Check it out, below. And they call me a hater? Hahahaha
Never have I encountered a work of fiction less willing to levy any psychic
tax on its readers. Sleep easy, dear reader, it assures us, in all its orotund
little murmurs. The past makes no claim on you whatsoever. Sex, food, real
estate—they would still be joyful, if not for all the lawyerly pettifogging of
so-called progress. Spiced jellies—why, they grew on the forest floors, and the
slaves, they laughed like jays!
Really, what a disgrace.