Motherfuckers: The Auschwitz Of Oz
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The Citizen Kane of bad taste. There's so much evil energy in this book, if it moved next door to you you'd probably get cancer within a week! In the long-awaited sequel to David Britton's first novel, Lord Horror (and Savoy's contender for the 1996 Booker Prize for Fiction) the great horror of modern history is absorbed into the framework of Surrealism, literary fantasy and the darkest children's fiction.
By viewing the Holocaust as a tragicomic carnival of the grotesque, the author offers the reader a vivid, dream-level identification with the era of efficient barbarism.
beam of weak dawn sunlight the surface of his skin had taken on the colour of a glistening deadpool. An ominous prickling on the nape of his neck had been sufficient warning to propel him rapidly from the warm sheets. “I smell niggers, I smell niggers!” He had sat bolt upright, singing at the top of his voice. “A fucking nest of them, oil heavy, Barabbas-thick.” He remembered standing naked before his bed, swaying unsteadily, his big chest pulsating, feeling hot dog sick, trying to see through
around patches of seaweed-entangled pools. The puppets avoided the water (nothing rots wooden legs like salt water). Only Buffalo Bob Smith waded unconcernedly into the winding slip-streams of Belsen Beach. “Sure is a lovely day for it,” said Howdy to the Beetle. “That it is,” agreed Herbie. “You got any Royal Gelatine Desserts on ya?” Hopefully, Howdy hitched up his britches. “They’re ma favourite.” “Sorry.” “I’ll bet those cunts from British Radio snaffled the lot.” “Zorry?” repeated
corpses, where she was quickly assimilated. Occasionally, it pulled a white male body from the main pyramid of salts and crushed it together in a ball, rolling the stuffs around in its leather palms until the corpse compressed into a giant owl’s pellet. This stuff the ape inserted into its mouth, as if sampling a rare truffle. Then the ape pushed the pellet to the forefront of its mouth. Holding it firmly between clenched teeth, it blew, and the pellet opened out into a pink petticoat of skin.
forehead. Wearily, he rested his arms around the necks of a pair of male twins that jutted waist up from the salts. The landscape dipped like the sudden flow of a wave, and he was carried down into a valley. When he rose up again, the twin nearest to him turned its cold head and bit into his naked chest. Horror’s hips pumped in an erotic funk. Lovingly, he delivered a smooth circular cut which decapitated the twin at shoulder level. The cut severed its skin and all the soft structures of the
forced inactivity had weakened him to such an extent that without the aid of his still powerful arms, he could barely stand. His legs looked worse than the chilblained hams of the women he had seen sitting at the hearth of a burning eirne fire in the company of Queenie, his mother. By design he had allowed his leg muscles to atrophy and now the Maze authorities had the extra burden of ferrying him back and forth in a specially constructed mobile security cage. The cage was constrictingly small,