I read this book in the bathroom, and the sex scenes were so steamy they fogged up my mirror. I know it wasn’t caused by my fog machine, because I unp...moreI read this book in the bathroom, and the sex scenes were so steamy they fogged up my mirror. I know it wasn’t caused by my fog machine, because I unplugged that before I opened the book.
Of all the humor books written this year, this is the best one I’ve read. It’s also the only humor book I’ve read this year, so it’s got that exclusivity going for it.
I love this book like I love a brick and a blanket, which could be used to teach people the value of safe sex. Remember, if you’re going to have safe sex, try not to get locked inside the safe without anybody on the outside knowing the combination.
Here’s a letter I recently wrote to Dora J. Arod concerning Bauvard’s book. Let’s read what I had to say.
I recently fell in love with a book by Bauvard. Is it normal for a reader to want to have sex with an author’s words, but not the author that wrote them?
Jarod Ora Kintz
No, it is not normal. I think you are a pervert and you disgust me. If you were a fish, I’d recommend that you move to the desert and take up cave painting.
From the edge of the darkness, Jackson thought he heard a woman's voice calling out to him.
"Jackson, help me!"
Jackson answered, "Are you talking to me...moreFrom the edge of the darkness, Jackson thought he heard a woman's voice calling out to him.
"Jackson, help me!"
Jackson answered, "Are you talking to me? My name is Jackson J. Jackson, but Jackson is such a common name that I can't be certain your cries for help are directed at me."
"Help! I can't hold on much longer."
Jackson raced forward, ignoring the fact that she may not have been calling specifically for him. If someone needed a helping hand, Jackson would be there to lend his. But before he got there, he needed to stop and give himself a quick manicure. Jackson couldn't lend a hand if that hand wasn't manicured like a mannequin's.
"Help me, please! My grip is slipping!"
"I'm coming," shouted Jackson. "Just pushing back my last pinky cuticle now and I'm off."
And with that, Jackson began running. As he was sprinting through the darkness towards the voice and the abyss, lights from a street vendor appeared. An old man wearing a red and white striped suit and a matching red and white striped top hat called out to him, "Get the latest books, magazines, candy. Read the latest play from Bauvard."
Jackson's chin turned upward as he thought, "Bauvard's got a new play out?" So Jackson stopped to ask the old man how much the Bauvard play cost.
"$4.99—plus tax," replied the old man.
"All I've got is a five-dollar bill. How about we keep the transaction under the table?"
"Uncle Sam doesn't like secrets."
"Help! I'm going to fall to my death," cried the voice.
"Just give me the play old man, " Jackson yelled.
“Not until you account for the tax in this transaction."
"Fine, I'll put it on my card."
"Can't you read the sign? Cash only."
"Ahhhhhhhhhh," cried the voice, as it grew softer and more distant, as if she had finally fallen.
Jackson looked at the old man and started crying.
Tragedy occurred that night, because Jackson was never able to buy and read Bauvard's new play.
Oh, and I guess it's also pretty sad that some strange woman fell to her death. What was she doing out there anyway? I don’t know what she was doing, but I'll tell you what she wasn't doing. She wasn't reading Bauvard's new play, and that's probably what killed her. (less)