The book is, at this time, unpublished. Here is an excerpt from the start of it.

The Epic of Wargoon Flishe

According to John Akre

ONE: YOUNG WARGOON

Out of the mouth with the meat and the sayings, out of the past and the misery forthcoming, out of the mists that rave and expire, tall as a tree and with bark like rough weather, such a rogue such a man such a shining star. Out of his suitcase, out of his own legend, out of the TV that shivers and tells you, out of the nasty looks and the songs like a troubadour, out of the hooks and the claws to arrest you and sometimes for scratching. Out of the weary and yet the whatever, out of the knowledge of mystery in kind, out of the wreckage and the smarting miserable welt, out of the downbeat and the song that sticks like a brick, and the lyrics that are so stupid you will never forget them.

Little Wargoon, born not of his mother, but on a day so thick of clouds so low of strange sounds and screamings. Ilgonya Flishe, she was his mother; Ransoonya Flishe, he was the father. They tried and tried to have a baby – almost everything they tried from sexual congress to catalogs to direct mail to you name it and they wanted so to have a little joy to name after grumpy old uncle Wargoon who was a Brigadier in fact and had a face you could barely look at. But instead of a boy of a baby boy the passion of their congress led but to a pile of passé consumer products, to which Ilgonya gave birth. It was sleazy in the knees and dull in all spots and immediately Ilgonya knew she needed to get it out of the house, she needed to get it out of there. So she cast it on the compost pile in the yard out back and it sat covered under clippings and peelings and leaves rotting and shriveled.

And who do you expect would come hopping by but famous TV actor and industrialist Boom Coverall, and he had to take a dump in the worst way, his grin was putrid. So he relieved himself with much ado and squirts and rips and farts upon the proud top of the clippings of the Flishe family compost pile.

Before he could even zip up his pants after his last fart the pile beneath him farted back and thundered and rumbled and what the hey he had to get up and run away. In a flash he was gone and the pile belched long enough for punctuation and within an hour of the dump of Boom, the Flishes heard such a crying from their yard, from the pile nearly glowing. It was a creevy crying and a never say dying and cut them between the tongues, and jabbed them in the bony of their temples and in the twixt of their hairy carry-fors and it wasn't all bliss that day tell me no, it was such a calling and a crying and had they to answer and had they to run and seek the sounding, and had they to under this and that to peek and fret and it didn't strike them that the compost had but yet indeed and in an under and raked and smelly and pull back the layer of rot and revolt and there caged the greasy and looked up the body as flush as is pink and knobby, and round to make you restless and caring and there he is and in these arms and that's what they told me, that's what is told, so don't blame me.

Ilgonya loved her baby joy but babies don't come from compost piles and with a little asking she got her answer and the neighbors said that they saw none other than Boom Coverall take a dump in said compost not minutes before the birth of the boy, so Ilgonya sought out Boom Coverall and, finding him, showed him young Wargoon Flishe and Boom first wouldn't believe it and held a hand before his face but then in the light thru his fingers he saw the cheeks of the baby and recognized his long nose for smelling and it happened to be on the baby this time and then he knew and was amazed. He held the baby joy in his hands and was filled with such passion and ugly that he immediately went home to slay all his wives and all his previous children and these he cooked and fed to baby Wargoon and saved the rest of the meat for himself, so that they should both gain great strength, so that they would both benefit from all the people.

So tho Boom was the shiteful father and tho he fed his own wife and offspring to baby Wargoon, he left the baby joy in the slavekeeping of Ilgonya and Ransoonya for they could raise him and he, Boom, could concentrate on his career in front of the cameras and in the boardroom, and wowing the millions with his brilliance of performance.

Baby Wargoon got a little greasy gassy from eating the wives and kiddies of Boom Coverall, and this made the baby joy irritable and foul so he cried for a full day and a full night and Ilgonya and Ransoonya both had huge rings of Saturn crowd their eyes but still they lived thru it and 24 hours later Wargoon was all cried out and he hardly cried after that at all, he was bold and brave and never cried. Sometimes he stood there and didn't know what hit him, but he never did cry. Sometimes he turned sweet red and lost his dinner in his pants, but he never did cry. Sometimes he died and sometimes he was too big for any britches, but he never did cry. Sometimes he was so confused like his brain was a big ugly ball and he grew restless, but he didn't cry, not a wink or a drip or a squeeze or a wrinkle.

Now three football players in their full shinpad uniforms heard about the compost-heap birth of young Wargoon, for Boom spread the news among his compatriots in the great fields of advertising, entertainment, and commerce and so the three burly athletes came from afar and presented to Wargoon and the Flishes their diamond championship rings and all of the Flishes, the two old ones and the new, wore them for inspiration. Wargoon's fingers were too tiny for the championship ring, so Ilgonya tied it to a string around his neck so that it would dangle there, and so he would have to raise his neck slightly to keep the ring from bowing him down low and flat. And so did Wargoon Flishe develop the upright posture that you know so well from the magazines and the filmstrips.

All praise to Wargoon Flishe

And bring him gifts

Like rings and such

For he is worthy of them

And you are worthy to give them up

All praise to Wargoon Flishe

For the world is turning

In his direction.