You are Sloth! on Kindle! Perverts in German! (!)

That pretty much says it all, right?

You are Sloth! is now on Kindle. There, I said it again.

Click here to buy it.

This is my wife after she read the death-by-bukkake scene in You are Sloth! that everyone seems to be mentioning:


Also, King of the Perverts will be coming to Deutschland soon. Mkrug Verlag out of Austria has acquired the German language rights to Perverts. Read the announcement here, in German!

Perverts for Wonderland and the Guy I Hate

kingIn completely surprising and unexpected news, King of the Perverts is on the final ballot of the Wonderland Book Awards for Best Novel. KotP was published in 2012 by Grindhouse Press, which also has a book in the category for Best Collection with Andersen Prunty’s Hi I’m a Social Disease. Team Grindhouse tearin’ it up, y’all.

The best thing about this nomination for me is the cohort alongside my little Pervert. With names like Nick Antosca, Kevin Donihe, Pat Wensink, and Carlton Mellick III, I’m definitely the one people will look at and say, “Who?” And that’s cool with me. Because, you know, it’s just an honor to be nominated, and all. Winners will be announced in November at BizarroCon in Portland, which I will be attending again this year.


From the world of free books, there’s a giveaway on Goodreads right now for my latest, You Are Sloth! If you want to enter to win a free copy of the Sloth, this is the place to do it.


Speaking of Sloth!, book reviewer Bob Milne shared his thoughts over on his blog. Here’s a cherry-picked line from said review: “His story is deliberately offensive in many ways, but as a caricature or over-the-top parody, never as a mean-spirited attack. There are some Bizarro titles I skim through for scenes that catch my eye, and others that I read cover-to-cover . . . Lowe is definitely one of the latter, and a gentleman I need to read more of.”


I’ve recently tried to get in the habit of running in the mornings. I’m no workout freak, and in reality, I hate the act of running. It’s tiresome, and painful on my increasingly cranky knees and hips. Sometimes there’s a searing pain along the inside of my left foot. I think it’s inflammation of the tendon there, possibly the posterior tibialis. That’s what the Internet suggested to me, anyway. The only time I don’t mind running is if I’m legging out a stand-up triple after hitting a softball into the gap. Any other time, running is just working out, and the key word in the phrase is WORK. Screw that, I work enough already.

But still, I’m trying. I need to be healthier. Get in better shape. I’m 38 and if I’m ever going to learn healthy habits, I better start now. But it feels like my body is assaulting itself when I run. Like my immune system is kicking in to combat myself for trying to injure it. My physical being defending itself from the mind with underhanded tactics, like inflammation of the posterior tibialis. I can only imagine what I must look like when I run. Face contorted in equal parts pain and anger, with a little fear mixed in. My every instinct screaming at me to stop, oh dear God, stop, what the hell am I thinking? I go early in the morning, and fortunately it’s dark and there are few cars on the road, otherwise, I suspect people would be calling 911 because I look like I’m either running from a murderer, or from the scene of a murder.

I bring this up because there’s a guy I see running almost every day on my drive into work. He’s around 6-foot-5, can’t possibly have more than 0.5% body fat. Long legs that attack the pavement and seemed to bounce off it. Effortless. Two springs that propel him along, shirtless and chiseled and defined and toned. The guy looks like a machine. A flawless assembly of strength and health and precision. Unwavering in his dedication to honing his body into a perfect specimen, and that this little run he’s taking (which is no doubt many miles long) is nothing but easy. Probably fun to him, even.

Fuck that guy.

Buy a Signed Copy of KING OF THE PERVERTS

For those of you clamoring for an autographed copy of KING OF THE PERVERTS (all four of you) here’s your chance. I have a stack of books in my possession, ready to be scribbled on and shipped out. The cost for a signed and personalized book will be $10 (that price includes the shipping, which I guess makes it a deal if you bought a single copy from Amazon. Win for you!) payable through PayPal. Send me your money at and use the PayPal comment window for any special signing instructions or terrible artwork requests. I will do my worst best to comply to your wishes, whatever they may be. So far, I have one request for a couch having sex with a pony. So, yeah… whatever floats your boat.

‘It’s the pornographic version of King’s Running Man.’

If you haven’t gotten a copy of KING OF THE PERVERTS yet, go HERE and enter THIS. Three copies up for grabs on Goodreads. But if you don’t want to wait that long to find out if you’ve beaten the odds and won a paperback, there’s always THIS to tide you over.

And while I’m talking PERVERTS, several reviews have popped up, starting with Kirk Jones’s cerebral analysis RIGHT HERE. He says, “It’s the pornographic version of King’s Running Man.” Told you he’s cerebral.

Gabino Iglesias chimes in over on Horror Talk with a thoughtful review of why this book made him both laugh and cringe, and cringe at his laughter, and laugh and his cringing, and so on.

And finally, Allie Marini Batts with Bookshelf Bombshells is still trying to figure out what the fuck she just read, but also says, “Buy It if your tastes run towards the strange and you’re not easily nauseated by sex acts involving bodily functions (aside from the obvious one). Borrow It via ebook and hide it on your reader if you’re intrigued but don’t want people to think you’re the King of the Perverts.”

All for now, thanks for reading and reviewing, you sexy little monkeys.

King of the Perverts now available for the Kindle

King of the Perverts has arrived for your Kindle (CLICK HERE), with the paperback coming soon…

Click the pic!

