from Chapter 4
Quash Dolly’s striking ebony luster was surpassed only by her desire to see the long-suffering Palestinian people claim the dusty Levant as their own. But the Jews would never allow such a thing, she realized—would never abide Palestinian freedom so long as they could turn a Jew buck, or finagle some Jew advantage from the status quo.
Still, Quash Dolly held out hope: for the day her bondage would end; for the day the suffering of oppressed people everywhere would end. Her large breasts fairly heaved at the thought of a world without borders. And, of course, Jews.
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from Chapter 12
In a Puritan land, being strapped like an angry rhino proved a burden to Ethan Pratt, whose massive man package rested uneasily against his thigh, always threatening to twitch and expand—to express in a half-hidden leg log feelings Ethan dared not utter aloud. This was his curse, his own scarlet letter: but to Newota, Ethan’s shame was the beginning of a womanly awakening; her tribal feathers would heave at the thought of Ethan’s lowered trousers, at the thought of his thick and throbbing New World shame climbing to life...
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from Chapter 27
The future, Thomas Brown knew, belonged to peanuts. And Georgia. And orgies. And orgies in Georgia with peanuts. Mmm. Smooth, naked peanuts...
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related
“And so Ethan defeated the saber-toothed bunny from hell, and they all lusted in their hearts happily ever after. The end.”
After reading a quote from the actual novel over at Allah, I’m not sure your kidding.
I cannot believe I was beaten to the killer rabbit punch.
Wow, gotta love how Mr. Blacker manages to slam the President of the United States in an entirely unrelated book review…clever, clever snob. We never saw it coming!
That’s wrong. Not funny-wrong, not outrageous-wrong, not satirically biting-wrong.
Just wrong, wrong, WRONG, WRONG!
If you’ll excuse me, I’m now going to take a shower and scrub myself with steel wool until the evil thoughts disperse.
Thank you Jeff. I needed this today.
Thank you SO MUCH for these images, Jeff.
Shower. Have to shower. Oh God, it isn’t coming off it isn’t coming off it isn’t coming off!
An 80-year-old peanut farmer and ex-president writing softcore porn? Ugh! Never cared much for Carter as president, but I like him so much less now.
Some things are better left unspoken, Jimmy.
That’s all an 80-year-old gets, BiC, soft. But speaking of turgid prose…
Think of your Dad dancing with a bridesmaid at a wedding reception. Think of Madeline Albright getting her freak on with a Puerto Rican waiter called Carlos. Think of Antonin Scalia knowing the words to a Black Eyed Peas song. Think of Michael Moore making the beast with two backs and seventeen chins. Now multiply that by about six hundred times and that is how wrong an EX_PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES writing pot-boilers is.
^ i’m inclined to agree, there. reading that quote on display over at allah’s place, i can’t help but wonder how awkward a conversation between jimmy C and a normal old person would be…
Think of Michael Moore making the beast with two backs and seventeen chins.
There was very nearly Red Raspberry Diet-Rite all over my keyboard, my monitor, and most of the desk when I read that.
I may sue anyway. After tonight I don’t think Sen. Gone Edwards is going to be busy for a while.
Sheeit, man, I’ve not actually read much of Jimmah’s oeuvre prior to last night.
However, it appears that his ghostwriter and editor overlooked the almost casual reference to “his tumescence” on p. 312.
Odd, no?
I think these are fake but they are ever so similar to the real Jimmy style