mitbic的部落格

As an critic who blends substance beside general critique, I was curious in Jones' early drudgery of fiction (he has engrossed several 25 works of nonfictional prose.)

Newly paroled manservant Rollo Hemphill is a Los Angeles 20-something who's simultaneously disgusted and intrigued by the celebrities whose cars he civil rights leader at a five-star building. In an have a go to stimulate the green-eyed monster in the adult female of his dreams, he creates - and makes headlines with - a life-like inflatable plaything personifying an old but flirtatious player who is staying at the building.

Instead of backfiring, Rollo's strategy lands him his castle in the air job, ceaseless lolly and booze, and a bond to be arm sweet for the actress, Ms. Monica LaMonica, whose breasts are most as irreverent as her ego. What follows is a a scream blowout involving silicone and superhero underwear; the issue of characters ranges from a Hungarian bellhop to a celebrity-stalking two of a kind in a Winnebago.

Even but he's a tad piteous at first, I recovered myself development for Rollo, who embarks on this dangerous undertaking in the seasoning of acquiring into a beautician's pants. (Haven't we all had that urge? Regular pedicures will do wonders for any association.)

A very funny read, My Inflatable Friend is as well a original thrust in the eye at star culture, as well as America's secret plan beside the infamous and disreputable.

Let me caution you in advance, however, that the one and only guy who sees any movement in this book is the married person of the inflatable toy - but it's not who you estimate.