Razor Wire Pubic Hair
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Razor Wire Pubic Hair [Paperback]

Carlton Mellick III
4.2 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (61 customer reviews)

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Editorial Reviews


Imagine a world without men where the only way a woman can reproduce is with the help of a giant computerized incubator and a genetically engineered sex toy. Now imagine that this sex toy is intelligent. It has emotions and a soul. It hopes and dreams and it falls in love. This is the premise of Carlton Mellick III's RAZOR WIRE PUBIC HAIR.

One of the main characters "The Sister" is a nymphomaniac who is covered from head to toe in vaginas. Celsia is an Amazon warrior with pubic hair made of razor wire. The main character is a genetically engineered hermaphrodite sex toy named Celsia 2 who longs to be loved by his/her owner. Oh, but wait, there's more ... there's sex starved zombies, hordes of marauding rapists, twat frogs, a hoota beasts that is basically just a big hairy vagina with legs, and still another giant talking and apparently quite wise vagina built into the wall of the mansion in which many of these creatures reside.

What's most bizarre is that none of this seems to be there for pure shock value. In fact, this perverse menagerie of beings are presented in such a matter of fact manner that it is as if the last thing the author wants is for you to be shocked by them. He wants you to just accept them so that he can just get on with his story. And what a story it is!

RAZOR WIRE PUBIC HAIR is the touching tale of a living, breathing, thinking, sex toy that is hopelessly in love with its owner who views it as little more than an object. This book could be a metaphor for so many sexual relationships where one partner is dominant and the other is submissive, struggling to be seen as more than merely an object of lust but as a potential true love.

The most disturbing thing about this book is how much heart it contains. "Your purpose in life is to fuck as much as your body will allow before your death. You are a dildo." Celsia 2 is told and you can almost hear his/her heart break. Take away all the surreal sexual accoutrements and this could almost be a tragic romance novel about lost and unrequited love.

I have to say I enjoyed this book. It was not at all what I expected. Surreal and perverse yes but so much more. At times it was easy to forget that a man wrote this. It's almost feminist propaganda. There are no men anywhere. They are extinct in Carlton's world. Even the rapists are female. The only thing close to being male are the genetically engineered sex toys created by the women who dominate the society for the purpose of reproduction. In RAZOR WIRE PUBIC HAIR vaginas even stand above God as the dominant force in the universe. I can dig that. It sounds very much like my own life.

-- Feoamante.com, Summer 2003

From the Inside Flap

"Razor Wire Pubic Hair is freaky, funny, brutal, techno-noir, limit-situation stuff set in a bad-dream future that's ultimately a metaphor for a present-day journey into the relentless nature of desire and the delicious permeability of gender. Somewhere right this second David Cronenberg, H. R. Giger, a young David Lynch, and a wizened Doug Rice are smiling because they know something extraordinary has just birthed in the Arizonan Desert of the Real. Read this, duck, and cover." - LANCE OLSEN, author of Freaknest

"I would call this a happy world to live in, with only brute body modified women and hermaphroditic sex toys, but I suppose constantly fighting off hordes of murderous rapists and needing to deposit your womb in a machine to make an ugly squishy baby would be a drawback." - JASMINE SAILING, editor/publisher Cyber-Psychos AOD

"Carlton Mellick III takes readers on an ultra-bizarre sexual nightmare with his novella 'Razor Wire Pubic Hair.' He blends a surreal landscape into a dark, hopeless future, creating disturbing, yet thought-provoking sequences of events that ultimately delve into horrors of lust and sex. This novella is a page turner of strange proportions. Your mind will twist into the shadowy points between eroticism and insanity, quickly addicted to the author's avant-guarde style. Mellick is a bizarre visionary, and this novella showcases his talented prose and twisted imaginings." - SHANE RYAN STALEY, author of I'll Be Damned

From the Back Cover

"Easily the craziest, weirdest, strangest, funniest, most obscene writer in America."

"Carlton Mellick III has the craziest book titles... and the kinkiest fans!"
- CHRISTOPHER MOORE, author of The Stupidest Angel

"If you haven't read Mellick you're not nearly perverse enough for the twenty first century."
, author of The Woman and The Girl Next Door

"Carlton Mellick III is one of bizarro fiction's most talented practitioners, a virtuoso of the surreal, science fictional tale."
- CORY DOCTOROW, author of Little Brother

"Bizarre, twisted, and emotionally raw--Carlton Mellick's fiction is the literary equivalent of putting your brain in a blender."
- BRIAN KEENE, author of The Rising and Dead Sea

"Carlton Mellick III exemplifies the intelligence and wit that lurks between its lurid covers. In a genre where crude titles are an art in themselves, Mellick is a true artist."

"Just as Pop had Andy Warhol and Dada Tristan Tzara, the Bizarro movement has its very own P. T. Barnum-type practitioner. He's the mutton-chopped author of such books as Electric Jesus Corpse and The Menstruating Mall, the illustrator, editor, and instructor of all things Bizarro, and his name is Carlton Mellick III."

About the Author

Carlton Mellick III is one of the leading authors in the new BIZARRO genre uprising. In only a few short years, his surreal counterculture novels have drawn an international cult following despite the fact that they have been shunned by most libraries and corporate bookstores. Though frequently compared to David Lynch, Kurt Vonnegut, and even Lloyd Kaufman, Carlton Mellick III is unlike anyone you’ve experienced before. He sings for the band "Popes That Are Porn Stars" in Portland, OR.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Lime-flavored tattoo on the back of her neck as she tells me, "You’re going to give me a baby."

The metal of her eyes click, goo-white film over black orbs, old dog eyes, her smile a cluster of purple poison thorns. And arms slender locust-like when she pulls me out of my home, my coffin/drawer on the side of a sky-caressed building, my red-womb where I’ve lived in half conscious dreams of multi-lives for the past six years, being fed through meaty tubes controlled by women workers within.

The slender female attaches me to chains and walks me out of the wet-wasteland of city, hands around the sandy hip, tiny body overpowering my body.

"You’re much thinner than the others," the woman says to me, a wheel-squeak voice. "I like them weak and more feminine like you."

I’m not all feminine, I argue with my eyebrows.

A raspy giggle, "I love girly fuck toys."

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