He was a monster spawned from a childhood of vile corruption, nurtured in the putrefying hell of Vietnam. Six foot seven and five hundred pounds - a coagulated mountain of seething hate. But behind the soulless eyes lurked a burning intelligence - an animal cunning infinitely superior to anything on four legs.
He is Daniel Edward Flowers Bunkowski and he hates you. Miller pits his Homicide detective hero, Jack Eichord versus this resolutely unhygienic serial killer in one of the grossest novels to emerge in the 'eighties 'Splatterpunk' explosion. I swear you can smell this guy's acid piss even as you read about it. Bunkowski is a walking slaughterhouse who enjoys killing for its own sake, and he's good at it. Inside, the author helpfully gives out tips on how to create your very own psychopath from the most basic materials - basically, just treat then like scum from the moment of their birth and you're there.
From the first, I set myself against "literature"; the story was the thing, and no amount of style could persuade me to select a story that lacked genuine, unadulterated horror. For those who wanted something high-brow there was plenty.
I have not read Slob, but I think the main character featured in a story by Miller in the anthology Fleshcreepers, edited by J.N. Williamson. The story is titled 'The Luckiest Man in the World', but as it has been 20+ years since I read it, the details elude me.