I got a copy of my book in the post today. Although it is not on sale until the 9th October the books are all printed now and sitting in a warehouse somewhere (and if my previous book, the Fist of Fun annual is anything to go by this is where they will stay, before being pulped or sold in bargain bookshops for 50p).
After all this time and all the work I've done it was quite a special feeling to have my Cock in my hands (I mean the book, honestly your minds disgust me sometimes).
During the struggle to complete it in time, it was hard to visualise that what I was writing was actually going to be published, so only now does it all seem real.
I flicked through it and it looked like a proper book that might be done by a grown-up and be for sale in the shops. I read a few bits. It's been a while since I wrote the early parts and I'd forgotten a lot of what I'd written and I thought it was pretty funny. It was as if the author had exactly the same sense of humour as me, which is always remarkable and satisfying. Until you remember that you are the author, then it's not so surprising. Still if I just write all the books that I ever read (after having given myself a few months to forget what they're about) then I will never be disappointed by my choice of reading material ever again!
I had been very concerned to try and make sure all the grammar and spelling and punctuation was right as I hate it when a book is spoiled by typos, but even in my speed-read flicking through I noticed three (not especially important) errors. Dammit.
Nothing can be perfect and we still love our babies despite their defects.
Though obviously we'd prefer them if they didn't have any.
OK that's not a very good anaolgy, I admit it.
I'm really pleased with the book. I hope it does well. But then I was really pleased with the Fist of Fun book too and that disappeared without trace. So please, all buy a copy of "Talking Cock", because I think you'll enjoy it (a few bits from the Warming Up entries made it into the final book) and (here's the blackmail part) I can only afford to keep writing this rubbish for nothing if the things that I get paid for do well.
If you don't buy it I could find myself living on the streets. The streets, you hear me? I know I said that I sort of wanted to do that when I was in Melbourne, but ignore that. Don't give your money to charity, give it to me, a relatively well off man with no responsibilities who will merely waste it on electronic equipment that he only uses once before putting it in a drawer and forgetting about it.
Don't just buy yourself a copy, buy one each for all your friends and family. It's the ideal Christmas gift (for people who aren't offended by the idea of discussing genitalia).
You could also buy some extra copies and give them to strangers. Or if you find the idea of a book about cocks insulting and offensive, why don't you buy all the copies from your local bookshop and create a massive bonfire and burn them. Encourage your conservative and religious friends to do the same thing. Burn them. Burn the whorish books. The publishers will print more and ever more, but don't let that stop you. Buy them too and add them to the pyre. You can beat the publishers.l Eventually all trees and thus all paper will be destroyed in the conflagration and you will have won. The Cock book that you hate so much, will be no more.
Again the baby analogy falls down here too. No parent would encourage the wilful destruction of their own children. But I will get paid whether the book is read, destroyed or just left on someone's shelf and never opened. The saddest fate that a book can ever have. Just as long as they don't stay in that bloody warehouse.
I haven't actually got a copy of the Fist of Fun annual anymore. I did have one, but I've lost it, or someone's nicked it, or possibly I gave it away as a prize or something. There is a possibility of me recreating the classic Fly Fishing by J R Hartley advert from all those years back. I'd rather do this with Talking Cock though. But I'll have to wait til I'm old for full comic effect.
If I haven't sold you the book in this entry, can I just add that there is a picture of a bare lady in it as well (rather neatly the exact same picture- and joke- that appears in the Fist of Fun annual). But I haven't created this book just so I can get another copy of that lost picture.
And anyone who says I have is lying.
