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Giving in to Vanity
In Fact Denounced as a Four-Letter Word, you offer readers a collection of aphorisms centered on topics ranging from politics to corporate culture. Why was this an important book for you to write?
There were three factors that drove me to self-publish my accidental thoughts.
First, the fear that I would hear someone say or read somewhere a thought that I deemed as invented by me. This fear grew with years but itself would probably not push me to plunge into self-publishing.
Second, the vanity, pure and simple – the devil’s favourite sin as per the concluding line of The Devil’s Advocate. As I self-police my mind to the tune well above the average I needed a justification for giving in to vanity. Here is my DIY absolution: Facebook and Instagram are powered by little more than human vanity. I am unlikely to make any sizable damage to humankind.
Third, I thought that if writing those thoughts provided me with some solace, they might console others too.
How did you go about organizing the reflections in the book? Was there a specific flow or structure you were aiming for?
When ploughing my journal for the selection of thoughts it was already organised into some categories. I have chosen a handful that I deemed to be better than the rest. When I surveyed the distillate, so to speak, some new categories appeared to me. Not all fit neatly hence the “Miscellaneous” chapter.
The sequence of the chapters was driven by my assessment as to their attractiveness to a wider audience. I put in the front those I thought would resonate with a wider audience and put at the end those that could count just on a niche appeal.
What were some themes that were important for you to explore in this book?
Sense-making, seeking solace, and trying to counter helplessness. Those three would stand for the bulk of my accidental thoughts. Picking on peculiarities and playing on words would be to other angles. Finally, pinning down absurdities that might be prevalent and yet are not obvious.
Can we look forward to more work from you soon? What are you currently working on?
I have published a series of articles on Medium.com on what I refer to as grey mosquitos. Grey mosquitos is a term I would like to think was invented by me. It refers to a concept diametrically opposite to Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s black swans. Black swans are, by definition, close to impossible to predict. Grey mosquitos are ever present, but we are nearly always blind to them. I might develop this idea to a self-publishable stage.
Author Links: GoodReads | Amazon
The Sycamore Centennial Parade (Part I)
In The Sycamore Centennial Parade, Charles McGrail spins a nostalgic, often hilarious yarn about a trio of quirky small-town characters—Babylon “Milkman” Hurley, his brother-in-law Clark “Poodle” Canderankle, and the indomitable Jericho—who bumble their way into promoting their town’s centennial celebration. Set in 1978, Sycamore, the story draws from everyday absurdity to craft a heartwarming comedy of errors, rich with banter, unlikely schemes, and quiet reflections on identity, family, and small-town life. As Jericho rallies her lovable but unreliable crew to canvas local businesses for parade support, what unfolds is less a professional campaign and more a slow-moving circus, complete with tie mishaps, dietary debates, and diner drama.
I loved the writing style. It’s alive with personality. McGrail’s voice crackles with humor, clever turns of phrase, and old-school charm. The dialogue sings—snappy, smart, and so natural you forget you’re reading. His characters? They’re ridiculous in the best way. Lovable screw-ups with big hearts and bigger mouths. And while the plot hums at a leisurely pace, I never found myself bored. Every scene feels like a short sitcom episode—tight, colorful, and just a little chaotic. The author doesn’t chase big drama. He trusts in the small stuff: banter, nostalgia, clashing egos, and the slow burn of friendships tested and reaffirmed. It’s low-stakes storytelling with high emotional payoff.
The story is long, and sometimes the jokes stretch a beat too far or the scenes linger past their welcome. But oddly, I didn’t mind much. The indulgence feels earned. McGrail clearly adores his characters—especially Milk and Poodle—and that affection is infectious. Beneath all the antics is a surprisingly tender meditation on second chances and reinvention. These aren’t just goofballs; they’re men pushed out of their old lives and forced to find new ways to matter. Jericho, too, shines as the competent, quietly frustrated linchpin who holds it all together. If you’ve ever juggled family and ambition, you’ll see yourself in her.
The Sycamore Centennial Parade is a warm and entertaining love letter to community, misfits, and starting over. It’s a small-town tale with a big, goofy heart. I’d recommend it to fans of Richard Russo or Fannie Flagg, or anyone who loves a character-driven story with quick wit and genuine soul.
Pages: 245 | ASIN : B0F2822P8C
Fact Denounced as a Four-Letter Word
Piotr Bardzik’s Fact Denounced as a Four-Letter Word is a clever, biting, and darkly funny collection of aphorisms, reflections, and thought fragments arranged by theme, from politics to corporate culture to personal peeves. Drawing inspiration from Stanisław Jerzy Lec and Nassim Nicholas Taleb, Bardzik doesn’t tell a story so much as pelt you with truths, ironies, and contradictions like philosophical snowballs—some cold, some stinging, many hilarious. The format is loose, casual, and even chaotic at times. But beneath the humor lies a sharp critique of modern absurdities and a deeply personal wrestling with doubt, certainty, and the slow erosion of nuance in public and private life.
