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Clinicality Press, publishers of far out, cutting-edge, postmodern, avant-garde and out-and-out wild works of fiction including Clinical, Brutal… An Anthology of Writing With Guts, Bill Thunder’s The Bastardizer and James Well’s catalogue of sex ‘n’ drugs ‘n’ rock ‘n’ roll, Hack, will be drawing a line under the introductory pricing offer of its latest offering, Christopher Nosnibor’s anti-novel This Book is Fucking Stupid on 1st May.

Currently only available as an eBook via Smashwords, the book launched on 1st April for just $0.99. From 1st May, this price will increase to $1.99, and from 1st June the book will cost £2.99.

Plans are already in place for an expanded Kindle edition to be published later in the year, followed in due course by a paperback version. A deluxe hardback edition is planned for 2013.

Everything about this book is stupid, not least of all the price… download your copy of the anti-literary sensation before the end of the month and bag a bargain!

“The most pointless and pathetic attempt at a novel you’re likely to read. If you can honestly say you find something good about this book and can find the ‘point’ to it, you’re smarter than me. Or, more likely, you’re a pretentious asshole and you’re just pretending.”

Download via this book via this link: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/146943

TBIFS Cover 2 copy

Until February 25th, we’re making James Well’s grimy tale of sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll and STDs available via Smashwords for a bargain-basement $0.99! It’s available in most ebook formats. Simply follow this link to the book – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87484 – enter the voucher code XG63P to get your copy at this discount price (normal price $2.99).

Go on, you know you want to!

 

Hack Small

Cutting-edge cult underground publisher Clinicality Press have redoubled their attempts to assault the world’s literary frontiers by publishing a selection of titles as Amazon Kindle editions. Beginning with the twin blast of their latest title, ‘Hack’ by first-time author James Wells, coupled with Bill Thunder’s brutal pulp novel ‘The Bastardizer.’

About ‘Hack’:

Rob Price is a music journalist. He’s a hard-drinking hack who’s frustrated, skint and cynical, and he’s drowning in a pile of CDs to review that he simply doesn’t have the time to listen to. He’s not only got money issues, but girlfriend issues, flatmate issues, personal hygiene issues and a rampant libido he’s incapable of keeping in check after a few pints.

‘Hack’ follows Rob round endless seedy dive venues as he finds himself at odds with the people he meets in an industry teeming with hangers on, wannabes, maybes and no-hopers, as he sneers, snorts, tokes and spews his way through a succession of sordid encounters and dangerous liaisons in his quest for that ‘big’ story.

A graphic and darkly comic tale of misanthropy, music and misadventure, ‘Hack’ makes Lester Bangs seem positively straight edge in comparison to Price. This book is to music journalism what John Niven’s ‘Kill Your Friends’ is to A&R – only grimier, slimier and grittier. While some writers go for the jugular, James Wells just goes straight for the jugs.

Hack 4 copy

 

Meanwhile, ‘The Bastardizer’ takes detective genre fiction on a journey straight to hell, as PI Bill Thunder ducks, dives, kicks and punches his way through the sordid underworld of Internet pornography in his quest to find a missing man.

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With more titles to follow before the end of the year, Clinicality Press look set to leave their mark – a bloodied stain – on 2011.

http://clinicalitypress.co.uk

Things have been pretty busy at Clinicality Press lately. What with promoting the January sale and ensuring that our next book, Christopher Nosnibor’s From Destinations Set is set to go, as well as writing press releases that we’ll be starting to circulate soon, we’ve had precious little time for much else. For this reason, our Clinical, Brutal blogzine, launched in September, has been taking something of a back seat lately, and we haven’t posted any new fiction in a while. That’s all set to change in a few weeks, however, and we’ve got some killer new fiction lined up to get things going again.

We’re also on the lookout for more stories – or poems, if they’re suitably kick-ass – for our blogzine. It’s hoped that the best of these will provide the basis of our next anthology, which we’re hoping to assemble some time in 2012.

If you have a piece you think we might dig, get in touch via the contact page of the website… and watch this space for more news and cutting-edge fiction!

http://clinicalitypress.co.uk/Contact.aspx

It’s been all systems go at Clinicality today, with The Gimp by Christopher Nosnibor and Kicks by Vincent Clasper being unleashed simultaneously. Both are available to order from Clinicality as of now, and will be available through the usual on-line retail outlets in the coming weeks.

