I went through a Bukowski-era. In learning to cope with college – in addition to, unknowingly, starting the ball rolling for this writing thing – I took up Bukowski’s drunken anger-ridden prose and discovered the “beat generation.”
I never made it much further in that generation than Bukowski, and I never really cared much for his poetry, but I thought he was incredible. It was raw and different and pulsing with life, like a blood blister ready to pop.
Since then, I’ve moved on. He still contributed, in some way, to my first few years of college, but he’s a niche contribution – the guy I want to read when I’m in a sullen mood or after a fifth of whiskey (which, for the record, I’ve never drank).
So anyone who has dabbled in Bukowski can appreciate this: Charles Bukowski’s Peanuts. It’s hilarious and right in key with Chuck Bukowski’s style. It’s not safe for kids, so don’t read it aloud to anyone. But it’s a perfect mimic of the usual “gambling, drinking, promiscuous sex” themes that resonate through all of Bukowski’s work.
It’s the funniest thing I’ve read all week. Enjoy.
(Thanks to Edward Champion’s Return of the Reluctant for the find.)