Hammertime

I've had very little time to sleep lately, thanks to some asshole. It all started about a week ago, when I decided I would start reading the Hunter S. Thompson books given to me to read by a close friend: Stefan (the asshole). I can't clearly remember the last time I was so hooked into a book that I found myself waking up early to read. There have been numerous occasions where I have stayed up all night (or all day) to read, but I'd never prematurely risen from bed to do it. Sleeping is nearly my favorite thing to do, and I hate stopping it when I don't have to. That should tell you how bad the situation has become.

Had become.

The situation is now over. I am both relieved and saddened. I've read more in the past week than I have the rest of the year (divided by seventeen). If this confuses you, it's only because I have failed to mention the many other works I have read this week as well. And I will continue to fail to do so.
Here we see the asshole with his hot out-of-the-oven bride, or, as I like to call her, Sam Gambrel.





Kingdom of Fear immediately took a hold on my mind. After reading the first page, I knew I was about to lose sleep. There was no way around it. With work and beating off, I just didn't have time for both constant reading and sleep. I had to not have one. IT wasn't a hard choice to make; the book pretty much made the choice for me. It reminds me of the time I read some Tucker Max. You know what I'm talking about: "I hate my table." It clicked just like that.

Block paragraphs.

I had trouble tell at times what was real and what was kinda real (or, I should say, kinda not real). When the Judge came into the scene, I immediately wondered if I was reading pure fiction. It was the only time I got that feeling during the book. I'm sure some or most of it might have been based on actual happenings--we are talking about HST, after all.

Overall, I'd give the book a ten out of five. The only problem I had was not having my own copy to paint. I sent my cousin, Deanna, to fetch me my own many times, all to no avail.

Screwjack was second on the list. It was the only book I was able to put down as fast as I picked it up, only because that's how long it was. It was touching, but felt like what it had would have worked better if it was divided and archived with other works, like the Leach story. I'm not saying it wasn't of worth, but that it was over before you could enjoy it. Like a premature orgasm without the embarrassment.

I immediately went from Screwjack into the first 100 pages of Better than Sex. That was just the other day. I finished the second half earlier today. It offered a somewhat different experience compared to the other books. It was pure politics. Amazing stories. I learned a lot about politicians I'm sure I wouldn't have found anywhere else. It exposed a lot of the players and made them seem more like real people than the fictitious characters they appear to be on TV.

If I had to give the books a label, I would call them inspiring. Taking control of ones life seems possible through the examples of Dr. Thompson. I most likely wouldn't be writing a new blog post if it weren't for him (or the asshole who lost many hours of my sleep time).

'Til next time. Mahalo...nigga!