Reading Bardzik’s book felt like sitting with someone who’s both had enough of everyone’s nonsense and still somehow finds it all worth laughing at. The writing is fresh and raw in a way that’s rare. Just punchy truths dressed in wit and a healthy dose of cynicism. He hits targets most of us recognize but rarely skewer aloud: corporate meetings that drain souls, the performance theater of politics, and the hypocrisy in both our systems and ourselves. His aphorisms are tight, smart, and often funny, but they also carry the quiet weight of someone who’s thought hard about the world and found it wanting—and still decided to document the madness.
There’s weariness here, yes, but also a strange kind of hope that truth, or at least honest confusion, still matters. Some entries struck me as profound. Others felt like they were written more for the writer’s release than the reader’s benefit, which is fine, really. That’s part of the charm. It’s not polished or pretending to be. The book feels like a journal cracked open for anyone curious or frustrated enough to look inside.
If you enjoy sharp and sardonic commentary that doesn’t take itself too seriously but doesn’t pull punches either, Piotr Bardzik’s Fact Denounced as a Four-Letter Word is for you. It’s especially suited for thinkers, skeptics, and folks who’ve sat through one too many pointless meetings or witnessed the news and felt their souls shrink a little. Bardzik writes for the reader who’s tired but not yet numb.
Pages: 51 | ASIN : B0F7ZXBYV5
Pairs: This Dating Site Will Be the Death of You
Cristina Matta’s Pairs: This Dating Site Will Be the Death of You is a fast-paced, offbeat murder mystery wrapped in biting satire and stuffed with eccentricity. Set in the humid chaos of Tampa, Florida, the book follows Detective Ned Jenkins as he investigates the bizarre death of Susan LaFont—a woman who apparently invited seven peculiar men from a friendship-dating app called Pairs to the local aquarium, only to end up murdered. What unfolds is a series of sharply written vignettes of these suspects, each more absurd and hilarious than the last. There’s a man wearing Batman stickers on his face, another eating endless pizza, one with a monkey, and even a guy whose profile picture is Barbie and Ken mid-coitus. Matta doesn’t just describe characters, she roasts them alive and lets them squirm in their own weirdness.
Matta’s writing is clever and self-aware. She leans hard into absurdity without tipping over into chaos, and that’s no easy feat. Her voice is confident, wickedly observant, and full of snark. The structure is tight—each chapter feels like a miniature sketch comedy piece, but it all ties back to the central mystery. Detective Ned is gruff and jaded but utterly relatable, especially as he navigates an increasingly ridiculous sea of suspects and reconsiders his own past missteps. I found myself both enjoying the mystery and savoring the wry commentary on modern dating, loneliness, and how deeply strange people can be when left to their own devices.
The story’s comedy can sometimes swallow its stakes. There were moments when I wanted more depth, more emotion, something raw. The victim, Susan, remains a bit of a mystery herself, not just in the whodunit sense but emotionally. And while I adored the wild suspects, a few felt more like clever caricatures than real people. Still, maybe that’s the point. The book is unapologetically satirical. It’s not here to hold your hand through a touching drama, it’s here to slap your face with a fish and then dare you not to laugh.
Pairs: This Dating Site Will Be the Death of You is sharp, funny, and refreshingly weird. It’s a great read for fans of Carl Hiaasen, readers who enjoy a twist on classic detective stories, or anyone who’s ever been baffled by online dating profiles. If you like your mysteries with more laughs than laments, and your characters with quirks dialed up to eleven, this book’s for you.
Pages: 67 | ASIN : B0F4SRWMB3
Good For The Soul
Philip Rennett’s Good For The Soul is an ambitious, genre-blending novel that tosses political satire, spiritual conflict, and small-town Irish charm into a single, messy but compelling stew. At its core, the book follows Andrew Blackwell, a former UK prime minister, now a reluctant recluse, as he’s dragged back into the world of global influence through a secretive “Global Conclave.” Meanwhile, in the quiet Irish town of Clonbrinny, a troubled priest is caught in the moral chokehold of a criminal syndicate. It’s a story about power, guilt, reinvention, and the weird, awkward humanity that binds it all together.
What grabbed me first was how effortlessly Rennett shifts tone. One moment, you’re in a confessional booth listening to Margaret Doyle deliver an outrageously inappropriate dream confession about cassocks and spanking. Next, you’re in the thick of Blackwell’s emotional unraveling or sitting in a church watching Declan Kelly, a violent gangster, toy with religion like it’s a game of poker. These tonal shifts shouldn’t work. But they do, mainly because Rennett has a wicked sense of humor and a sharp ear for dialogue. Margaret’s appearances, especially in the “Confession” chapter, had me laughing out loud, while Father Aidan’s slow disintegration genuinely broke my heart.
