Stars align. This was one of the first insults I’d dared ask for, and it was the first insult I’d received outside of a reading/signing. It was as if Hemmingway Himself guided me to The Strand that day in search of a rare book. I normally don’t put much stock in religion, but there’s still enough old Catholic spiritualism (and self-loathing) kicking around in my subsconcious to wonder if I’d been guided to Mr. Mitchell by way of a Flying Spaghetti Monster.
- David Sedaris Should Write a Book about My Mom, Mexicans
- Nick Flynn’s Insult Poetry Defies Grammar, My Heart
- Guest Post: Michael Ian Black Profanes a Synagogue
- Adam Johnson Goes to Bad Korea, Lives to Write About It, Insult Me
- Joyce Carol Oates Is (Still) Too Nice to Insult Me
- Chad Harbach, Dopplegangers & the Near Demise of Insult-Seeking
- Mark Svartz Reminds My Parents of the Failure They Raised
- Adam Ross, Repeat Insulter @ Bookcourt
- Sam Lipsyte Nearly Broke My Heart
- Share Your Book Collection!
New York Readings
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