CLUMP is a black comedy satire about a huge, headless man who becomes the most popular - and dangerous - celebrity in the world.
Clump is a man with no known name, no known past and, most importantly, no head. The huge, heavily muscled giant lacks any awareness of the world around him, but miraculously becomes the most popular entertainer in America. Clump's medical and media handlers must manage his skyrocketing career as a music video star and create a wholesome, family-friendly public image...while concealing the inconvenient fact that the headless man is homicidally dangerous when touched.
A so-called "splatire" owing to the mix of razor-sharp comedy and graphic violence, CLUMP's satiric targets include the entertainment industry, medicine, journalism, corporate greed and ineptitude, politics, and a morally vacuous culture that increasingly and enthusiastically embraces the brainless.
Stylistically, CLUMP reads like a head-on collision between Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. and Chuck Palahniuk. It is not for the faint-hearted, the thin-skinned, or the unadventurous but is an all-you-can stomach buffet for those who like their comedy dark and their social commentary barbed.
Excerpt
The headless man's arms were slowly reaching outwards as he lay flat in bed, his hands making small circles in the air. The circles grew larger and wider, as if the hands were testing for the limitations of straps and not finding them.
One of Clump's knees raised, then the leg extended again. And again.
Then suddenly, with eerie naturalness, Clump rolled onto his side, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat upright.
So odd was the sight that Crunt, Esquire had to kick the kneeling photographer to remind him to take a picture. No one spoke.
Clump's thick fingers dug into the sheets and mattress, getting a sure grip. Muscles rose in his arms as he pushed upwards.
And then he was standing. Weaving slightly in his backless hospital gown, trying to center himself, but definitely upright.
"Jesus H. Christ," croaked Woe. "He's a giant! My head doesn't even come to his shoulders!"
"Neither does his," joked Love It nervously.
Only now was the true reality of Clump sinking in on the group. When he was strapped to a bed, under a sheet, it was natural to focus entirely on Clump's raw stump of a neck and that rolling tongue. An ugly wound, and nothing more.
But out of bed, Clump was a very different story. It was impossible to look at Clump's huge, symmetrical body and not expect to find a head perched on top. And failing to see a head, the natural reaction was to think "this can't be right, look again." Again and again and again, as little red synaptic warning lights popped on in the fear and revulsion centers of the observer's brain.
"Look what he's doing now!" worried Woe.
"I don't think that's what he should be doing," said Skeptic.
Clump was making slow, rhythmic movements which caused his muscles to ripple and swell. His entire frame seemed to be expanding.
"Not to worry," Tetlow said with forced confidence. "This is exactly what I was hoping for. His muscle groups are coming online sequentially."
But to himself, Tetlow was thinking is that fucking Tai Chi?!
Thirteen Sick Tasteless Classics, Part II is adult literature featuring adult language and situations that satirizes thirteen famous novellas and short stories. It is Jay Dubya's sixteenth ebook.
