Sorry, Chuck. I read your book in the store. I know I ought to have bought it or rented it from the library, but I promise you: just as I do with all of my books, I hardly opened the thing, and it’s spine is still fully intact, no creases, no bending of pages. I put it at the bottom of the pile so in about 18-24 hours, it will literally be as good as new.
Great read. No wonder I read it in 3 hours! It gripped me by the balls from start to finish. Might have something to do with the fact that I’m ovulating and thus, insatiable on a sexual level. I tell you though, fertility-status aside, this is a sex-fanatic/addict’s dream-come-true. And also dysfunctional family survivor’s dream-come-true. I just couldn’t get enough of it, and so I stayed there, sipping Jerusalem Spider for 3 hours, and legitating, in bliss.
I have no idea about anyone’s name. Doesn’t matter in the end. After reading this, I just know about sitting in traffic with your junked-up mom, working on a farm in a colonial village, dealing with bat-shit friends and co-workers, and visiting your mom post-loony-bin-admission. Oh, and fucking. Fucking in churches, hospitals, planes, barns. Fucking anywhere you can get a fix. This is delightful; and yes, I’m a sick fuck for thinking so. But some of you will understand. I’ll meet in you in the 2nd stall to those who do.
I tell you, this is the kind of smack that makes reading worthwhile again. All you nouveau-realist literary addicts out there: here’s where the pusher man gives you the straight shit that makes you think you were just born again–be ready. This will satiate you on many, many levels.