I’m going to try to start reading again–books–and I’m beginning with all the stuff I’ve been sent by such lovely people, to whom I’ve been so rude.
It’s not that I don’t want to read their books. I do. But they are so long, even the short ones, and books ask you to concentrate on one subject for hundreds of pages at a time, instead of reading half-an-article about the lunch habits of a dead dictator, and then enjoying various pornographies, and then looking at pictures of animals doing thing that animals should not be doing. (The cat sits like a person!)
Not the title?
Close, but no blotter.
Ahem. The great Jesse Jarnow’s Dongs: A Cultural History of Coke Dick should win-
Again? Was I mistaken a second time?
Everyone sees through you.
You’re right. The great Jesse Jarnow’s Fancy Talkin’ About Shady Fuckers was released–
Did you just play pitty-pat on the water at the edge of the lake until an alligator ate you and then slid quietly back beneath the surface with your remains?
Suicide in Florida is cheap.
And tempting. Please continue plugging Jesse’s book.
Everybody should go buy it, unless they only have enough money for either Jesse’s book or the Donate Button, in which case they should choose me over him. Otherwise: it’s a damn good read, and I haven’t hit one sentence that angered me yet. It’s funny and smart and Jesse has way more patience for oogie-boogie spirituality than I do, which is good. My version of his book would contain many more passages accusing people of being fuzzy-headed doodlebugs who’d slept (or not slept) on too many motel mattresses and forgot their skepticism under one of them; Jesse does not do this, and that was probably the more fruitful choice.
Heads is also worth the purchase just for the names: travelers on the Map (I’m not telling you what that means; it’s the central metaphor of the book; buy it yourself if you’re so damned curious; stop asking me questions) often adopted the most ludicrous noms d’ergot and the pages drip with them. There’s Dealer McDope, and Jacaeber Kastor, and the Lord Nose, and Whelming Brine, and Dick FaceBat, and Goa Gil, and the Legendary Marty, and Bilrock 161, and Turk 182, and N. Stan Taneous, and Kosciusko Pulaski, and Big Momma Blurf, and Phreaky Butthole, and Tennessee Dennis the Friendliest Dentist.
(This may be the reason I could not be a mover and shaker in the status game of psychedelia: I would either be unable to play along and just go by TotD, or would get too into the game and start introducing myself as Captain Fuck.)
Anyway, go read the book. Wait, no: fuck that. “Read the book” leaves open the possibility of borrowing it from the library, and libraries are communist scams that teach children that sharing is a good thing. Also, it does not rule out illegally downloading it, or shoplifting it; do not do these things. Just buy the book; what you do with it after that is up to you. Sex stuff is fine, or use it for violence against those weaker than you.
Please don’t use Jesse’s book as a weapon.
You’re right. Just use it for sex stuff.
Tell them about page 212.
Oh, right: tear it out and chew on it ’til the jewels fall out of your eyes.
Sure, champ. Where’s your book?