My Life (In Book Blurb Form)

by suededenimfiresale

“A dazzling display…shocking…incandescent…Costello’s sheer mastery of checking IDs in a bar setting is truly a wonder to behold, and we as a society are the better for it.” –Rebecca Sharp-Sandoval, author of “Period Blood of the Eisenhower Administration: A Memoir”

“Oh happy day when Brian Costello finds a way to get out of bed and actually take a shower, brew coffee, walk his dog, and watch documentaries on North Korea on Netflix. Long-awaited and much-overdue, his is the kind of day like a warm blanket and hot cocoa in the winter time mixed with the rich tapestry of a multi-faceted summertime cocktail.”–Sadie Zmith, author of “Gosh, The 21st Century Sure is Rich with Sociocultural Complications!”

“Hellllooooooooo baaaaabay! Humina humina hotsie mamma! Big Bopper boppity doo dah day (morningnoonnightynight) comin’ atcha, this adjunct perfessah professionalizin’ the Scooby dooby yabba dabba doo is livin’ and lovin’ while trynta navimagate these tricky-dicky-sicky tymes!”–some 70’s rock critic loaded on Quaaludes

“An occasionally interesting and atypical all-too-typical portrait of the Grub Hub Generation.”–Farkus Reviews

“With two worst-selling novels under his belt, Brian K. Costello has proven himself to be an able and competent ID checker at two Chicago bars. While he proclaims grandiose ambitions–write a third novel, run a half-marathon, karaoke “I Can’t Drive 55,” the hit 1984 hit song by Samuel R. Hagar–the obvious question is if Mr. Costello has the drive and determination to actually follow through with his stated goals, or if he would rather simply hang out and drink.”–The Prospect Heights Review of Books

“While not laugh-out-loud, per se, if you were to somehow imagine Holden Caulfield going out on a Tinder date with Mrs. Dalloway that led to the birth of triplets named Kilgore Trout, Alexander Portnoy, and Lady Constance Chatterley…then you still would not get an understanding of the intimately disparate desperate disconnect in this somewhat compelling and arguably unforgettable existence.” –Carmela Kraft-Redenbacher, author of “My Totebag Runneth Over: Reflections on the Art of Artistry”

“Enchanting. A lepidopterist’s sun-dappled birch-treed fever dream.” –some dick who read too much Nabokov

“I have often wondered what it would be like to be a man who lives in the Logan Square neighborhood of Chicago, Illinois in the year 2015. I never had the chance to explore this theme in my own novels–“The Elastic Colons of Springfield,” “The Magical Charcuterie of the Sedentary Bee Keeper,” and “Alejandro’s Calamitous Journey to East Moline”–nor have I had the opportunity to explore this theme in my short fiction that has been published in the journals “Apple Sauce Quarterly,” “Peppercorn Thistlequeef,” “Bubbleforest Trailmix,” and “Scuttlebutter,”–but in this collection of days, nights, and even early afternoons, I feel as light as a feather and as free as Canadian Geese on the wing in those melancholy autumnal twilights where all one can do is simply sigh and say, “Thank you.” –H. Lloyd Blanckenship-Meadowlark, Shmerdlap-Nominated Author

“Fuck shit fuck tits ass sex condoms fuck sex dating casual sex ass tits boobs–vajayjay!–swearing swearing swearing hey look I’m yelling and swearing isn’t this so great look at meeeeee meeeee meeeee!”–some Chicago performance-writer-essayist-whathaveyou

“Two thumbs up. Not way up, but up enough?”–Siskel and Ebert from beyond the grave (via magic 8-ball)

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