Ad for Scurvy

Scurvy: a pirate's almanac is the first novel by accursed writer Ryan Bigge. Scurvy is a swashbuckling but vitamin-deficient pirate that poses as a farmhand so as to pillage, loot and ravish the Arable family. And in-between feeding animals, putting up a scarecrow and watching over Fern and Avery, that's exactly what he does. Get ready for some wacky misadventures as Scurvy makes a bunch of people squeal like Wilbur (and re-writes E.B. White's classic children's book Charlotte's Web along the way). It's the zany, fish-out-of-water premise that Can-Lit has been waiting for!

"Scurvy is gritty fiction that coats your teeth like sand yet makes you thirst for more." -- Fern Smyth

"Scurvy lacked the usual preponderance of homoeroticism so characteristic of Bigge's short fiction. And for that, I rejoice. So too will readers." -- Burt Archie

"An accomplished and heady mix of dust, rust and lust, Scurvy dares to say what others merely think." -- Naomi Kind

"Those able to look beyond Scurvy's bleeding gums will witness the gossamer threads of life delicately woven and stretched into eternal truths." -- Greg Dymand

"This is wonderful, completely looney. It's a shame mainstream publishers aren't sophisticated enough to know how to market this." -- Ayn MacDermitt

Unbiased sample reaction to Ryan re-marrying 127 Days

The re-tooled 127 Days To Live is dour and post-modern and brilliant and your inability to fathom even a sliver of the genius splayed before you should be a crime punishable by violent and repeated beating. The edgy modernism reminds me of the wonderful times I spent in Berlin during the 1920s (before the inflation) surrounded by a Zeitgeist that floated unimpeded, thick like fog and invigorating as gin and tonic and lime. While you must allow this old man to continue to cry for an era long vanished, I believe this zine will serve as a solid reminder of what things were once like. -- GUNTHER

Unclear

The words are equidistantly spaced, but resemble less sentences than pieces of paper duckpinned to a clothesline. From a distance, there appears to be an order, a discipline to the arrangement, but as you approach, this laundry list becomes mere prepositions, modifers and articles of clothing that share little in common besides the thin thread they are attached to. The more determined think, "I must study this in more detail, I must try to twist meaning from these words." But it is only the true connoisseur that is confident enough to speak aloud, "This is how the written word is supposed to function -- as a pure extension of text into texture."