"The country might be going to hell in a hand-basket, but don't close the garage doors and sit there with the engine running until you read this collection of sardonic, off-the-wall pieces on modern life by one of America’s best humorists. Described as ""another Dave Barry, only with a lot less going for him,"" Baltimore Sun columnist Kevin Cowherd sizzles as he tackles such loopy subjects King’s interview with God (""El Paso, Texas, you're on the air with the Almighty… ""-Fine dining at a 7-Eleven at 2 a.m. (""Moving briskly past the Test-Your-Blood-Pressure machine and the Hormel chili section, we arrive at the rack of Slim Jims."")-$20 million lottery winners who insist on keeping their jobs (""Oh yeah, I'll be back at Mr. Tire first thing in the morning."")-The joys of backyard wiffleball (""Wiffleball is for anyone willing to shrug off a full speed collision with a tool shed and six months of subsequent blackouts just to snare a grounder up the middle."")-Thanksgiving dinner with Howard Stern (""Yo, sweetie, pass the cranberry sauce. What are you, stupid? Only a friggin' moron would pass the mashed potatoes when I asked for the cranberry sauce."")-Modest people looking for love in the personals (""5-foot-9 guy with spare tire, bags under his eyes, not much of a chin, looks like your grocer, seeks woman."")."
Kevin Cowherd has been a writer for the Baltimore Sun since 1987, is nationally syndicated by the Los Angeles Time - Washington Post news service, and is the author of Last Call at the 7-Eleven, a book of selected writings published by Bancroft Press.
In 1990 he was honored by the American Association of Sunday and Feature Editors for excellence in feature writing. He currently writes a sports column and blog for the Baltimore Sun.
He is also a humorist, and an experienced Little League coach. He lives with his wife and three children near Baltimore.
F*** this book. I can't help but think I'm still reading it just because I'm an achievement whore, and want another book on good reads.
The book is just painful. It's tired, and draining, but yet not boring. It's moderately energized bitching and complaining about life, work, and anything else the author can think of. Some of the complaints are relate-able, but most seem petty and not worth bothering with, except that the author thinks his complaints are somehow clever.