<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851128360280432246</id><updated>2012-02-16T17:12:44.777-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hush Up And Listen Stinky Poo Butt</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.stinkypoobutt.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851128360280432246/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.stinkypoobutt.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Ryan W. Bradley</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i45mCHAOgPw/TJcmdYna6xI/AAAAAAAAAVM/7RDSMiizQuU/S220/Ryan.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>1</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851128360280432246.post-6767311300111331066</id><published>2010-04-30T01:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-30T02:08:16.088-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ABOUT THE BOOK</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Hush Up And Listen Stinky Poo Butt&lt;/span&gt; is a beautiful, yet stark portrait of fatherhood. For 10 years Ken Sparling made copies of this, his second novel, by hand (along with help from his wife and sons). Now this one of a kind novel is available as a paperback, with a new introduction by Derek McCormack (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Show That Smells&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Haunted Hillbilly&lt;/span&gt;) from Artistically Declined Press.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;from &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Hush Up And Listen&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;John   got home. Sammy on the phone. In the kitchen. Playing Arthur Wheel.   Ruth at the counter. By the sink. “Is it still busy?”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Yes.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Try   again.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;John  went  upstairs. Showered. Came back down. Ruth was at the door. “I’m   leaving.” John looked. “I work tonight. I told you this morning.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Oh  yeah.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“You  don’t  remember.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“No.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;Ruth  went  out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;John  got a  telephone extension cord. Brought the phone out to the living  room.  Sammy tried to win Arthur Wheel. Watched tv. Bill Nye. The Science  Guy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“You  can  leave the tv on and listen for Arthur Wheel, but you have to come  into  the kitchen now and eat your dinner.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;Sammy  and  Shortboy came into the kitchen. John had the chili in bowls. On  the  table.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“I  hate  that stuff.” Shortboy pushed his bowl. He picked up a bun.  Ate.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“I  don’t  like chili either, Daddy.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“You  do  so.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“No.  Trust  me, Daddy, I don’t.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;John  ate  chili. The boys had small Lego constructions with them. Sammy was   flying his around. Attacking Shortboy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Don’t.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;Sammy   attacked.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Fine.  My  guy is in a secret lair. You can’t find him.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“My  guy  can go under the table. He can go anywhere under the table. Including   your lair.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“No!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Yes.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“No!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Yes.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Be  quiet!  Both of you!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“No.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Yes.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Did  you  hear me. Both of you shutup! Right now!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Don’t  say  shutup, Daddy.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Courier New;font-size:small;"  &gt;“Fuck   off.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;BUY &lt;a href="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&amp;amp;hosted_button_id=10824912"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;HUSH UP AND LISTEN STINKY POO BUTT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4851128360280432246-6767311300111331066?l=www.stinkypoobutt.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851128360280432246/posts/default/6767311300111331066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851128360280432246/posts/default/6767311300111331066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.stinkypoobutt.com/2010/04/about-book.html' title='ABOUT THE BOOK'/><author><name>Ryan W. Bradley</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i45mCHAOgPw/TJcmdYna6xI/AAAAAAAAAVM/7RDSMiizQuU/S220/Ryan.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
