CODE for FAILURE or SUCCESS and what the fuck’s the difference really?

Code for Failure by Ryan W. Bradley
Blow jobs, turning down blow jobs, booze, cocaine, whoring, tattoos, concussions . . .

Despite being versed in much of the above, I still learned quite a bit reading CODE for FAILURE in the not-quite-two-hours it took me to read it. I learned that in Oregon, you’re not allowed to pump your own gas. I also learned that being a gas station employee gets you more pussy than you can handle; at least it does for our hero.

When I heard about Ryan W. Bradley’s new novel, I had to get my hands all over it. After getting broken in (I couldn’t sit down the next day) with his short story collection, Prize Winners, I was an instant fan. And all the things I loved about Prize Winners came through in CODE for FAILURE: the minimal dialogue, the short “bursting” chapter pieces, the sexiness. Each chapter is set up like the climax from a scene in a movie. The rest of the fluff is scrapped. It’s quick and to the point. There are no unnecessary big words, or excessive adjectives, filling up space, as Ryan W. Bradley ’s writing style is one to where you finish wanting more, not the other way around.

Ryan W. Bradley
I recall his feedback on a couple of my rough drafts: “Keep whittling…I’ve always found there to be more power in only saying what absolutely needs to be said.”

He practices what he preaches. Believe me, I know the dude.

Let’s talk book.

CODE for FAILURE is a story about a guy in his early twenties that pumps your gas and changes your oil after being kicked out of college. “I told the dean to screw herself.” There’s nothing glamorous, whatsoever about this job. Often times, he goes home with more black oil than white skin. He knows for sure he doesn’t want to do this shitty job forever (I mean, who would?), but time ticks on.

We’ve all been there: This job is just temporary. I’m going to do something greater. Then 10 years go by, and what the fuck? I’m still here, except now I’m the old guy I used to make fun of.

Our hero is a smart, hard working guy. He’s also a boozer, recreational drug user, and most importantly, a lady whisperer. Old and young women alike can’t get enough of his “I don’t give a shit” persona and throw themselves at him, almost too easily. Because of this talent and need for more money, he gets dragged into whoring by the older, rich wives around town who are no longer being satisfied by their husbands.

The boss’s sixteen-year old perky daughter wants to fuck him. Hmmm…Should he?

With angry husbands, an almost-sociopathic stalking ex-girlfriend, a gun toting old-timer from work, a bunch of suits, a half deaf Nirvana loving coworker, a cigarette stealing hippie, and countless hot older, yearning-for-attention-and-young-cock housewives, CODE for FAILURE takes you through one man’s mistakes (or are they triumphs?) with the blunt simplistic honesty nothing short of Bukowski .

It’s a love story. Well, maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. You’ll have to spend an hour-and-a-half to read it and find out.

But ultimately, it’s a story of happiness and success and what that truly means. Do you really need all the glitz and glamour to consider yourself successful, happy? Or can you appreciate the smaller things in life? The real things.

It’s relatable.

It’s real.

So my suggestion is this: Grow some fucking stones and get the book. Yes, you too ladies.

And might I also suggest a Whiskey Sour to help you along the way?

Whiskey Sour Recipe

  • 2 (maybe 3) fluid ounces whiskey
  • 1 fluid ounce sweet and sour mix


  1. Pour whiskey and sweet and sour over ice cubes in a squat, old-fashioned glass.
  2. And you can keep the cherry and lemon for yourself. That’s pussy shit.

That’s it. Enjoy.

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