This was my first book by David. I'm learning I've been in the dark about this guy. Apparently everybody has read him but me. This guy funny. Really funny. Its simple. He's funny. I laughed aloud on the subway and bus. Read this. You'll finish it in a day (or 5 if you are reading it intermittenly onthe subway and bus) You'll thank me.

agatha got that for me. i was done with it by the 20th page. i have no sense of humor.

apparently. here are a few excerpts: From a chapter called “You Can’t Kill The Rooster” “The Rooster” is what Paul calls himself when he’s feeling threatened. Asked how he came up with that name, he says only “Certain motherfuckers think they can fuck with my shit, but you can’t kill the Rooster. You might can fuck him up sometimes, but, bitch, nobody kills the motherfuckin Rooster. You know what I’m saying?” It often seems that my brother and I were raised in different households. He’s eleven years younger than I am, and by the time he reached high school, the rest of us had all left home. When I was young, we weren’t allowed to say “shut up”, but once the Rooster hit puberty it had become acceptable to shout, “Shut your motherfuckin hole.” The drug laws had changed as well. “No smoking pot“ became “no smoking pot in the house,” before it finally petered out to “please don’t smoke any more pot in the living room “ My mother was, for the most part, delighted with my brother and regarded him with the bemused curiosity of a brood hen discovering she hatched a completely different species. “I think it was very nice of Paul to give me this vase” she once said, arranging a bouquet of wildflowers into the skull-shaped bong my brother had left on the dining room table. “Its non-traditional, but that’s the Rooster’s way. He’s a free spirit, and we’re lucky to have him.” In another chapter called “Smart Guy” Far scarier than any of my ideas is the fact that, at the age of seventeen, I was probably operating at my intellectual peak. I should have been tested then, before I squandered what little sense I had. By the time I reached my thirties, my brain had been strip-mined by a combination of drugs, alcohol, and the chemical solvents used at the refinishing company where I worked. Still, there moments when, against all reason, I thought I might be a genius. These moments were provoked not by any particular accomplishment but by cocaine and crystal methamphetamine-drugs that allow you to lean over a mirror and with a straw up your nose, suck up an entire week’s paycheck and think, “God I’m smart.”

hmmmm. nope.

Yeah, great book. I couldn't read it on the train or plane because I'd start laughing so hard I'd start crying, and people were looking at me like I was a mental patient, so I had to read it at home.

well then. maybe what i just witnessed would have been up your alley. due to all the hubbub here...crusties and bums have more than doubled in recent days. prime bumming season though Im sure they'll get swept soon enough. a particularly nasty band of crusties, numbering around 10 had gathered out front, perhaps plotting their next dumpster dive when about 30 HUGE and i mean HUGE professional football players walked by (it may have been the chicago Bears as they all had Chicago related tees) and insisted on getting their picture taken with the crusties. One of two things were going to happen, either a riot was going break out in which a football player or two would get shivs in their guts or a rare display of peace and coexistance would surface. Well peace prevailed and man what a picture that was. One of the players practically emptied his wallet subsequently.

Chicago Bears all together as a team in LA in the off season? Rather odd. Gearing up to do one of those spectacular numbers for the Academy Awards, I assume? I can't believe how many awards shows this country has. I did watch part of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame show the other night -- gotta love Tom Petty, and Brian Setzer, who knew he had chops like that? Otherwise, pretty lame.

i could be wrong. They could have been a college football team. who knows. it was clear....they played football, they appeared to be from the Chicago area

Patrick.... the chapter (Jesus Saves) dealing with his French class trying to teach the Morrocan woman what Easter was, had me laughing riotously on a fairly crowded and quiet beach last Saturday. <i>"He call his self Jesus and then he die one day on two ... morsels of ... lumber." The rest of the class jumped in, offering bit of information that would have given the pope an aneurysm.</i> And then he had to mention Christmas, where: <i>It's like saying that come Christmas, a magic dustpan flies in from the North Pole, led by eight flying cinder blocks.</i> Funny, funny stuff. So I'm reading passages from this chapter this past weekend at the beach to my friends. Half of them about pissed themselves laughing and the other half had Dave's reaction. Odd.