Here’s what they tell you happens at Literary Death Match:

(authors) perform their most electric writing (in eight minutes or less) before a lively audience and a panel of three all-star judges. After each pair of readings, the judges–focused on literary merit, performance and intangibles–take turns spouting hilarious, off-the-wall commentary about each story, then select their favorite to advance to the finals.

Here’s what actually happens at Literary Death Match: brave souls stand in front of twenty and thirty-something tipsies, rip out their hearts, muse on fucking, and get the shit judged out of them by a ruthless, good for nothing, power-salivating tribunal. Tonight’s panel of executioners includes the SF Appeal’s own Eve Batey!

On the rack tonight: Jesse Nathan, April Sinclair, Ellen Sussman, and Peter Orner. Also sure to be in full force are pubescent male self-deprecation to the point of utter shit stain worthless poetic exhibitionism, auto-fellation, projectile vomit, aborted threesomes, and something terrible happening inside a Carl’s Jr.

And let’s give it up for our now having one more category to judge complete strangers on: Intangibles. Is that girl cute? I have no idea, but she has a real cute quality about her. Was that a good poem? It moved me on the inside, but I’m also drinking a chocolate martini and eating garlic fries.

It’s not customary for audience members to bring McChicken sandwiches to throw on stage. Or is it? We’ll see you there.

Elbo Room, tonight. Doors at 6:30, show at 7:00 p.m. $5 to get in.

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