In Gesundheit, Gary! (2026), Luna, a fairy whose life revolves around fermented nectar and counting sneezes, finally finds her purpose in Gary: a grasshopper whose perfectly precise morning sneezes are the final piece of her data collection. Their unexpected friendship, forged over shared drinks and a near-miss with a human, offers Luna a rare taste of connection in a universe that usually feels utterly indifferent.

But Gary’s flawless sneezes, a source of comfort for Luna, become his undoing. His statistical perfection triggers a fraud investigation by the bureaucratic Forest Bureau of Nasal Management. Led by the terrifyingly fair Theodore the Badger and secretly manipulated by the corrupt Reginald, the Bureau targets Gary as a statistical anomaly, threatening to dismantle everything Luna has worked for.

Now, Luna must navigate a bewildering world of red tape and courtroom drama. With a tip from her regretful ex-husband, she’s Gary’s only hope against a system determined to break him. But saving Gary means challenging his very nature, forcing him to sneeze off-schedule, off-pebble, and on command.

Can Luna protect her friend from a bureaucratic machine that demands conformity, or will Gary’s perfect sneezes be the very thing that destroys him?

(Available in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle.)

Buy it now!

Not Bukowski (2025) is the book that happens If Charles Bukowski wrote poetry about the gritty underbelly of barroom brawls and existential hangovers, then “Not Bukowski” is what happens when a stand-up comedian decides to break his best material into line breaks and call it literature—with the honest admission that the results are, well, kind of terrible as actual poetry. This collection transforms comedy club gold into poetic verse, proving that just because something kills on stage doesn’t mean it survives the transition to the written page. It’s essentially a greatest hits album that acknowledges it probably shouldn’t have been recorded in the first place, but here we are anyway, with stanza breaks and forced rhymes that sound way better with a microphone and a two-drink minimum.

The title “Not Bukowski” isn’t just a playful reference—it’s a disclaimer. Beyond the admittedly subpar poetry, the book throws in essays and perhaps the most gloriously absurd content imaginable: actual transcripts of online customer service chats where the author systematically asks all the wrong questions to all the wrong companies. Picture someone messaging LL Bean with an impossibly weird customization request, or engaging Sylvania’s customer service team in a detailed conversation about planting bulbs—you know, the kind that go in the ground, not the ceiling. It’s the literary equivalent of performance art meets deliberate confusion, documenting what happens when someone commits to being spectacularly obtuse in online chat windows. It’s a book for people who appreciate honesty over artistry and find deep entertainment in watching someone weaponize misunderstanding against unsuspecting customer service representatives who are just trying to get through their shift.

(Available in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle.)

Buy it now!

Insights from The Returnables (2026) main character:

My name is Gary, and this is a book about what America pays you back for the things you return. The answer is five cents. It doesn’t matter what you return. Cans, bottles, dreams, husbands, the twenty-six years you gave to a job that ended with a sheet cake and a handshake from a man named Ted who could not pick you out of a lineup. Five cents. The machine takes it, the machine grinds it, the machine spits out a slip of paper you exchange for money at a register run by a teenager who hates you personally. This is the deposit system. It’s the most honest thing this country has, and I say that with love, from Buffalo, where honesty and winter are the same thing.

I found this out because Elvis was in my garbage. I want to be clear that I’m not speaking in metaphor, the way people say their marriage is “on the rocks” or their uncle is “at peace.” Elvis Presley, the King of Rock and Roll, dead since 1977 according to sources, was going through my recycling at seven in the morning and had opinions about how I store my cigarette butts. I’ve been reprimanded by presidents of homeowner associations and one very angry nun, and I’m telling you, nothing prepares you for getting a lecture on can hygiene from a man in a studded jumpsuit pulling a child’s wagon with mustard on it. I’m not going to explain the mustard. The mustard explains itself eventually, and when it does, I’d like you to remember that I warned you and you kept reading anyway.

