"We're suddenly runnin' low on spare skulls."

I'm enjoying the hell out of Craig McDonald's novel HEAD GAMES, which feels like a booze-soaked tribute to those great gonzo noir writers of days gone by.  It's a wild ride right from the start, when the drunk friend of the drunk hero, Hector Lassiter, pulls out the severed head of Pancho Villa, right in front of all Mexico (or at least the part of it in this bar) and the drunk poet who is supposed to interview Lassiter.  After that, things blow up.

Yes!  Someone with the balls to challenge the reader to a fistfight if they don't want to suspend their disbelief!  Go get 'em.

Here's the plan: grab a bottle of Scotch and start this novel.  When the Scotch runs out, grab a bottle of tequila and keep going.  When that bottle is done, and you've spent a few hours puking up your guts while promising the heavens above you'll neeeeeever drink again, grab a bottle of rum and finish that fucking book.  You'll feel like you've been through as much as the characters in HEAD GAMES.

It doesn't hurt that the folks at Bleak House and Von Bliss Design have really given this one a wicked coat of paint--what a great looking book.  Get one today.