I am very pleased to announced that my new book, which you see a fancy picture of right above this text, is now available for preorder and will be in stores in just about two weeks. It hits shelves July 28th or August 1st, depending on your individual retailer.
Pretending that any author could write a comprehensive guidebook to the Internet is the sort of dumb crap that publishers dream up. "Your Next-Door Neighbor is a Dragon" is not a comprehensive guidebook, it's a travelogue about the Internet in which I visit and talk to people outside the Internet. I focused on the subcultures and fetishes I was familiar with and I took the dangerously stupid step of leaving the Internet and going outside.
Your Next-Door Neighbor is a Dragon details my encounters with otherkin, vores, furries, and erotic fan-fiction authors. It includes interviews and adventures that reveal the truth about aspartame, self-diagnosed Asperger's syndrome, the Ron Paul blimp, and how much white power you can download. I even risked my life and visited a doomsday religious cult in Texas& against my will. This book is 97% new material.
The only material seen before on the something Awful front page is a small portion of the chapter about Lindsay Dawn Riley and my old friend Todd from Tucson. David Thorpe graciously wrote the foreword, Shmorky did some fun illustrations, and my old buddy Josh Hass did the cover artwork.
My 2006 book, "My Tank is Fight!" sold well enough to merit a sequel, but it has taken much longer than I wanted to get to this point. I think the end result was worth it: a unique book about a subject matter that can be pretty difficult to tackle in a book with any credibility. Luckily, I have no credibility, so I threw caution to the wind and just tried to have fun. I hope the result will be as entertaining for you to read as it was for me to write. It would mean a lot to me if you took the time and spent a little hard earned cash on this book. It would mean even more to me if you did all that and spread the word. I have no advertising budget for this thing, so spreading the message is important.
If you run a serious website with actual readers I would love to send you a free copy of the book to review or talk about it or whatever. Just email me at firstname.lastname@example.org and include a link to your website or articles or whatever with proof that it's your website and articles. You should still buy it, of course, but you can get an early advance copy out of the deal, as well as my eternal love.
I blew the lid off the link between Morgellons disease, GM crops, reptoids, and aspartame:
"Kid you got bad info. Monsanto, Dow, and the military contractors are all working together. They're a front for the reptoids."
"So how do we fight back?" I asked, still stinging from Dr. Fuller's rebuke.
"Neodymium magnets and orgonite technology," Dr. Fuller replied. "You neo your sores and implants for a few hours, disable their energy fields so they stop replicating, and then you surgically remove them. You use the orgonite etheric collectors to consolidate your energy and disrupt the reptoid attempts to control your conscious brain."
"I thought you said the reptoid implants and Morgellons were two different things," I was becoming confused.
"They are!" He messaged back. "The reptoid implants are larger and inserted during abductions. The Morgellons nano fibers are produced when your body responds to certain triggers."
"So your body makes them?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied. "Your body is slaved to the reptoid energy wavelength and is forced to produce Morgellons buds that will grow into colonies."
"How do you disable them to prevent them from replicating if they can just send out an energy signal that makes you make more?"
"Ah, but that's what the orgonite is for. You use the orgone energy to jam the reptoid signal."
"Which is in food produced by Monsanto?"
"Right," Dr. Fuller replied.
"And they make aspartame too?"
"Right," Dr. Fuller answered.
I convinced an erotic fan-fiction writer to write an erotic self-insertion account of our meeting:
The cheerleaders were building a new shower with new tiles so they could soap each other up and lez out. They were looking at tiles and getting hot thinking about lezzing out in the shower.
Zack and Janus walked over to the cheerleaders and two of the fine ass cheerleaders turned around to look at Janus. One of them was tall and had huge titties falling out of her sweater and it was a half-sweater so you could see the bottoms of her boobs and the cleavage at the top. She was a blond and was also wearing a skirt and her other friend had black hair and looked like Jessica Simpson with black hair and bigger, rounder ass cheeks.
"I'm Trixy," she said and held out her hand.
Zack reached for her hand but Janus slapped it away. He took her hand and he kissed it. And who is your friend here?" he asked.
"That's Kelly" said Trixy and Kelly held her hand out and also Janus kissed that hand.
"Hey whats goin on here????" Shouted the coach and everybody looked over and saw it was a fine ass older woman with big titties and a track suit.
"Mom!?!?!" Zack shouted.
"Yep I'm your mom" agreed the coach. "Bet you didn't know I ran a cheerleader school hey whose your friend?"
Zack tried to answer but he was too stupefied to answer. Zack looked away when Janus kissed his mom's hand. What a disgrace! This was too embarrassing to endure.
A self-described elfkin demonstrated his infravision for me by risking his car:
"It's the details I have trouble with," Roger asserted. "I can navigate just fine."
Minutes later, I stood in the waist-high grass, my legs already stinging from the scratchy fronds and biting insects. I watched from my vantage point about fifty feet into the field as Roger drove his rusty Cavalier into the tall grass. He drove up next to me and rolled his window down. Bugs leapt from the grass and swarmed his headlights.
"We're gonna go through the trees once and come back," Roger explained.
"How fast are you going to go?" I asked, wary of riding with him in pitch black.
"Fast enough, but if we hit something it won't kill us," Roger smiled. "But we ain't going to hit nothing."
It was a bad time for double negatives. I should have known that, but I foolishly agreed to this new version of the infravision experiment.
I climbed into the passenger seat, my feet disappearing into the pool of fast food wrappers in the foot well. There was something wet against my ankle. I think it was a slug. The other possibility was a loose human eyeball.
"Ready?" Roger asked.
"Ready," I lied.
It was wide open for as far as the headlights could reach. With a click, Roger shut them off and we were plunged into the velvet black. The night was impenetrable to human eyes, but clear as daylight to those of the drow, duergar, dwarves, gnomes, and Rogers.
That's just a tiny sampling of the subjects I cover and the people I encountered during the course of my adventure. So, I implore you a final time:
Thank you and God Bless America!
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The interpreter from the Mandela memorial tries to explain himself the only way he knows how.
The Daily Dirt serves as a column for all Something Awful frontpage writers to write about, well, whatever they feel like putting into the Daily Dirt!