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‘To look at them you’d never have thought they were kin. Tiny was 22, but his round soft face made him appear six years younger, still in the stammer of adolescence. Grandaddy was 99, generally lucid, but prey to the stuttering lapses of senility. Tiny, like most men burdened with that nickname, was 6'5" standing in a hollow, and punished the Toledoes at 269. Grandaddy was 5'5" in his cowboy boots and weighed just a notch over 100—though he often allowed, upon the slightest provocation, that he was once 6’ and 200 pound before hard work and harder women shrunk him down, and that if he was still within hooting distance of his prime he’d kick your ass into cordwood and have it stacked before the slash hit the ground.'

Fup, Jim Dodge’s timeless American classic, out now in a gorgeous new paperback edition this month.

And look out for Fup out and about in a city near you. Fup’s popping up everywhere…

And of course in all good bookstores.


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