3 Stars
I had every intention of reading this on Independence Day. All hail Goldblum . . . .
But when I found myself about to pass out from heat stroke and 15 minutes to spare before my oldest’s baseball game this past weekend I decided to bump this to the forefront in an attempt to keep my brain occupied before it fried inside my skull.
King begins this tale with a little anecdote about a golden oldie cruising the local grocery in her Hoveround Scooter who stopped him in order to tell him she’s not a fan of horror stories and seeks out stuff like Shawshank Redemption instead . . . . and then proceeded to tell King “no you didn’t” when he pointed out he wrote that one too. King states . . . .
“You write some scary stories and you’re like the girl who lives in the trailer park on the edge of town: you get a reputation.”
Basically, if you’re a sissybaby like the Grocery Store Golden Girl, this might be a King story for you.
When I first saw the title for this (courtesy of my pal, Melki), my mind instantly went to . . . .
Turns out I was a bit off the mark.
Ever since a combo of Alden’s Dad dropping dead, leaving a pile of loot insurance and Ma hitting it big on a scratch-off lottery ticket, the two have been living high on the hog, spending their evenings watching the lake and sipping on fineries such as “Dirty Hubcaps” while continually being irritated by the “Eye-talians” who reside in a McMansion across the way. It was bad enough listening the fun and frivolity of their weekly barbecues – mainly in the form of one of the Massimo man-boys who liked to accompany any singing by (literally) tooting his horn . . .
“Someone ought to dip that trumpet in olive oil and stick it up his ass. He could fart out ‘God Bless America.’”
(If you read that in Shelby’s voice, you’re not the only one.)
But when those [racial slur redacted] tried to one-up Alden and Ma’s 4th of July celebration of black cats and sparklers, it was on like bing bong and the following year (as well as the year after that and the year after that), the feuding families waged an “arms race” like no other . . . .
This story is strictly for shits and grins. After reading Melki’s review, I think the paper version was probably lacking quite a bit in comparison to the audio. It was still great fun, though. I mean, who doesn’t want to blow the hell out of stuff in order to show their neighbor up on the 4th?????
If you don’t? Well, you probably ain’t very patriotic . . . .
God bless ‘Murica!
But when I found myself about to pass out from heat stroke and 15 minutes to spare before my oldest’s baseball game this past weekend I decided to bump this to the forefront in an attempt to keep my brain occupied before it fried inside my skull.
King begins this tale with a little anecdote about a golden oldie cruising the local grocery in her Hoveround Scooter who stopped him in order to tell him she’s not a fan of horror stories and seeks out stuff like Shawshank Redemption instead . . . . and then proceeded to tell King “no you didn’t” when he pointed out he wrote that one too. King states . . . .
“You write some scary stories and you’re like the girl who lives in the trailer park on the edge of town: you get a reputation.”
Basically, if you’re a sissybaby like the Grocery Store Golden Girl, this might be a King story for you.
When I first saw the title for this (courtesy of my pal, Melki), my mind instantly went to . . . .
Turns out I was a bit off the mark.
Ever since a combo of Alden’s Dad dropping dead, leaving a pile of loot insurance and Ma hitting it big on a scratch-off lottery ticket, the two have been living high on the hog, spending their evenings watching the lake and sipping on fineries such as “Dirty Hubcaps” while continually being irritated by the “Eye-talians” who reside in a McMansion across the way. It was bad enough listening the fun and frivolity of their weekly barbecues – mainly in the form of one of the Massimo man-boys who liked to accompany any singing by (literally) tooting his horn . . .
“Someone ought to dip that trumpet in olive oil and stick it up his ass. He could fart out ‘God Bless America.’”
(If you read that in Shelby’s voice, you’re not the only one.)
But when those [racial slur redacted] tried to one-up Alden and Ma’s 4th of July celebration of black cats and sparklers, it was on like bing bong and the following year (as well as the year after that and the year after that), the feuding families waged an “arms race” like no other . . . .
This story is strictly for shits and grins. After reading Melki’s review, I think the paper version was probably lacking quite a bit in comparison to the audio. It was still great fun, though. I mean, who doesn’t want to blow the hell out of stuff in order to show their neighbor up on the 4th?????
If you don’t? Well, you probably ain’t very patriotic . . . .
God bless ‘Murica!
No comments:
Post a Comment