ICEFLOE & I
When the tattered manuscript for ROMANCE FOR MEN: PANDORA’S BOX turned up on my doorstep, stained in blood (from a moose, it turned out) and smelling strongly of urine (also moose), I immediately dropped it in the trash… but something on the cover caught my eye.
It said: No emotions. Not too many words. 100% guaranteed.
I remember staring at that for a long time. How was “no emotions” a selling point? And how could a book be “100% guaranteed”? By who? For what? I plucked it out, started reading, and a few things became clear.
It was easily the filthiest thing I’d ever read. And the character of Icefloe was a horror: racist, homophobic, sexist, misogynistic… I know I’m missing a few.
But, I also thought it was darkly funny.
And I imagined it could be turned into a very edgy animated TV show if I dialed down the raunchier, more appalling elements. By the way, thanks FX. You guys are true to your tagline: Fearless. And Adam Reed and Matt Thompson, same for you.
So I decided to try to get the rights to it, which meant I had to find the author, Jack Icefloe Jackson. I’m not going to go into the details of that now. The wounds are too fresh. Literally, too fresh. It turns out there’s no such thing as nipple replacement surgery – you have to have the original.
I will detail my “adventures” (a charitable way to put it) with Icefloe another time. For now, let’s just keep it simple. Icefloe’s a dick. Everything he is in the book, he is in real life. Short, fat, bald, miserable. And, yes, he loves to dynamite hunt near his shack in the Alaskan wilderness – which explains the moose blood.
But here’s the most important thing I discovered about Icefloe. You know the filthy, absurd adventure he writes about in ROMANCE FOR MEN: PANDORA’S BOX? He thinks it actually happened. To him. The FuckBot. Obama. The Bitch Witch. The Nazi Clones. The Hot Nuns of Assisi. All of it.
Would you like to know why he thinks that?
Because Icefloe is a psychopath.
He’s created an alternate universe where every woman on Earth lusts after him, so much so that when an extinction-level event threatens our planet, Icefloe’s love-making ability is the only thing that can save us. In the real world, he’s the most disgusting pig I’ve ever met, but in this universe of his own creation, he’s God.
Hell, Obama comes to him for help.
Somewhere in the twisted fever dream of his imagination, I think he knows he’s insane. Hence the character of Ms. Cherry, who seems to be the only woman who treats him the way any real woman would — as a filthy creature suitable only for contempt.
I’m no psychiatrist, but I think she’s his unconscious speaking to him.
People who don’t know Icefloe and think it’s all for laughs have been finding it really funny, albeit filthy as hell. Check out the blurbs from celebrities. But, knowing Icefloe the way I know him, I see the whole thing as a cry for help from a VERY disturbed mind who’s also an off-the-charts narcissist. Hell, he calls the book his “masterpiece.”
And sometime I’ll tell you about the week I spent with him. Right after I drink some Scotch to steady my nerves. The wounds are just too fresh.
By the way, if you happen to stumble across a nipple in need of a body, let me know. And if you want, you can check out the filth on Amazon.