Free The Sugar Frosted Nutsack by Mark Leyner

the world (in addition to the souls of human beings, Ike believes that Western materialism is also polluting the souls of animals, especially house sparrows, swans, and mice).
    Instead of a monocle and a walking stick, this flâneur sports a tight guinea-T and a baseball bat. But don’t worry—he’s loaded with gem-like aperçus and aphorisms! For example:
    — If you give people too many things to remember you by, they’ll forget them. Pick one.

9.
    For anyone attending a performance of The Sugar Frosted Nutsack today, there’s likely to be little if any suspense about what actually happens. The story, with its escalating crises, divine interventions, and hyperviolent denouement, is so well known by now that an audience at a public recitation would not only be able to anticipate every single plot point, but would probably know many of the lines by heart and almost be able to lip-sync along with the bards. And they’d know the history of the making of The Sugar Frosted Nutsack. They’d know how each “section” became known as a “Session” and then as a “Season.” They’d know how these Seasons were produced—over the course of hundreds, even thousands, of years—by nameless, typically blind men, high on ecstasy or ketamine, seated in a circle, and chanting for hours and hours on end as they sipped orange soda from a jerrycan; and how every new improvisational flourish, every exegetical commentary and meta-commentary, every cough, sniffle, and hiccough on the part of the bard is incorporated into the story, and is then required in each subsequent performance; and how numerous unrelated episodes have, over the centuries, fallen into the epic’s orbit and gradually become incorporated into the epic itself; and how vernacular variants are incessantly generated in its mutagenic algorithms; how it’s been “produced” through layering and augmentation, repetition and redundancy, more closely resembling the loop-based step sequencing we associate with Detroit techno music than with traditional “writing.”
    Adults and children alike would be familiar enough with the plot to already know (before the bards even opened their mouths to deliver the first words “There was never nothing ” ) that the saga of Ike begins with him making a lewd mandala of Italian breadcrumbs for the Goddess La Felina and then engaging in an extended adagio with the waitress at the Miss America Diner and writing his narcocorrido “That’s Me ( Ike ’s Song)”; they’d already know that Ike gets high with his daughter’s boyfriend, Vance , and makes a list for him called “Ten Gods I’d Fuck (T.G.I.F)” and neglects to include the Goddess Shanice , which incurs her eternal wrath (FYI: La Felina was #1 on his list); and that Koji Mizokami , the God who fashioned the composer Béla Bartók out of his own testicular teratoma, helps Ike shoplift an Akai MPC drum machine from a Sam Ash on Route 4 in Paramus, New Jersey; and that Bosco Hifikepunye begins supplying Vance with the hallucinogenic drug Gravy to sell on the street; and that Ike goes to Port Newark for a tryst with La Felina , who’s transformed herself into a container ship; and that she promises Ike that before he martyrs himself, she’ll appear to him in human form and fuck him; and that she says she’ll get in touch with him on his cellphone and let him know exactly when and where; and they know that he’s photographed there by the ATF; and they’d already know that while Ike is interviewing for a butcher’s job at Costco, a God impregnates his daughter; and that Ike accidentally kills his father as they wrestle for Ike’s cellphone because Ike ’s father is trying to change Ike ’s ringtone from “Me So Horny” to John Cage ’s 4'33" —the composer’s notorious “silent composition” consisting of four minutes and thirty-three seconds in which the performer plays nothing (e.g., a pianist going to the keyboard and not hitting any keys for four