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There’s something cleansing about spewing merciless, unrelenting, noxious filth. Something delightfully refreshing about unleashing a stream of cursewords as you take a…Oh, forgive me, my mind’s floating in the putrid foulness of the stankest gutter after snuggling up with Benjamin Weissman’s short-story collection, Headless. Maybe it was his story about how Hitler was a really bad skier who was obsessed with Teutonic penises and scatology that sent me over the edge. Or perhaps it was the one about the kid who draws pictures of knives and flirts with his nymphomaniac eighth-grade teacher and tape-records himself going to the bathroom and tries to strangle his mom. Or the tale of the lingerie models who…or the one about the man with the giant…or the…Damn…shit…motherfucker…. Whew, I think I blacked out there for a minute. Have a seat when Weissman reads with Robert Arellano, Dennis Cooper, Douglas A. Martin, and Linh Dinh at the Independent Press Author Showcase at 8 p.m. (see City List for other Weissman dates) on the Black Cat’s Backstage, 1811 14th St. NW. Free. (202) 667-7960. (Josh Levin)