Liam Mac Sheóinín

Liam Mac Sheóinín's George W. Bush Buys Coke in Mid-Eternity is available at Amazon.com.

Liam Mac Sheóinín's George W. Bush Buys Coke in Mid-Eternity, a Menippean satire, relocates James Joyce's Dublin to the New Jersey shore with the same spirit of inventive wordplay. Frank McCourt called an excerpt "a language mad romp with many, many laughs along the way."  Margot Norris, author of The Decentered Universe of Finnegans Wake, called the parody of the Circe chapter of Ulysses "certainly a hoot!"


Sample Passage

Am I part? No. God no! I’m pure Gael except for a Norman eponym. Not a drop of the murky Thames in the MacSuirtáin. If she only could love me. Multiple choice. Not that again, Brian. Percy Bysshe gave up his quest to roam the female soul. The filthy John was instead content to cause Dottore Polidori to quelph in dark Italian selvi. Perhaps they took turns making one another exclaim? Should I bugger a boy? Or should a boy bugger me? He was supposedly straight. Heterosexual Englishman is a contradiction in terms. A convert to the one true faith, as Tyrone père called it. I say Catholics are born, not made. Like any good sinning Catholic, I feel the winds of hell blowing me towards the bright abyss. For once you feel his fiery breath in your ear, you are spiritually doomed.Yet all is not lost, boyo, because you are materialistically saved. Languishing on this plastic rood, I wonder if I am goniff one or goniff two? I am certainly not the anointed one. When on marathon calls to Rachel, I always think: Am I talking into eternity along the Jersey Shore? Nobo, why have you forsaken me? Frank, you fucking hobbit. What’s taking you? The old hag must be pulverizing his pistachios. He fucks her in the ass. Like an Eskimo, he offers her to his friends. No takers. Women have become as sexually adventurous as their late sister Regina Pasiphaë. I’m your white bull, Rachel. Alas, one with a s.d. I’m centimetering closer to the abyss. It smells like cuntstink or a whiff of Rachel’s perfume. I can’t decide which? It’s glowing like a cunt. Who said it had to be a black adiaphane? Nothing might be Sahara sunny. You know what they say? Too much sunshine makes a desert. The porchists declared nothing passes unexplained. They spoke of an active force which is everywhere coexistent with matter. Were they speaking of energy? They’re equivalents, mutually convertible according to Einstein. Alright, you’ve told me about something. Now I want to know everything about nothing! Some will say I already do. We’ll all know soon enough, won’t we? Or perhaps this call will last the eternity? Where is that microcosm of humanity? Literal ewescrewer!

Information about the Author

Liam Mac Sheóinín is publishing his first novel novel with Serving House Books. He has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominationsand contributed fiction to numerous publications such as The Burning Bush and The Abiko Annual.


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