This book was like a long taxi ride with a really fun, charming driver who tells you all about himself, and the ride whizzes by in a flash and you feel like the world is a warmer place because you got to know this really cool person from another walk of life.
What exactly…happened? Did you take off his glasses and defrizz his hair, and suddenly he was a supermodel? We start with a poor, smart boy who both stutters and lisps and has abnormally large feet, and somehow we wind up with a freshman starter on the varsity basketball team. So why does this fictional semi-autobiography fall one star short of 5? It just doesn’t quite end right.
Next to them are the butter of shame and the syrup of regret. My favorite might be the doodle to illustrate Junior’s anxiety about not having the money to pay for his date’s meal at Denny’s: The pancakes of doom are piled up on the plate of fate. I admit that I masturbate.Īlso, the artwork inside the book is charming and concise. I spend hours in the bathroom with a magazine that has one thousand pictures of naked movie stars: Yep, that’s right. And I really like women and their curvier curves. Most guys, no matter what age, get excited about curves and circles, but not me. Yep, I have to admit that isosceles triangles make me feel hormonal. First off, I admit that I misted up a little bit on page 11 - page e-fucking- leven - when Arnold Spirit (known on the rez as “Junior”) concisely explains why hunger is not the worst thing about being poor.
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