Tall Tales with Short Cocks Vol. 4 by Arthur Graham
My rating: 3/5 cats
as of this morning, i am sixteen book reviews behind. SIXTEEN!! how does that even happen to a reader? as a result, i am going to cut corners with this review, but i will cut them as though with pinking shears, to give flair and zazz to what will essentially be a lazy review. but look at that zazz!!
this is a book of short stories. and what i ordinarily like to do when reviewing a book of short stories is to review the pieces separately and thoughtfully. but—SIXTEEN!
and while i liked several stories in this collection very very much, there were some that just didn’t do much for me one way or another. none of them were bad or terrible or worst story ever, but i have a wobbly relationship with both the short story form and the bizarro genre in general, so it’s the kind of thing where i have to be very clear-eyed about what i choose to read in both short stories and bizarro, and when it’s an anthology situation, it’s more of a dice-roll, so it’s only natural that i will have a mixed response.
SO—in order to avoid breaking any hearts with “i didn’t like this story overmuch” and risk being stalked and—let’s be honest—to give the impression that i am writing a thoughtful review but am really just desperately trying to catch up on reviews before i forget what the books were even about, i am going to extract my favorite line from each of these stories and type them out here. i might even get a little frisky here and there and select two sentences or—gasp—a paragraph for clarity’s sake.
such generosity of spirit.
so, to begin!!
My Tapir—Danger Slater
“Have there been any reports of tapir attacks recently?” I ask. “Possibly involving a tapir eating someone’s significant other and then trying to assume their place? Or perhaps you’ve gotten wind of some kind of Freaky Friday body-swap shenanigans happening around town?”
“There have been no body-swapping reports filed in the last 24 hours. And tapirs are strict vegetarians, sir,” the operator coldly assures me. “I doubt one ate your girlfriend.”
“They—they are?”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“My girlfriend is a vegetarian, too.”
“Sounds to me like your girlfriend is a tapir, then.”
“Yeah,” I go. “I suppose she is.”
Kidnapping with Margaret Thatcher—David S. Atkinson
It would have been one of the nicest evenings I’d ever had in years if she hadn’t torched my house while I was still tied to the kitchen wall.
Frequently Asked Questions—Casper Kelly
NeighborBanke ™ is with you 24/7 and everywhere you want to be. We strive to provide a full range of services to serve the whole family, from providing Mom a low-interest loan for a kitchen renovation to our Kid’s Money Klub for your son. Speaking of which, we are expanding our services through the bathroom wall right now to make ourselves more accessible to your son who is hiding in the closet. Pardon our progress.
Dickhead—Ross E. Lockhart
I’d read a handful of her stories, and enjoyed them, in spite of their too-heavy-handed polemic. I’d also seen her blog, and knew that if she’d put half as much attention into her fiction as she did her tirades against the patriarchy, she’d be a force to be reckoned with.
Lucite—Chanteclaire Coquine
“I will get you this tongue, but i refuse to put bovine eyeballs in my pussy hole just so you can watch.”
A Fat Lot of Bad—John McNee
Lester, from birth, had been blessed with the ability to pass himself off as the outer casing of a premium range vacuum cleaner. It was a gift.
The Riverbed: Rated Z (in 3-D)—Douglas Hackle
The three clowns shot sweet coconut milk into each others’ mouths from pinched nipples and ate each other’s gourmet butt-fudge and mint nose-jelly with complete and utter abandon.
Dalí’s Cock—Arthur Graham
“Curse this infernal cock!” he’d say, chasing it around the house with a bullwhip, or a pair of pruning shears. “I should’ve listened to Buñuel and got myself a dog instead!”
Dalí was always saying shit like that, especially when he was drunk.
How to Survive a Human Outbreak—Bradley Sands
Roy was depressed. He loved his kittens. He just wanted to take them in his arms and hug them forever and never have to think about using them as bowling pins ever again.
The Girl with the Perfect Hair—Jeff O’Brien
For just as I reached down to grab her ass, I started hearing those same, awful noises again—like a herd of dying moose within her panties.
Gnome-Pocalypse—Eirik Gumeny
this one gets two quotes, because this is something i would say, which makes me laugh with recognition:
“Trick-or-treaters?” Calvin wondered, shoving another Reese’s into his mouth.
“Maybe,” said Rosa, getting up from the couch. “Give me the bowl.”
“It’s a plastic pumpkin, not a bowl.”
“You’re a plastic pumpkin.”
and this line has to go on record, just because.
“Great, now we’ve got fire gnomes.”
(this one was my favorite story, in part because it reminded me of this hilarious bit of monsterporn, but also because it’s pretty awesome all on its own)
The Right Stuff—Jessica McHugh
Threading the hooks through her tiny nipples proved tricky at first, but with festive red and green balls dangling from her chest, a bit of her old spirit returned.
Yeti vs. Bear—Grady Hendrix
Alexey was a Northern Black Bear. He weighed 480 lbs and stood seven feet tall on his hind legs. His fur was thick and his rock-hard skull could withstand a round from a .22 caliber rifle. He was death on four paws. Hikers felt their bowels turn to ice water when they heard his chainsaw growl. He was massive. He was intimidating. He was terrifying. So he was very surprised to find himself getting punched in the face by a Yeti.
“No hit!” he roared, covering his muzzle with his paws. “No hit bear!”
“Eeeee!” the Yeti screamed, and punched him in the face again.
the irony/lesson learned of this review is that it actually took me longer to write this than it would have to write a regular, traditional review, because i basically had to read the entire book over again in order to choose the best, most illustrative sentences from each story. so there’s that. FIFTEEN MORE TO WRITE TODAY, WHE!
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