What surprised me most was how Good For The Soul uses the setting almost like a character. Clonbrinny feels lived in, grimy, rain-soaked, and steeped in secrets. Peace Castle, where the elite gather to decide the world’s fate, is jaw-dropping in its opulence, but it feels hollow, too. There’s a beautiful contrast between those two worlds, and Rennett plays them against each other masterfully. When Blackwell stands before the Conclave in “The Opening Statement,” what he says feels honest, even raw, not just because of what he reveals, but because we’ve seen him wrestle with it. I didn’t expect to feel sympathy for a politician on the brink of a second act, but here I am.
The writing itself is tight and conversational, but it’s never dumbed down. I loved how Rennett injects intelligence without arrogance. He keeps the language accessible, even when the stakes are philosophical. There’s also a lot of heart under all the satire. One of my favorite moments was in “Help Me,” when Father Aidan, drunk and broken, finally whispers, “Help me.” That wrecked me.
Good For The Soul feels like a modern-day parable, soaked in Guinness, lit by lightning over crumbling churches, and filtered through the lens of people just trying to figure out what the hell matters anymore. I’d recommend it to anyone who likes their fiction smart, funny, and a little unhinged. Especially if you’re into layered plots, Irish settings, and characters that make you feel something, even when they’re being completely ridiculous.
Pages: 369 | ASIN : B0F44DQKCK
Dissenting Opinion
Stephen Byrd’s Dissenting Opinion is a sharp, clever, and wildly timely political-legal thriller that dives headfirst into the shadowy intersections of law, power, and identity. The novel follows Judge Jason Simpson, a respected federal judge tapped to fill a vacant seat on the Supreme Court by a conservative President who assumes Jason is one of their own. But Jason harbors a secret—his true beliefs align more with the liberal camp. What follows is a strategic dance of subterfuge, legal integrity, and ideological rebellion, all wrapped in wit, tension, and some laugh-out-loud moments courtesy of press secretary Vicki Smith’s PR disasters. It’s part courtroom drama, part political satire, and part character study of a man walking the tightrope between truth and survival in a world that expects allegiance above honesty.
I loved how Byrd played with tone. He bounces from biting satire to tense legal sparring without missing a beat. The opening scene with Vicki bungling the death announcement of Justice Egley had me laughing—lines like calling it a “standard, ordinary, everyday expiration of human life” hit with pitch-perfect awkward comedy. But then Byrd shifts gears in the courtroom scenes, like when Jason grills the government lawyer in the Argus Pipeline case. That whole back-and-forth about “potential” environmental harm and due process felt like reading a modern-day Aaron Sorkin script. It was fast, cutting, and quietly enraging. Byrd knows how to build a speech that punches through the page.
What stuck with me the most, though, was Jason’s internal conflict. His private monologues were some of the most honest writing I’ve read in a political novel. When he’s sitting in his study, weighing the morality of accepting the nomination under false pretenses, it’s not just good drama—it’s real. Like when he fears letting “the wrong kind of judge” take the seat instead. Byrd doesn’t shy away from that ethical gray zone. He leans in, and it makes Jason’s choices feel earned, not just symbolic. And the Supreme Court scenes where the other justices slowly start to realize Jason isn’t the conservative clone they expected? Absolutely delicious. It’s the quiet chaos of watching a system unravel from the inside out, led by someone who just refuses to be predictable.
If you like fast-paced political thrillers with brains, bite, and a moral center, this one’s for you. Fans of The West Wing, Scandal, or even Suits will be right at home. It’s not just for legal nerds or political junkies either—this book is for anyone who’s ever wondered what might happen if the person in power decided to put country and conscience before party. It’s smart. It’s brave. And it’s a good time.
Pages: 105 | ASIN : B0DZTRHP6C
Making Vespuccia Great Again
Ray Sweatman’s Making Vespuccia Great Again is a sharp, fearless, and at times laugh-out-loud political satire that imagines a dystopian America rebranded as “Vespuccia.” Set in a twisted mirror of our current socio-political climate, the novella follows the rise (again) of President O.J.C. McDonald, a grotesque caricature of a certain orange-hued reality TV personality. Through absurd characters, biting dialogue, and a surreal plot that includes everything from sentient fish Founding Fathers to LGBTQ revolutionaries called “The Pronouns,” Sweatman delivers a fiery send-up of authoritarianism, fake news, and cultural division in America.
