{"product_id":"the-jugheads-isbn-9781609805838","title":"The Jugheads","description":"East Texas in the 1960s is not the worst place to have grown up, but for narrator Jake of \u003ci\u003eThe Jugheads\u003c\/i\u003e, it was a minefield. Describing clearly and courageously first jobs and first kisses, family vacations and family fights, Jake takes us through a wild ride of a coming of age, in an ordinary American family that he believes is as violent and dysfunctional as they come. By turns hilarious and moving, \u003ci\u003eThe Jugheads\u003c\/i\u003e is a compelling return to form for a master of the underside of the American psyche.“J. R. Helton really speaks to me--starkly honest, darkly funny, acutely observant, and captures the tragic absurdity of human life. ... [H]e’s right up there with the best of them.” \u003cb\u003e—Robert Crumb, cartoonist and musician\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “This guy Helton could be the next Bukowski.” \u003cb\u003e—Terry Zwigoff, director of \u003ci\u003eCrumb\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eGhost World\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “If Mark Twain had snorted coke, chomped on painkillers like they were Tic Tacs and huffed enough nitrous to keep a fleet of dental surgery patients grinning, \u003ci\u003eDrugs\u003c\/i\u003e is the book he’d have written.” \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eTony O’Neill, author of\u003ci\u003e Digging the Vein \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e Sick City\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eJ. R. HELTON'\u003c\/b\u003es first novel \u003ci\u003eDrugs\u003c\/i\u003e, a modern homage to William S. Burrough’s classic \u003ci\u003eJunky, \u003c\/i\u003eintroduced the world to his wry writing and unique genre of fictionalized memoir\u003ci\u003e.\u003c\/i\u003e A professor of writing at the collegiate level, Helton has also published two memoirs and a number of short stories—for one of which he won an Honorable Mention Pushcart Prize—and poems in such literary magazines as \u003ci\u003eThe Sun\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Missouri\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eReview\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eMineshaft\u003c\/i\u003e. He lives, writes, and teaches in Texas.\u003cb\u003eIN THE CITY\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe first thing I drew was Mickey Mouse. I was alone in the house. I had a piece of blue cake, a comic book, manila paper, and colored pencils. I sat there at the table. I looked at the linoleum squares. The dirty white refrigerator. It had magnets holding pieces of paper on the door. A daisy magnet. A cow magnet. There was a Bible on the table. I opened the Bible and saw paintings of the apostles, John the Baptist and his head, Moses, Solomon. I knew about Solomon. My mother told me what he did and I thought he was a mean man. I decided to draw him. It took forever. When I was finished, he filled the whole page. Long, black hair hung past his shoulders. A tall red hat. A beard to his waist. I studied the picture. Something was wrong. He looked like a pirate. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I thumbed through the Bible. I tried to read it, but it was dull, dull, dull. Then I came across a painting of Jesus. His hair was long, his eyes brown, his beard short. Jesus was making the peace sign, which baffled me completely. I decided to draw him. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When I was finished, it was something. My picture was the same as the one in the Bible. \u003cbr\u003e Then there was noise. My father was home with my mother. They walked into the kitchen and looked at what I’d drawn. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I don’t believe it,” said my mother.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Neither do I,” said my father.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “He’s got natural talent,” my mother said. “Incredible.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “You’ve got natural ability,” my father said. “You should develop it.” It was decided then and there. “You’re going to be an artist,” my father said.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey looked at the pictures. I started to eat my blue cake. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My mother picked up the picture of Mickey Mouse. “I’m gonna save this forever,” she said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And she did.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e***\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003eWe lived in north Houston. Our house was small. There was one hallway that led to a second bathroom on the far side of the den. I never would go to that bathroom. The hallway was too long, too dark. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One night, my father was caught on the toilet with no toilet paper. He called for me. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Go to the other bathroom and get me a roll.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “But—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Hurry up.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I didn’t hurry. I walked slowly down the hall. The walls loomed high. A dark door was closed at the end. I opened the door and walked through. Inside, the bathroom was all green. A green mirror, green ceiling, green toilet, green lights and walls. The only thing white was the sink. A large praying mantis sat on the edge of the basin. His head moved towards me. The fluorescent light was humming. I grabbed the toilet paper and ran. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e***\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy father was a mailman. He also lifted weights down at the Y. A weight-lifting mailman. I wore his blue safari hat loose on my head. We had a game we played when he came home from work. Try to push down Daddy’s biceps. I tried and tried. So did my sister. We could never do it. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “They’re too big,” we said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e*** \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The kitchen table was green. I spent a lot of time at that table. Drawing. Playing with my little car. At night, we ate at the table. My father told mailman stories. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Those people should have had that dog chained. Or a higher fence. He jumped right over it and bit me on the back.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Oh no,” my mother said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Their Shepherd sits right out on the front porch. Every day, he doesn’t do anything, and then, out of the blue, he bites me. I had to kick his head in.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “That’s terrible.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I crushed his skull. The owner wants to sue me for killing his dog. I said, you try to sue me, mother fucker, I know where you live. I come to your house every day. What could he sue me for, anyway?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I listened to the stories. To me, being a mailman seemed like a high-risk, high-adventure job.","brand":"Seven Stories Press","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300359033061,"sku":"NP9781609805838","price":17.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781609805838.jpg?v=1767740028","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-jugheads-isbn-9781609805838","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}