InstaPunk Returns

So I’ve got this new book . Probably should be in print, not just online. But it won’t be in print ever I’m thinking. Breitbart’s chief political reporter already has a book online about Biden’s Hundred Days, and what I have are two publishers who are thinking about reading my much much better book about the same. Meanwhile, the market moves on. It’s all okay. I have mixed emotions about the book anyway. Yes, I need the money an advance would bring. OTOH I made a big decision long long ago. Nobody gets to copy edit me because I’m a better editor, and a far better writer, than all of them. Find the new book here . It’s complete but for three chapters I don’t want to write. I could write all three in three days but why? For whom? Nobody actually deserves this book. I did, at huge personal financial cost, transcend the paper publishing industry 25 years ago when they hated the first attempt by any man to poke fun at feminists. Now, I write in altogether new ways that aren’t easily reducib

January, February, March, April. Not a day’s worth of truthtelling anywhere. This is the last piece of writing in this book . Why I’m going to pretend it’s a preface, because it comprises the whole. And also obviates it. Don’t read this book. You don’t need it. It won’t help you. You won’t understand it or believe it or accept that it has anything to do with you. Because it doesn’t. It has only to do with me, its author, and I am, in a finally fatally insane nation, the last aware mind. I saw a movie last night that crystallized it all for me, meaning it gave me a way to communicate with many of you who are insensitive to other kinds of input. It was called “After.Life,” and it explored the world of the dead in an arresting way. A young woman with commitment issues storms away from her boyfriend in her car on a rainy night and while engaged in a road rage incident attempts to dial 911 to report the wreckers around her. She awakes on a slab in a funeral home and believes she is the vict