Finally, after twenty-plus years of coaxing, cajoling, pleading and basic needling on my part, my ol’ scallywag brother, Jonathan Shaw has put pen to paper, dragging and drudging up virulent and violent memories of his not so cute past and present. Been waiting too long for this. So have you, whoever you are, believe me. If you don’t yet know him, you will. If you didn’t want to, too bad. Once he’s in, he’s in. J.S.’s words, work, life, lives, deaths, rants, rage, hilarity and taste rank with the best of ‘em.
If Hubert Selby Jr., Charles Bukowski, Ernest Hemingway, Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, Neil Cassady, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, the Marquis de Sade, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Joao Gilberto, Edward Teach, Charley Parker, Iggy Pop, Louis-Ferdinand Celine, R. Crumb, Robert Williams, Joe Coleman, Dashiell Hammett, E.M. Cioran and all of the Three Stooges had all been involved in some greasy, shameful, evil whorehouse orgy, Jonathan Shaw would surely be its diabolical, reprobate spawn.
— Johnny Depp