What you need to know for now is this: some things get thrown out, some things get returned, and there’s a difference, and the difference has a paperwork process, and the paperwork process has an elf. Everything you’ve lost is sitting somewhere in a sorting facility off the Thruway waiting to be redeemed, and the redemption rate, as previously discussed, is five cents. My lawn is dead. There’s a car I don’t look at directly. A bag showed up at my house with nothing in it, and it turns out nothing is the heaviest thing a bag can hold. I used to think the worst thing that happened to me was the incident, which I’m also not explaining yet. Then Elvis called me a pinheaded prick in my own driveway, and my real life started, and God help me, I went and looked inside the bag.

(Available in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle.)

Buy it now

Slop and Swill from a Festering Mind (2014) is a collection of stories about someone who spends years unleashing their unfiltered thoughts onto the internet and various magazines, then decides to collect the evidence in book form for posterity—and possibly as a cautionary tale. This compilation gathers the author’s most memorable diatribes into one convenient package, featuring essay titles that sound like they were generated by a random combination of pop culture references and righteous indignation. With entries like “Pia Zadora’s Head,” “Sears Can Suck My Ass,” and “Golden Afro Jesus,” it’s clear that no topic was too sacred, too obscure, or too potentially lawsuit-inducing to escape commentary.

The book serves as a time capsule of one person’s ongoing battle with modern society, politics, and the general absurdity of existence—all filtered through the lens of someone who apparently never met a topic he couldn’t turn into a rant. It’s the literary equivalent of that friend who always has strong opinions about everything and isn’t shy about sharing them, except this friend decided to preserve their thoughts for eternity and charge people to read them. Part stand-up routine, part online manifesto, and part therapeutic word-vomiting, “Slop and Swill” promises to be politically and topically aware while maintaining the kind of irreverent humor that makes you simultaneously laugh and wonder if the author should probably stay off social media.

(Available in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle.

Buy it now!

The 10-Items-or-Less Apocalypse (2025) is what happens when a stand-up comic raids a think tank and leaves behind only cardboard forts, goat landlords, and a gingerbread HOA lawsuit. This collection of essays is a high-speed collision between cultural critique and comedic chaos—where a shopping cart becomes a philosophical monument, a mouse stages a corporate coup, and a man who uses the very wrong but very right hair gel.

Each piece kicks off with a delightfully weird image and spirals into something unexpectedly sharp: a joke that turns into an insight, and an insight that hits like a wrench to the soul. Whether it’s the Beatles brainstorming in a writer’s room or an overpass-dwelling economist explaining late capitalism, the book thrives on rapid pivots, oddball metaphors, and format experiments that somehow make perfect sense.

Smart, silly, and sneakily profound, this is the kind of apocalypse you’ll want to read in one sitting—preferably while standing in the express lane, wondering if that guy really has only ten items.

(Available in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle.)

Buy it now!

Truth Tastes Like Pennies (2026) is a tale about a janitor named Timothy Splashinski who believes the government is enhancing otters—and he has 847 pages of documentation, a diving mask from Walmart, and the unshakeable conviction of a man who has been right about everything his entire life and wrong about how to make anyone believe him. When he breaks into the Happy Waves Aquarium at 2 AM to rescue two river otters named Olive and Otis, he sets off a chain of events that will expose a fifty-year conspiracy, destroy seventeen hundred jobs, and force a federal judge to rule on whether consciousness can be classified. Joining him: an efficiency consultant whose brain calculates seventeen ways any situation can go catastrophically wrong (she’s usually right about all of them), a former FBI consultant whose synesthesia lets him taste danger (right now, everything tastes like pennies), a security guard choosing between his wife’s cancer treatment and telling the truth, and two otters who’ve been arranging pebbles in patterns that spell out words in a language no one taught them. Part satire, part legal thriller, part surprisingly devastating meditation on what truth costs when institutions would rather let people die than admit wrongdoing—this is the funniest book you’ll ever read about government-enhanced otters, dead children, and the specific taste of copper that means someone is about to destroy your life.

Grab a paid subscription and receive a substantial discount when the book is released.

Subscribe now