Like a cannibal with a penchant for whittling his food, I have a bone to pick. This marrow of misery, this cartilage of contention, is in regards to the fact that only thirty-thousand people have purchased a book that deserves to be read by millions, not thirty-thousand-ands. This book is the finest literary achievement ever to be created, more entertaining even than the pharmaceutical safety pamphlet for topical acne cream that I recently picked up detailing the dangers of applying benzyl peroxide to the vagina.
This book has the finest homage to the art of taxidermy that I have ever read and let me state here that I read quite a bit, as I have more than my fair share of Rite-Aid patient information print outs. And before you alert PETA to my recommendation, rest assured that I don’t even eat meat (with the exception of a couple Taco Tuesdays here and there where I happen to find myself drunk, light-headed, anemic, and tempted by $2 shrimp tacos – because no other food product upholds higher health and safety standards than prefrozen sea monkey-centric fiesta platters).
Also, I do not stalk or murder animals and (with the exception of that one time my childhood best friend and I attempted to cryogenically freeze her cat) I don’t even torture them. Though I have already picked out enough costumes for my future pug so that I can dress him up as a different member of the Village People every day of the week. Yes, I had to add a couple of occupations, but really, they should have had a matador and a professional Cher impersonator/drag queen to begin with. Pierre is going to look so cute in his black sequined thong and torn fish net tights.
So clearly, I am a lover of animals, and should not have to feel guilty for promoting this fictional profile of a deranged taxidermist named Lenare Degroat. I never laugh so hard as I do while listening to and reading chapter seven of this book and its audiobook – I’ve purchased both I love it so much. I would read it in Braille if I could. If they could bottle the scent of this book I would douse myself in its heady perfume. If I was rich and not terrified of dying in a helicopter, I would rent one, nay, I would buy one, and spend my spare time dropping millions of copies of this book upon unsuspecting peoples’ heads so that when they came to, they could laugh away their concussions by getting to know Lenare. But as it is I am quite poor and had to buy my copy used after grudgingly returning my library’s dirty copy.
And so now, I want you, and everyone else who can read, and even those who can’t as it has pictures, to order this fine book. You will not be disappointed. And if you are I might suggest checking your Rite-Aid prescription pamphlets for side effects. I’m guessing decreased sense of humor might be listed under increased inability to appreciate fine art.
So with just a little more ado (I would like to apologize for Stallin like a dictator) I give you…
Wigfield The Can-Do Town that Just May Not by Amy Sedaris, Paul Dinello, and Stephen Colbert.
Available at this fine retailer:
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Great recommendation, Nicole. I concur, Wigfield IS the best book ever.