From the very first chapter, Sweatman goes full throttle, skewering the January 6th insurrection with the same kind of commentary you’d expect from The Onion if it took acid and watched Idiocracy on repeat. The fake news anchors Donna Dumay and Don Drapery narrating the Capitol attack like a sports event? Genius. “Oh my, this is better than Getflix!” Donna chirps as democracy crumbles. I was equal parts horrified and laughing out loud. Sweatman walks that tightrope masterfully, never letting the humor soften the blow of the real critique.
One of my favorite arcs was Reverend Swindlemore and his daughter-turned-nonbinary-hacktivist Bucky (aka They/Them). The Reverend is a grotesque blend of fire-and-brimstone televangelists with just the right dose of unhinged righteousness. His hell-obsessed sermons feel ripped from real-life absurdities, and when Bucky forms a rebel group of queer hackers, I was all in. It’s outrageous, it’s camp, but there’s heart. You get the sense that Sweatman deeply respects those fighting for justice, even while cranking the satire up to eleven.
And then there’s the Founding Fathers. Literal fish-people who rise from the sea, transform into Jefferson and Hamilton, and get swept into a costume shop where they breakdance to Rick James’ “Super Freak.” It sounds insane because it is, but somehow it works. These absurd moments don’t just entertain, they hammer home Sweatman’s larger point: when truth dies, history becomes theater, and we’re all stuck on stage, flailing. Watching Jefferson defend his slave-owning past while Hamilton snarks and George Washington threatens to shoot him with a shotgun? That’s satire doing its job, shining light through the madness.
Making Vespuccia Great Again isn’t for everyone. It’s blunt, crude at times, politically fiery, and proudly liberal. But if you’re the kind of reader who enjoys Dr. Strangelove, South Park, or Vonnegut on a rampage, you’ll eat this up. Making Vespuccia Great Again is for the disillusioned, the politically exhausted, the angry, and the hopeful. It’s for anyone who still believes words have power, humor can cut deep, and that fighting back might look a little ridiculous but is still necessary. I laughed, I cringed, I shook my head. And I’d read it again in a heartbeat.
Pages: 252 | ASIN : B0DY4T96PV
Fulfilment City
Fulfillment City is about collapse—the slow, sticky unraveling of a woman, a city, an industry, and, in a broader sense, American identity. The story kicks off with Lydia Calligan, once a powerhouse in San Francisco’s boutique advertising world, and follows her as her crown jewel campaign. A wholesome berry ad featuring a lisping Black child implodes spectacularly in a culture-shifting scandal. What follows is a ghost story, but not the kind with cobwebs and creaky doors. Lydia becomes a living specter, wandering the city in a trench coat, haunted by both personal and public failure, as her former colleague Paul, sharp-tongued, prickly, and strangely endearing, tries to drag her back from oblivion. From its hip urban core to a strangely eerie prefab town in rural Colorado, the novel explores guilt, reinvention, and the absurdities of a country selling itself one delivery box at a time.
What I really loved was how quietly funny the book is, even when it’s steeped in grief and disappointment. The writing is whip-smart but never showy. The scene where Lydia, now adrift, sits in silence at a café while Paul performs his one-man comedy routine, trying to draw a single flicker of recognition from her, is painfully hilarious. I could practically hear the espresso machine hissing in the background as he babbled nonsense, and she stared through him like he was just another ghost. The comedy sneaks up on you, poking at the tragic bits without letting you sink. And Lydia’s fall from grace was Brutal, but also believable. The way the berry campaign spirals into controversy, starting with a lisp and ending in a death, is satire so sharp it practically bleeds.
Paul, for me, stole the show. He’s this oddball mix of charming, petty, broken, and brilliant. I didn’t expect to feel for him so much, but watching him scramble for relevance while his world shrinks to the size of a secondhand teacup was quietly devastating. His dry midwestern sass and resentment give the novel its bite and his weird antique obsession is oddly grounding.
The section set in the artificial town of Saltair Springs was deliciously eerie. The contrast between Lydia’s haunted sophistication and the soulless sheen of a fulfillment-center utopia gave me chills. You can feel Lydia’s unease seep through the page and yet, the town isn’t just a prop. There’s real life and love there, like with Cherise and Darnell, a couple that somehow blooms in the middle of all this engineered happiness. That sweetness tucked between cynicism and corporate doom felt like a little glimmer of hope.
Fulfillment City doesn’t wrap itself up in neat bows. But its honest about loss, about compromise, about how easily people and institutions get swallowed whole. I’d recommend this book to anyone who likes their fiction with bite and wit, who’s curious about what happens when the culture machine eats itself alive. If you liked Mad Men, White Noise, or just want to read something that feels both current and weirdly timeless, this one’s for you.
Pages: 245 | ASIN : B0DZ3RWF83
LITERARY TITAN 