1. Justin Taylor (author of Everything Here is the Best Thing Ever) & Melissa Petro (contributor to Sex Work Matters: Power and Intimacy in the Sex Industry) 2. Sarah Gerard, Jason Cook, not actually Andy Devine, & Melissa Broder

Last night’s Tyramperius Rex reading party featured “carnivorous” readings from Ampersand Books, Publishing Genius, and NY Tyrant, and promised to “make lit fun again,” which is something that we at EL can definitely get behind. This was definitely not your average reading. A DJ played loud dance music for a full hour before anyone even got on stage (including “Like a G6″ , which is pretty much the hyphiest dance song everrrr), while all of us litfags sat around and sipped on grown-up drinks.

Finally, host Dave Hill got on stage, and read part of his forthcoming memoir (expected publishing date: sometime in 2014), which told the tale of Osama bin Laden– but not the “well-known bachelor billionaire extremist,” but the elephant. Threats directed at the noisy crowd at the back of the bar punctuated his performance, but it would not shut up, even when Hill yelled that he would fucking stab them.

1. Will, Emily, Liz, Sam, poet Ben Lowenkron, & Lisa Kirchner. 2. Scott Meriam, writer Elliott David, & Bob Reyes.


Benjamin Lowenkron, the “poet laureate of the apocalypse,” was up next, and he read some poetry about New York and 8-minute abs. When he was finished, some sexy little dancers came out on stage, modestly dressed in pasties and strap-ons. And an eagle mask. And a vest. I’m sure this was just like any reading you could have gone to this weekend for The New Yorker Festival. (By the way, I was not allowed to take pictures of the dancers, hence why there’s no photos of them on this blog.)

“Andy Devine,” getting ready to bare his nipple.

After about twenty minutes of poets slipping dollar bills into g-strings, Hill got back on stage. He had an inspirational message for the crowd, saying that all the writers should “keep trying” and “keep showing up for life.” Elliott David read a “depressing short bit of fiction,” which was about cancer and death. Unlike the other two readers, David refused to threaten anyone.

Andy Devine read last. His work featured a list of words you should never use in fiction, which inspired heckling from the noisy bar-goers. “I’m a self-hating man,” Devine said during his set. “You’re a terrible writer too!” came a voice from the back of the bar. So Devine showed us his nipple.

The night ended with the crowd crying for more “strippers.” “DANCERS!” someone yelled. “They’re dancers! I demand a specificity of nouns!”

–Julia Jackson is working on her MFA in fiction at Brooklyn College, and is a regular contributor for Electric Dish.

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