These publications are both intended to be sharp, short shocks, clocking in at under 50 pages apiece and graced with covers that aren’t intended to be particularly cuddly. We like it like that.

Today also sees Bill Thunder’s ultra-hard-boiled detective novel, The Bastardizer go global. Unfortunately, we’ve had to up the price to cover the distribution pricing arrangements, but the trade-off is that it will soon be showing up on searches and available through Amazon and all the rest. One other plus point is that we’ve managed to retain the ‘pocket’ format for the trade paperback edition, meaning it’s still the compact 4.25” x 6.9” we’d always wanted it to be. We’ve also made it available as a download at a very reasonable £1.99 as of now, and hope to run some special promotions in the near future.

Hop on over to the website for more info and to order all Clinicality Press publications, and keep watching this space for more exciting new fiction on-line.

http://clinicalitypress.co.uk

   “So you think you’re quite the man, do you?”
    James winced. He’d only known Debbie a few weeks having met her through a friend at a night out with some of his course companions. Studying chemistry, he didn’t get to see many girls in the lab or in the lectures, but he always tried to address this when out socially. And he had quickly learned that Debbie was a bugger after a few drinks. What’s more, he’d got to recognise that tone of voice she had taken, and her mannerisms. They said something was afoot and it was likely to be trouble. He was keen to avoid trouble, and so he played it safe.
    “Well, I am a man…” he began cautiously.
    This was met with snorts of derision from his mates Andy and Joe, and a tuneless rendition of the line ‘I’m a man not a boy’ as performed by the long-forgotten teen band North and South who had featured in the BBC television series ‘No Sweat’ in an attempt to replicate the success of S Club 7, from Stu. The fool.
    “Prove it,” Debbie taunted flirtatiously.
    “What?” James couldn’t hide his surprise.
    “A drinking contest, silly!” she laughed.
    James flushed, especially when he noticed that Sarah and Jenny were laughing too. He knew he’d sounded excessively indignant and defensive.
    “Oh!” he exclaimed, relieved. He had reasons to be wary after some of the stories he’d heard of Debbie, and that she had herself recounted.
    “What did you expect?” cackled Sarah.
    Jim shrugged, and before he could speak, found himself being presented with a shot of tequila that seemed to come from nowhere and his thoughts buried beneath a chant of “Drink! Drink! Drink!” from all of his companions.
    He picked up the little glass and put it to his lips, keeping one eye on Debbie all the while. Then… Bam! He sank it. Debbie did the same, in unison. More followed in rapid succession and James soon began to feel woozy.
    “Think I need some fresh air,” he said as his vision began to blur.
    He made a sharp exit, and the cool night air hit him like an adrenaline shock. He still felt disorientated – tequila always ruined him, and fast – and sweat was beading on his brow, but he no longer felt like he would die and simply felt drunk enough for more antics. And more antics he would get.
    The rest of the gang quickly gathered around him. It was time to move on. Another bar, and en route Debbie insisted she make a brief call at her house – she’d left some cash there, and made a quick-change of her top while she was making the collection. Before long, they were on their way. Debbie lived in the heart of town, and so the next bar – a horrible, loud place that played pulsating dance music but did two-for-one student offers on certain nights – was only a couple of minutes away. James was glad he was utterly trashed: it was the only way he could ever find places like this remotely tolerable.
    Despite her enormous capacity for booze, even Debbie was beginning to show the signs of her consumption, and everyone else was utterly legless – as gashed as James, or so he assumed: it was hard for him to judge. But she hadn’t forgotten her evening’s objective, to challenge James to prove himself at every opportunity. And he was drunk enough to go along with whatever she put his way. So chatting up some alcopop-guzzling teenage floozy in an impossibly short skirt might have resulted in a truly humiliating rejection, but won the approval of his peers, not least of all the truly fearsome Debbie. Dancing shirtless on a table? No problem. It might’ve got them kicked out of that particular bar, but that was half the fun.
    Once ejected, they regrouped outside. Debbie guided them all into an alleyway and broke out her wallet, removing a piece of paper, the likes of which James had never seen before.
    “Acid,” she explained, an evil conspiratory leer on her face.
    “Oh no,” James said. He meant it.
    But a little coercion goes a long way, and before long, he and Debbie and three or four others had dropped tabs and the rest of the group – minus Stuart, who claimed he had to work the following morning – made their way to the next venue. After that, the acid was beginning to kick in, but despite the onset of some mildly disconcerting hallucinations, James accepted the challenge of skinnydipping in the river that ran through the town centre. He scraped his leg on a submerged shopping trolley, but it was worth it: after all, it was a laugh, he got to maintain his credibility in the eyes of the great arbiter, Debbie, and he got to see her without any clothes. She was a good sport, and would never set a challenge she wouldn’t perform herself.
    The evening began to blur, perhaps there were more bars, even a club. The group was reducing in size now: only James, Debbie, Jenny and Andy remained. Jen and Andy were flagging and starting to weird out, but James was on fire and managing to keep up with Debbie. More drinks purchased from an off-license or somewhere topped up those already imbibed and blended with the LSD. It was quite a trip.
    Somehow, they ended up on a building site. James wasn’t sure about this. He was being coerced to climb the crane tower. It was a good hundred feet tall, and was fuzzy and bending out of shape. He was scared of heights, and right now his balance and co-ordination were fucked. However mashed he was, he knew it was impossible. He didn’t want to die. But Debbie wasn’t taking no for an answer. Then, from nowhere, she pulled a pistol from her bag. She pointed at her friend. She cocked the mechanism with terrifying steadiness and certainty.
    “Climb,” she ordered
    James knew he had no choice.

