Rubber Balls and Liquor

Nobody ever reads this part of the book. Somebody at the publishing house explained to me that it’s actually called the book flap. That sounded dirty, so I giggled for three hours. But it says in my contract that I have to write something over here in this tiny space, even though I don’t think anyone will notice. Some people might open up to the middle of the book and start flipping through pages, but nobody will read this part. In fact, I’ll bet anything that you’re not reading this part now. And if it turns out that you are . . . well, the guy in the bookstore is probably staring at you, saying, “Stop reading that book!” I guess there’s a reason bookstores are going out of business, left and right. Cheap fucks like you think it’s okay to stand in the aisles and read to your heart’s content. So for the sake of bookstores everywhere, buy this fucking book. I myself don’t care. I only care about the poor working man. Oh, and the sanctity of the written word. I care about that, too. And in my case, those written words, of course, include fuck, dick, and pussy.