And here’s another nice blurb I just got yesterday: “Steve Lowe is depraved! He taught me a few things with this hilarious, dangerous, sexy (?) book… None of which I wanted to learn. Take a ride with the King of the Perverts–just strap your clean thoughts and innocence in a car-seat, and hopefully they’ll survive the trip.”  –Kevin Shamel, author of Rotten Little Animals, Island of the Super People, and Porn Land (forthcoming).

King of the Perverts: It’s so close…

King of the Perverts is almost ready, maybe a week or two from being available. In the meantime, pleasure your eyeballs with Matthew Revert’s amazing jacket design:

What are people saying about the book so far? Glad you asked!

“Great, hilarious stuff that also raises a lot of questions about money, fame, gender and, more importantly, the Dirty Sanchez.” – Andersen Prunty, author of Fuckness and Hi I’m a Social Disease

“I get airsick pretty goddamned easily. But I kept reading while I was on the plane. Even through the turbulence. I started at the Dallas/Forth Worth Airport eating a veggie burger in a  TGIFridays and ended whilst descending into Arizona. The unsuspecting woman sitting beside me had no idea. It was awesome. Completely amazing in so many ways. So sick. Oh, so sick.” – Caris O’Malley, author of The Egg Said Nothing

Shit, I’m 37

Today is my 37th birthday. Just three short years from 40 and official creepy old guy status. Despite this troublesome stage of life inching ever closer, I really don’t dwell on my age very often. I don’t think I’m at risk for a midlife crisis or anything, unlike a certain relative who went out and got a BMW convertible once he reached COG age. It’s just not that big of a deal to me. One reason is that I continue to find things to keep myself occupied so I don’t sit around and take stock of my life on a regular basis. I try to move forward and work toward goals, rather than reflect on how few of them I have achieved thus far. Liquor helps me accomplish this.

One of those goals is writing books and seeing them published. I’ve written three new ones since December, one of which will be coming out soon. Last night, I got a cool birthday present: the first round of edits for that next book, KING OF THE PERVERTS. It will be out sometime this summer from Grindhouse Press, and in celebration of getting one step closer to legal curmudgeon status, I thought I would share the first few lines from the book. Here’s a tentative back cover description:

Poor Dennis. He’s a regular sort of guy who’s recently been dealt a shitty hand by life: he lost his job, his wife hates him and wants a divorce, and it turns out she was also cheating on him as well. And the baby wasn’t his. And he’s living on his brother’s couch. Holy fuck, that sucks. Dennis can’t imagine things could get much worse, and that’s why he jumped at the opportunity to take part in a new reality game show: a “sexcathlon” where the first person to achieve 10 increasingly difficult and perverted sexual challenges wins a million dollars and is crowned King of the Perverts. Dennis doesn’t care about the title, he just wants the money, but now he’s not sure he can make it to the end. Enduring a Golden Shower and following through with an Abe Lincoln are hard enough, but he’s losing his nerve and fears what act of perversion will come next. He’d like to drop out, but his Russian bear of a cameraman, Mongo, has other plans for Dennis and that million dollar prize, and he has to decide which is worse: winning the crown of King of the Perverts, or losing it.
And now, a selection from Part I:


Hearing the words coming out of my own mouth confirms that I have slipped into some alternate reality.

Up is down. Black is white. Peter Venkman’s voice echoes in my head. Cats and dogs and mass hysteria, all that jazz.

Before me stands, quite possibly, the hottest chick I have ever been in the same room with. She is five-alarm. Tall, dark hair, voluptuously rounded, and best of all, wearing nothing but a sheer lace thong. You really can’t classify them as underwear, more like the rumor of underwear. Like the eerie outline left on the ground following a nuclear blast. Saran wrap covers more skin than these babies.

And I am asking this woman to pee on me.

Her head jerks back like I had connected with a right hook to her jaw. “You want me to do what?”

Fuck me. Do I really have to say it again? Somewhere in the bathroom, my Albanian cretin cohort Mongo has planted at least one camera and quite possibly two or three to get different angles of this big moment. I swear I can hear him in the next room, on the other side of the paper-thin wall of this shithole motel he has found, stifling his laughter. I say a quick prayer, asking that he might choke on that laughter and die, slowly, and in agonizing pain.

I lower my head and concentrate on the scarred, faded bathroom tile under my knees. I wonder how many such acts have taken place in this very spot before I came along. I also wonder how often it has been cleaned after such acts have concluded. By the looks of it, quite a few, and not very often. I say another quick prayer of thanks for the heady decision to keep my pants on.

“Um… I said I want you to… pee on me.”

I can’t bring myself to look up at her and instead fixate on her lovely navel, which is quite lovely indeed. She stumbles back a bit and wavers, trying to balance through the fog of four appletinis. I was hoping that would have been a sufficient number of appletinis to keep her from running, horrified and disgusted, out of the room the second I told her exactly what I was hoping she would do to me, but now I fear she isn’t drunk enough just yet. Curse you, shitty Applebees bartender and your watered down, suburban-housewife-strength mixing skills!

* * *

So that’s how KING OF THE PERVERTS begins. More to come very soon.

In the meantime, I’m going to take advantage of my birthdayness to post some links to my stuff that’s currently available, most of which is either free or just a buck on Kindle. Thanks for reading and supporting a creepy old dude.



MR. FLASHBACK (writing as Son Porter):