You know you love them. In fact, you can't resist them. They're everywhere. In the attic, mouldering. Or stuck in the dark recesses of a hidden drawer in the bathroom. (In fact, you wish you could flush them down the toilet, but then a plumber would have to be called.) Maybe you have one squirreled away in the kitchen cabinet, behind the garlic and mustard.
They call to you like two rodents having sex. In fact the call is so incessant, so wildly cacophonous that you want to clomp down on them with your overly large feet and squash the living daylights out of them.
But they keep coming back! These horrible novels that you can't resist! They're everywhere, like a mad Gerrold sequel to a lost Tribbles episode.
These are books so bad you feel like a witness to a train wreck, while standing nude in a crowd of hundreds of people. They're watching you watch the train wreck, aghast at your nakedness, at your sheer audacity!
You know: Like lines from a famous horror movie about a haunted car: "MY god! The car! It's in the garage!" As opposed to being in the dining room, for example, where all cars are parked.
Some of my favorite authors of horrible books include Richard S. Prather, whose sensibilities mirror the 50's and 60s, and now seem old-fashioned. Like a lustful drunk Uncle in a party of teenagers.
But I love these books!
In fact, some of the worst books ever written are books of mystery and detection - perhaps written by plumbers and sewage engineers? (Not that there's anything wrong those professions!)
Perhaps you have a few choice examples to share, along with some actual words to highlight so that we can laugh together. If we share our disease maybe we can be stronger, like the Borgs.
In the meantime, I'll be searching my complete set of Richard S. Prather for a few choice examples to share.
