Bob sold 2,500 copies of his memoir, which is 2385 more than I sold of XXX-Communicated.
Life is cruel that way. It doesn’t always reward quality, often preferring the cheap and tawdry.
I call Bob Tuesday afternoon, desperate for content, no matter how low the quality and how irrelevant to my readers.
I wanted to get back on his good side so he’d continue to feed me free stories.
Bob’s finished his second memoir. "It’s on drugs and alcohol in my family."
"My father was an alcoholic. My step-father was an alcoholic and my mother was an alcoholic. I call that the triple crown.
"My father’s still alive. He was married three times. He has a step-son (now about 60) and a daughter who have been heroin addicts for about thirty years."
"It’s a memoir that goes to a broader audience. Vanilla Slim [about pimping] goes to a niche market."
"I’m working on another book, something like Jim Goad’s Gigantic Book of Sex."
Luke: "A collection of your writings?"
Bob: "Right. I want to turn it into one long narrative, rather than a collection of discrete essays. I’ve stolen the title from David Aaron Clark — Pornlandia."
A few weeks ago, Armstrong was turned down by The New Republic. He’d always wanted to publish in there so it was a bitter blow, leading him to consume massive quantities of pornography to stem the pain.
He’s living on the Oregon coast, 100 miles west of Portland.