Mosquitoes & Whisky

Is there really more to life than sex, drugs, and loud, loud, punk rock? In this semi-autobiographical account of growing up in Winnipeg, Mosquitoes & Whisky details the author’s struggle to escape boredom in the city of mosquitoes and ice. The prequel to 2004s I Was a Punk Before You Were a Punk, Mosquitoes & Whisky is a candid snapshot of teenage angst, both humorous and disturbing in its frank excess. Soaked with booze-fueled sin and drug-soaked debauchery, Mosquitoes & Whisky is wild enough to give Charles Bukowski the grave spins.

Written in disturbingly candid tones, this prequel to I Was a Punk Before You Were a Punk tells the story of a disillusioned young man growing up in the wasteland of Winnipeg, Manitoba. As the protagonist quickly learns, substances are a primary source of entertainment in ice-locked Manitoba, and that the easiest way to beat boredom is to get wasted. Music seems to be an outlet for pent-up aggression, but the corporate rock of the early 70s is not enough to fill to the hole. Fortunately, and just in time to prevent a citywide killing spree, a brand new form of music arrives to save the day: punk rock. The chubby girl and her boyfriend argued their way into a bedroom. Other, suddenly weary burglars began staking claim to the sofas. I looked around at the squalid apartment and my drunken, criminally inclined associates. Oddly, living on the streets didn’t seem so bad anymore. Not with a head full of Valium and wine. Pocketing several cigarette butts, I lurched over to the door. “Where ya goan?” slurred Bill. He was slumped in an armchair, nodding with a cigarette. “I gotta get some fresh air,” I mumbled. Shoving open the door, I stumbled down the stairs and onto the street. The sun was rising, spreading dazzling rays of golden light across the tenement rooftops. A police car zoomed by with lights and sirens blaring. I felt strong and graceful, like a gazelle. I increased my pace, and soon I was running, bounding along down the alley. I could see tall buildings ahead and knew that the pool hall would be open, waiting. Cutting through a parking lot, I began to hurdle handrails, flying with feet lighter than feathers. Nobody could stop me. I was the king of the city. My foot caught the top of a handrail. There was a blinding flash of light as I hit the concrete with my jaw. I picked myself up with skinned and bleeding palms and found a hole in my bottom lip with my tongue. It didn’t hurt much, though. I threw back my head and laughed, gargled with a mouthful of blood. I was still the king.

Chris Walter, a recovering drug addict and hope-to-die punk rocker, began writing purposefully in 1998 after realizing that his life up to that point had been meaningless. His first published novel, Punk Rules OK went largely unnoticed except by detractors, inspiring him to take a DIY approach to the game. With help from his girlfriend who worked at a printing shop, he started GFY Press and began to write, publish, and distribute a steady stream of fiction novels and music biographies. After kicking drugs to the curb in 2001, GFY Press expanded to include unschooled troublemakers Simon Snotface, Stewart Black, and an Australian, Drew Gates, drawing further criticism from the established literary industry. More than twenty titles and fourteen years later, Chris Walter and GFY Press remain unrepentant and committed.