splash A novel by Grant Maierhofer.

“Grant Maierhofer’s Clog is a buzzsaw feeding on language, meant to be stropped by the red karate side of your palm. You have to mutilate yourself up past the shoulder, right to the meat behind the eyes to read it. A Chose-Your-Own-Adventure timed by panic attacks, flit your baby blues hither and yon, conduct from the butt. Maierhofer was kind enough to allow me a lubricant of my own dimensions, sputtered along the first few pages, here and there throughout – my daft intention behind the stochastic machine at play to parody accusations of inaccessibility and elitism lazily aimed at everything after nine-hundred-and-fuck-an-audience because that’s when we, as a people, went past plastic in our purpose and found a massive cure for crowds. God emptied all the ketchup out of her pockets and tied her tits, sun and moon, into an ever unsnapping blue baller of a nuclear bra. I SOS my testicles out to sea every time another art zips itself up too quick to explain me or anyone. But this opener is basically the plainest memoir ever spoken above an industrial holler, exactly where all life should severed by arrangement, dare you parse a goddamn thing. Perhaps you already guessed The Tower of Babel was Christ’s dildo failing its multiplication tables. In the age of Google translate, the universal language contracted super gonorrhea. Welcome to the sacrificial throat. Sprain communicators on the bodacious claustrophobia of themselves inside a room.”
-Sean Kilpatrick

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