I’ve started thinking of ending it with Phil for good because he’s a hack.
Not counting the fact, of course, that my five favorite books of all time are probably by him.
But in gollyland, you’re only as good as your last book I’ve read, which happens to be Transmigration of Timothy Archer.
And yet, when the library closed for construction and I had to resort to an ebook, I took it as a sign to pick up another of Phil’s, the hardcopy of which has eluded the LAPL database.
Get your shit together, LAPL!
About fifteen pages later, I like it, and I like it a lot. It reads like Phil actually gave a shit this time. I’m still keeping my expectations in check. You must when romancing Philip, and his other cajoleries in the archives of What-Have-You-Done-For-Me-Lately-Cum-You-Call-This-Love? are Counter-Clock World, Game-Players of Titan, A World Jones Made, Radio Free Albemuth, the vastly overrated Valis, and Ganymede Fuckin Takeover – and did I say Ganymede Fuckin Takeover? – each of which once offered similar gold tin foiled Kisses that started as Hershey’s, ended as Judas’.
And stop blaming it on the drugs!
No more excuses, Horselover Fat. Not another misstep.
I can only give back what you give me, and it’s your move.