May Contain Bones by Matthew F. Amati

Matthew F. Amati comes out with another volume where quirky collides with macabre. May Contain Bones may contain too the secret ingredient to make your day, should the dark delight you!

I can do no better than the author's blurb with its glimpses into the tales held therein, as well as the caveat:

Who can persuade the Headless Child to sleep? Why does the Ordinary Man pounce when he senses knowledge of the Bhagavad-Gita? What is a Parlous Hoon, and who sends Mr. Slain and Mr. Harkness out upon the owl-mad road? Questions like these are raised but never answered in this sometimes shocking, sometimes uproarious collection of 25 tiny, lethal stories from the mind of Matthew F. Amati. Do not drop this book. Do not serve it with oat pudding. And under no circumstances should you store it on the same shelf as your copy of “Eat, Pray, Love.” This is dangerous stuff. The warning is on the cover, after all.

His bona fides are a thing to behold, conferring all legitimacy to the stories he tells and how he tells them :

 I was born at twice the speed of sleep, three-fisted yowling like a buttered piglet on a bacon pan. I turned to black soot and flew high over burning cities, fought angry comets in backwards suits, plunged like an incendiary penguin into boiling seas and singlehandedly gave rise to all life that is bad. I sang songs of broken crows. I crept across your floor like a headless thing with too many eyes. Now I'm in your kitchen, frowning at your celery. I am friends with your toaster and this should smite you with the mother of all fears..

With that taste of an utterly unique voice, or rather polyphony of voices, go forth and procure, here. Just remember about shelving, and the oat pudding.