As I child I had strong opinions on literature but limited attention and opportunity to express them. In an effort to remedy this I’m going to retroactively review every book I’ve ever read in capsule form. As best I recall these were my impressions at the time I read them, or at least how my adult mind has reconstructed them.
Hey, Encyclopedia Brown, how about you settle the fuck down and mind your own business. Maybe delve into the mystery of how long your father can keep from hanging himself when he’s emasculated nightly by you solving his case load over dinner. Or perhaps I’m being unfair, maybe all police chiefs have their ten year old sons processing rape kits in the carport for 25cents a pop, like some fucked up SVU lemonade stand.
And Chief Brown, sorry to pile on here, but maybe don’t name your effeminate Caucasian son…Leroy. I don’t care if he’s solving the mystery of the missing sticker album, if I hire a private detective named Leroy Brown he better show up with a leather trench coat and some bass in his voice or I’m going to the better business bureau.
How was I not allowed to read pornography as a child but this was thrust upon me? Seeing naked ladies just confirmed something I knew A Priori: Boobs are great. In one rainy afternoon I went from being delighted by a bunnies wiggly nose to feeling despondent over the inevitable brutality of the human struggle and the horrors of collectivist comprise of moral absolutes. You can’t dump that shit on me, I had bad glasses and a curly mullet, my plate was full.