Would you believe it—three episodes of IN THE RAW in a single week? What’s going on?
PCM Christ wrote a fantastic, bizarre, hilarious story called “Around the World in 80 Lays” and it won the inaugural MAN’S WORLD Pulp Fiction Contest. I sit down to talk to him about the story, as well as his literary inspirations, his vision for literature on the dissident right and much more. This is a discussion you won’t want to miss.
The full story will be published in Issue 14, the second fully physical issue of MAN’S WORLD, in October, along with the two runner-up stories. You can order it now from Passage Publishing.
Below is a short extract from the beginning of the story.
“Around the World in 80 Lays”: An extract from the winning story in the inaugural MAN’S WORLD Pulp Fiction Contest
Note: the ensuing letter was sent to us from one Milton R. Sunflower of Missoula, Montana, claiming to have received it as post from his older brother, Earl S. Sunflower. What follows is a raucous tale of violence and lust, but, whilst the publisher stands by its contents and publication, we have been unable to verify it as true. We can only hope that such an adventure has been had and would like to wish Earl Sunflower GODSPEED, wherever he may be.
Brother, you know I’ve done it all. I came out of the womb roping down horses with my umbilical cord. First woman I ever loved was an Atlantean sea nymph when I was blown overboard in the Bermuda triangle at the age of fourteen. I’ve wrestled lions and tigers and bears, rode the waterways from Timbuktu to Cape Cod, sparred with kings and romanced queens, handled 1000 horsepower around the curves of the Earth, traveled to the fourth dimension. But this damn gypsy almost got me.
She’d given me the best hard cider of my life, and I’d returned the favor with a love that summoned aurora borealis behind her clenched eyes, pleasure that curled her toes, and what did I get for my good will? The next morning that pikey bitch put a curse on me when I tried to leave! Women are as hateful as anything God ever put on this green earth. Mother excluded, of course. I haven’t been able to get off sense.
The moralizers will think I’m some kind of dog led round by his unit, and these are just desserts, but no, sir, I’m just an ol’ fashioned, red-blooded cowboy answering any adventure and challenge that presents itself, and all of that implies.
Did I stay and try to placate that spiteful hussy? Never even crossed my mind. I walked out of there with my head and member held high. Nobody chains down Earl Sunflower, but it’d be a lie if I said I wasn’t a bit distressed.
I tried everything. Making love didn’t work, so I tried every antidote offered to me: coconut oil mixed with ahuyasca from some she-shaman named Rikoshwami, a Mongolian beauty gave me milk of the horse mixed with placenta blood, a Parisian socialite gave me a perfume used by the courtesans of Versailles; hell, I tried jerking it with nothing but sweat; nada. My balls might as well be a dangling, blue pair of grapefruits. She did it out of spite though, not hate. A woman only wants something back if it’s denied to her. She’ll plot your demise until you walk back into her arms and get nestled up against her big, pillowy ones. See there, even that sentence is enough to give me a rager. No problem there. Thank God.
I almost gave up. I was sitting there, drowning my sorrows in some Romanian plum brandy, looking at the stars, longing to see the moon from my childhood home, when, suddenly, I remembered:
Once in a Turkish marketplace, I’d heard talk about a snowy mountain cap in the midst of the jungle. They’d said it was the exact location of the Garden of Eden. The story goes that the most beautiful woman alive, created not by God but the Devil, had been fleeing from her Creator and happened upon the angel with the fiery sword guarding the entrance. Without saying a word, she seduced him, doing nothing but falling to her knees to beg for her life and offering her warm mouth and fertile crescent. In exchange, he’d given her Paradise and she had turned it into a Heaven of a different kind. A place of magic, flowers with colors outside the spectrum of light, fruits so plump and ripe the juices dripped to the ground perfuming the air with every step toward a palace of pleasure with fantasies and women so beautiful an author couldn’t describe them with words; where the devil himself designed the pussy. Pleasure so overwhelming they had to build a platform to swan-dive off the side of the mountain. Some men were ready to go to Hell as soon as they’d found Heaven on Earth. Shangri-la meets El Dorado and all that. Men were said to chain themselves to the door.
I figure what’s enough to break a man might be enough to break my curse…
IN THE RAW 33: PCM Christ