Where Are Roasters’ Roasts, Toasts, & Posts Hosted?
Eyeshot: Eyeshot’s Very Playful Contribution to the Neal Pollack Roast by Lee Klein
Haypenny: Heard at the New York Friar’s Club Roast of Neal Pollack
Haypenny: Three Unfinished Things Neal Pollack Tried to Write Today
Haypenny: How NP Almost Screwed Over His Family on Family Feud’s Fast Money Round
Haypenny: Dear Neal Pollack
Haypenny: Neal Pollack Fact-Snacks
(parenthetical note): Neal Pollack Captured by U.S. Forces by Dennis DiClaudio
Utter Wonder: Neal Pollack’s Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire by Chris Monks
Zulkey: Neal Pollack’s Acting Rather Gay, Isn’t He? The Splendidised Interview by Claire Zulkey
City of Floating Blogs: Where’d That Balding Jackass Pollack Go, Anyway? by Matt Tobey
Deckie Holmes: Neal Pollack’s Actual Best Albums of 2k3 List by Dennis Proctor
Konundrum Engine: Sir Pollack’s Shadow by Pitchaya Sudbanthad
Rob’s Blog: Neal, Bitch by Rob Theakston
W.U.L.A.D.: Wrapped Up Like a Roast: an Untitled Acrostic by Ian Carey
Television Solar System: Neal Sucks! by Sam Forsyth
Left Pedal: Where’s My Handjob, Neal? by Donnie Boman
MBIMoTMoG: My Neal Pollack Is Broken by Aaron Kraus
Y.P.R.: Neal Pollack: The Most Important Artist of Our Time by Josh Abraham
Y.P.R.: A Note from Ann Coulter Left on Neal’s Pillow by Geoff Wolinetz
Y.P.R.: Dear Neal by Amy Stender
Y.P.R.: Stats for the Neal Pollack by Tony DiGerolamo
Y.P.R.: Never Mind the One-Liners by Henny Youngman
The Roastee Responds! by N.P.
Who Is Neal Pollack?
Neal Pollack “ironically” proclaimed himself the world’s greatest living writer, which is an insult to Chinese-takeout-menu typesetters everywhere. Real Neal is just an “ ordinary humor dork, yet another doughy, 35-ish white man with a goatee and thinning hair.” He has written three “books” and recorded two “albums,” though such labels are applied very generously. Neal lives in Kentucky, where he is cultivating an ironic countercultural movement with local hipster hillbillies (or, hicksters).
Neal’s Contributions to Society
The Neal Pollack Anthology of American Literature: The Collected Writings of Neal Pollack.
Neal Scotch-taped some of his pretend-boring McSweeney’s works together and paraded about as the ghost of Norman Mailer, even though the pieces were wholly unconnected, uneven, and incongruous, and Mr. Mailer still walks the earth. Pollack famously wrestled Dave Eggers, his summer-camp pen pal, into full-Nelson submission and barraged him with purple nurples, wet Willies, and other puerile attacks until he agreed to publish the “book.” Used copies of The Neal Pollack Anthology of American Literature are currently available for just $1.28 on Amazon. You know what else costs a buck twenty-eight? Nothing. A damned ice-cream cone is a buck and a half. The postage required to get your buck-twenty-eight book to you is likely more than that, and so is the envelope if it’s got bubble cushioning in it. Buck twenty-eight. That’s only 128 pennies away from totally worthless.
Neal Pollack & The Pine Valley Cosmonauts Present the Neal Pollack Anthology of American Literature.
If you’ve ever sobered up from an ether blackout only to be lulled back aslumber by the soporific sounds of National Public Radio, you’ll appreciate the dreamy haze induced by Neal Pollack’s noisy-yet-numbing whine. The Pine Valley Cosmonauts continue to make music in relative obscurity, content enough so long as they are free of Pollack’s soul-sucking drain.
Beneath the Axis of Evil: One Man’s Journey into the Horrors of War.
Neal reportedly spent a whole afternoon crafting these psychotic rambles, and in doing so he unintentionally exemplified just Why They Hate Us. He threatened to poison the water supply of Austin, Texas, until local hero Ben Brown agreed to publish Neal’s work through micro-press So New Media. For Mr. Brown’s heroic efforts he was awarded key to the city, and honored by the naming of a cul-de-sac. Neal Pollack is no longer allowed across Texas’s state borders.
Never Mind the Pollacks: A Rock ’n’ Roll Novel.
In one shot, this book ranks Neal alongside the greatest rock memoirists, journalists, and novelists—writers like Lester Bangs, Cameron Crowe, Nick Hornby, Hunter S. Thompson, Nick Tosches, and every dedicated dreamer with an underground fanzine. Except where all those authors relied upon unadulterated, optimistic, teenage adoration of rock’n’roll for its music and its message and its soul, Pollack instead opted for trivia and vomit. Fine, a book cannot be judged by its cover, but surely we can heed the imperative warning delivered in its title?
The Neal Pollack Invasion: Never Mind the Pollacks Soundtrack.
This is the kind of noise you might hear in a nightmare: Imagine somehow combining the sounds of shattered glass being sucked up by a Dustbuster with the sounds of that glass-filled Dustbuster being put into a blender along with a kitten, and that sort of approaches the sonic horrors of this “I’m only pretending to suck” affront to music. This album sucked so hard, the record label promptly folded shop.
The Neal Pollack Invasion
(né the Neal Pollack Maelstrom).
Ever clamoring for attention, Neal had used this forum to spew impulsive muckrakery until he snapped from the pressure and shut down the blog. For a couple of hours. When he regained focus from the whip-it syncope, he realized he would wither away into nothingness without a soapbox to stand on, so he immediately retracted his declaration of defunctity, clarifying his plans as only an “indefinite hiatus,” which of course means “till he gets out of rehab.” Nice flip-flop, Pollack. Somewhere, Michael Savage is laughing.
“Wanda at Large”.
Though he uncharacteristically went uncredited, Pollack is the driving creative force behind this wretched sitcom, wearing two hats as head writer and associate producer.
For more Neal Pollack-brand drivel, please see the collection of assorted articles and essays at A Neal Pollack Reader, an unofficial fan-site-type site, the existence of which is, frankly, shocking and inexplicable.