Oh man, it just had to happen. Someone had to be a bagger at a grocery store and fantasize about hitting children in the head with wine bottles. Someone had to fear a puddle floating at him from across the street. Someone had to celebrate beating up a pregnant woman. Someone just HAD to be a nanny, and stare at giant motorized spiders. Jeez oh man! Don't ask why a teenager in a Chicago Bulls overcoat is feeding baby rabbits to a toad. Don't ask why someone had to run around the backyard with a bedsheet cape after drinking moonshine. And don't ask why jumping down stairs feels like success. Just sit back, drink a piss-infused Bloody Mary, and learn to hurt others

You see him at the liquor store. You see him at the bus stop, trying to look at you without being seen. Who is he? He is a person. In this debut novel, a person walks around Chicago contemplating the possibility of starving to death on purpose. He has sex with his neighbor. He goes out to look for a job but just buys little plastic dogs from homeless people instead. Who is the person? The person is you. The person is me. The person is sitting in his room shooting an empty pellet gun at his face, feeling the slow exhaustion of a Co2 cartridge. The person sits in a bathtub reading his roommate's yearbook. He wants to create a contract mandating worldwide friendship. Person invents new and splendid ways of not getting along. You will read this book and remember why you mainly read books that have sex in them. You will become. . a person

Rontel is the story of one man’s odyssey through Chicago. Follow him as he attempts to go to his last day of work. Follow him through the subway as he considers stealing chips from a dancing baby. Find him being threatened by a homeless man holding board games. Take his hand as he considers building a hydraulic cocoon for his cat out of a complimentary duffel bag. Walk the streets of Uptown as a cop-killer takes hostages to the roof of an apartment building. Meet his friends. Just kidding! Follow him to his neighbor’s apartment where he gets paid in pumpkin pie to watch a baby. Follow him through through the dull pains of never quite becoming an adult. Sit back, laugh, smile, hold your breath, because not even he knows how it ends. “Funny as hell, searingly honest, and urgently real, Sam Pink’s Rontel puts to shame most modern fiction. His writing perfectly captures the bizarre parade that is Chicago, with all its gloriously odd and wonderful people. This book possesses both the nerve of Nelson Algren and the existential comedy of Albert Camus.” — Joe Meno

"The thought of calling off work is like the thought of suicide, just nice to think about." In The No Hellos Diet, Sam Pink brings you straight into a world you've never been to before — your own life. Find yourself working at a department store where everyone must wear red and khaki clothing. Find yourself throwing out garbage for fifty cents more than minimum wage. Find yourself worried about getting your arm ripped off by the box compactor. Find yourself talking about licking assholes with your co-worker. Find yourself driving away into a video game sunset with an Amish man. The No Hellos Diet reminds you of the time you burnt down your future ex-girlfriend's trampoline. It reminds you of the couple of times you smoked crack. And the time you meditated on the most important question of all: Can a cat be killed with a single punch? Find yourself stunned by the prose of a modern novel-master as he follows the course of your life for an entire year

Why are three violent policemen in search of The Greatest Dad in the World? More importantly, why are two young men at a fast food restaurant talking about freezing bees? And good god, why are there two young ladies in the backyard during a Halloween party, shaving each others' legs with a piece of a broken jaw bone? What will become of the old woman who slits her young boyfriend's throat? And why does she give him a calculator for his birthday? Will anyone survive? Where will you be when the Self-Esteem Holocaust comes home?

I noticed it was beginning to get dark. And for a couple seconds, it was scary — like that meant the world was breaking, or expired, or bruised, or something worse. It was really scary for a couple seconds but then I calmed down. Up above, the moonlit clouds looked rippled, like the ribcage of some giant thing digesting me. And I wondered if the direction I was going went down into the digestive system or up out of it. Wondered what difference it made. There was a bug hovering over a small pool of ice cream on the sidewalk. Like a firefly, but it wasn’t a firefly. And I could’ve stepped on it and killed it. But I didn’t. Be thankful, little bug. For in my world, you are just a little bug

"Sam Pink is dictator of the island of the bizarre." — As You Recognize Your Transience "Reading Sam Pink will make you recognize the reptile smuggler that has always been hiding out inside your brain." — Cameron Pierce, author of Ass Goblins of Auschwitz and The Pickled Apocalypse of Pancake Island