Poor Stuart was in a conundrum. He was widely acknowledged as a leading critic, someone capable of devastating insight and reviews that rivalled or surpassed the work reviewed as an act of creation.
Yet here he sat, pants around his ankles, boot polish smeared all over his pet goose Retief, his 1991 It's The Hits compilation cassette being chewed up by the player - unable to produce any kind of intelligent response to the book that sat wedged between the manifold folds of his sweaty, cheesy dewlap.
He pressed on.
"Olaf Sundquist's Why I Shaved My Nuts is a singular work that defies description."
No, that won't do. By saying it defies description I've described it somewhat. And calling it singular says more about me than the work... Oh God, help me now!
I need to own this book, to call it by its true name, to place it where it lives and bring the world there to see it as it really is.
In a mad dash for inspiration, he picked up the phone and began blowing the harmonica solo from Stairway To Heaven.
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2 comments:
This is a strong entry. Help me now... true name. Do you keep a notebook for jotting down these brilliant ideas? - cw
Why I shaved my nuts. hahahaha!
Sequel: "Spanning the gap - One man's quest to find salvation between back, sack and crack."
i do keep a notebook, which now takes the form of a macbook - that's scottish for son of book.
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