join their apocalypse cult. Enjoy!

1) Dong Ghost, a creepy Korean comic translated in English. Proceed at your own risk!

2) More WTF than creepy. It’s entertaining. Just keep clicking.


3) If there was ever a haunted site, magibon is it.

4) Official site of the Nike-wearing doomsday cult. Prepare for an internet time warp!

5) Occult magick fun. Abracadabra.

6) ” WARNING: This website contains both a hypnotic induction and subliminals and is both mentally and psychologically toxic.” 

7) “WWYS® has been formed by a consortium of international companies – including leading financial and genetic research institutions – to create a product that gives you an actual CASH VALUE for your soul.” 

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People Suck . . . Except Mormons, Who Will Always Respect Your Wishes. Especially When You’re Naked

me specialMy name is Kirk Jones, and I’m socially awkward.

I’ve never really understood how to interact with people. Over the years I’ve come up with my own rules, personal guidelines to social etiquette that completely shut me down in almost every circumstance. Whenever I’m about to open my mouth, I remember these rules. I know I should ignore them. But experience still reinforces their relevance for me. Today I just want to talk about one of these rules, and that is that most folks are oblivious to apathy, even if apathy is dagger-like and shooting straight out of your eyes down their throats.

Except Mormons who go door to door. They’re alright.

Rule #1: People don’t give a shit if you give a shit about what they’re talking about.

I remember going to my friend’s birthday party about five years ago. His ex girlfriend’s father sat beside me at the main table. He was decked out in Dale Earnhardt gear, chiding someone else at the table for their love of Jeff Gordon. I stared at my steak, hoping it would keep me out of the conversation.

It didn’t.

“You like Jeff Gordon?” He asks me.

“Not really into NASCAR,” I say.

I assumed that’d be it. Do you like it? No, sir I don’t like it. The end. Except it wasn’t the end. For some reason, he took my response to mean I didn’t UNDERSTAND NASCAR. For the next half hour, this guy used my steak as a race track, looping around the edge with his finger to show me where the pit crew waited. “See that piece of fat right there. Pit crew’d be right there. They fix stuff.”

That’s fucking nice. Can I eat now?

No I can’t. Because Dale here ain’t done showing me, in excruciating detail, exactly why the Indy 500 is called the Indy 500. Surprisingly, there are only 200 laps. Even more shocking: the 500 has nothing to do with how many brain cells die each time you watch a NASCAR event. The 500 comes from 500 miles. Now, with this precious knowledge in hand, would I be more interested in watching a bunch of fucking cars drive in circles for hours and hours and hours? Fuck no. I don’t give a shit about cars, nor do I give a shit about circles or ovals or stars . . . or any other shape that cars would care to navigate.

After 130 laps, Jim noticed a pattern: the cars were moving in circles!

There is only one car story I have thoroughly enjoyed in my life. One of my relatives was caught on the interstate with the runs and had to clear out her purse and shit in it. That is interesting, and that kind of story you can tell me any time. If someone takes a dump in an awkward place or pisses their pants in public, I’m all ears. If you have a story about someone who likes to take dumps in awkward places and piss in public, you will have my attention for life.

With my NASCAR experience in mind, I’m still confused as to why my mother used to hide on the Mormons who came to our house to talk about God. Because when you tell them you don’t give a shit about what they want to tell you, they’re generally pretty cool about it.

Just last summer I had a couple visit my house. I opened the door and poked my head out, and my stomach, covered with dried BBQ sauce from the previous night, followed. “Hey?”

“Would you be interested in some literature about the Lord?” they asked.

There was no question. I needed something for the toilet later. “Sure.”

“Could we come in for a while to speak with you?”

“Naw. I’ll take the free literature though. Those Awake mags are good fun.”

Reluctantly, they handed over the magazine and I bid them farewell. Free reading material. Minimal conversation. No finger dancing around my steak to chart a path to heaven.

Maybe they would have stayed longer or been more aggressive about sticking around if I would have had a pair of underwear on or something. I like to believe they’re just polite people.