‘Drinking Games’ appears in The Gimp, out on Clinicality Press on 11th October 2010.

This is the first story to feature in our soon-to-be critically lauded blogzine, where Clinicality Press publish and promote new works of fiction and beyond. In time, there may be a second anthology, but these things take time and money, and we’re short on both. For now, we’re doing the digital thing.

Killing for Company

Vincent Clasper

It started out through boredom. Single, lonely, stuck at home, nothing to do. An evening spent with a four-pack, idling away the hours on-line. Only so much sport and music a guy can take. He’d always avoided the porn on the ‘net, said it was for sad losers who couldn’t get laid. But he’d been without a partner for some weeks now, and the urge to shoot his load was becoming too much to bear. He Googled a few random search terms:

Lesbian lick blonde

Brunette cum sprays

Jenna Jameson anal

Most of the results were disappointing: small low-res pics, or otherwise simply fronts for pay-sites and links pages that led to more links pages – all the promise, but nothing delivered. A couple of sites brought up pages of thumbnails, though, and he flicked through a handful of screens, checking out some DVDA action of some busty tan-lined blondes. Imagining himself in the place of one of the guys, he flipped his cock free of his boxers and tossed until he creamed onto the carpet.

It wasn’t long before it became a habit, and it wasn’t long before he started thinking and seeing things differently. He’d see girls in the MPEGS and JPEGS that began to clutter his hard drive who reminded him of girls he knew or had known from work or college or even school. He’d fantasize that the girls in the pictures and videos were the girls he knew and would knock a mix out with these thoughts in his head.

He started to diversify and became interested in voyeur sites, candid sites. He became obsessed. His netlife became his reality: at work, in the street, the supermarket, he’d be on he lookout for downblouse shots and nipple slips. He even removed a screw from the handle of the bathroom door and drilled through so he could catch a glimpse of his lodger in the bath or shower. Women became objects: he’d find himself engaged in a perfectly normal conversation and imagine different scenarios. In the pub, he visualised the barmaid in a short skirt, exposing her bare ass as she reached over the table to collect empty glasses, or taking the hot blonde from accounts in the stationery cupboard. He’d ponder what the women and girls he saw in the street, the shop, the pub, and at work looked like naked, imagined their nipples and their beavers.

And he was never bored again.

‘Killing for Company’ is taken from Vincent Clasper’s forthcoming booklet Kicks, to be published by Clinicality Press in October.

We publish books. Brilliant books. However, we are a zero-budget publishing house, and putting books out and promoting them is costly and time-consuming, and we receive more brilliant submissions than we can ever publish in print. So, to address this, we shall shortly be using this blog space to publish some of the great work we receive but can’t, for one reason or another (usually financial) put out as books or pamphlets or include in collections.

In time, this blog will also be integrated into the Clinicality Press website, but in the meantime, skip over to http://clinicalitypress for more… and watch this space!