Publisher's Synopsis
Dubliner Mark Barry is the author of 35 e-Books (some in Paperback too), but as yet, has not received a Nobel Prize for Literature or even a sniff of a Booker.
His long-suffering British wife Mary Ann controls his pocket money, monitors his dubious clothing choices and stands Goth-like (not easy in garishly-painted CROCS) over his attempts at literature with the greased-up enthusiasm of Rasputin shopping for Vosene. The Baz (as he known in hushed wordy circles) hasn't received a medal for anything in fact - Most Fantastic Irishman Ever - Order of Magnificence and Genius - Literary Giant Visible From Outer Space - nothing, nadda, zip, bupkis. No university has invited him to be a Don or a Fellow or even wear black ceremonial robes in a shade Chanel of Paris are calling Fetching Fascist. Not even a Garter or a Knee Pad. And you can forget MBE or OBE or any Most Meritorious Honour with an E in it. Baz once wrote a letter to Adam c/o The Garden of Eden, but Eve returned it marked Gone to IKEA (and still the sappy Mark thinks women are a wonderful invention and there is very little spare or ribbing about them). Hell, even his Application for Sainthood sent to the Vatican many years ago on Pet Shop Boys headed paper is rumoured to be sat at the bottom of a lurid pink tray marked Too Much Shagging In Precarious Locations - whilst his gobby derision of all things woke has marked him out as a clear menace to polite society and possibly worse - a Liberal. Half of his grown-up children won't call him on the phone either and he has three (some kind of custodial clerical error apparently). Some people in England (mostly in The Daily Mail) have gone as far as saying that Mr. Barry remains almost irritatingly optimistic (possibly something to do with the water in Margate's Cliftonville as pictured above) and is on occasion heard to mumble, oh well Scarlett Johansson, tomorrow is another day (The Baz is heavily rumoured to be on speed-dial with the Hollywood A-lister). His new book of 122 allegedly funny rhyming poems loosely flitting about The Wonder of Men is an attempt to placate the many women he has sullied down the wonder-years (Warren Beatty stylee) with his deeply suspect cut and for that matter pirate-like jib. Most of these detainees have sought the involvement and sometimes direct intervention of The Mafia and/or Thought Police on five different continents and have the PayPal receipts to prove it. Mark Barry wears waistcoats too and you know what that lot are like. We shall keep you posted...
