Ah, I'm a very bad man.  I've been flaking on this column and believe me, my conscience is troubled. 

What better way to ease my sore conscience than to recommend one of my favorite writers, who is definitely the sick-bastard son of Elmore Leonard, yes, Mark Haskell Smith.

His previous book, MOIST, was sick, disturbing and hell of fun.

And, since his first crack at novel writing, he's gotten better in this sophomore effort. 

Can I just take a quote out of the book that had me laughing my ass off for days?  Most reviewers, I'm sorry, recommendationers; I hate critics, would start with a nice summary of the story.  Let's just piggy-back off of Powell's website for that:

http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=62-0871138840-0

Now, out of context, page 85:

"Francis walked toward them, his cock rubbing against his pants with every step, getting harder and harder, the friction exciting the nerves, the nerves sending a signal to the brain, the neurotransmitters and neuropeptides in the brain telling his heart to beat faster and faster, sending oxygenated blood to his genitals and releasing serotonin.  Francis smiled, he could help himself; it was too funny.  He was just trying to walk and he was about to erupt.  He wasn't sure he could hold it back if it came.  He hoped no innocent bystander would get sticky.

"But Francis's arousal was short-lived.  He was shocked back to his senses when Jack pulled himself to his feet to greet him.  Maybe he shouldn't have looked, but it was a force of habit.  Francis couldn't help but see the unmistakable outline of a big stiff water snake bulging out of Jack's pants.

"The two men stood shaking hands, their erections straining toward each other like twin fingers of God."

Highly, highly recommended.

I promise to be a better deadline maker next month. 

Literary love,

Tony DuShane