I normally finish 99 44/100% of the books I read but about every fith blue moon I'll get ahold of a turkey so bad I'll chuck it about halfway through. The last one I gave up on was a Michael Crichton book two or three years ago. Normally, I love his stuff but in the one on his travels, he got so full of himself, about 1/3 to 1/2 of the way in, I just couldn't stomach it anymore.
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