A Shell Game, please help
In Which a Gentle Reader asks Your Humble Blogger for assistance from Gentle Readers.
In Which a Gentle Reader asks Your Humble Blogger for assistance from Gentle Readers.
In Which Your Humble Blogger spoils a lot of things, but does not reveal details of the plot.
In Which Your Humble Blogger reports on his reaction to the book, because that’s why the publisher gave it to me, right?
In Which it is revealed that Your Humble Blogger never quite understood social expectations.
In Which Your Humble Blogger enthuses over a book you can’t buy, not because it’s not released yet, but because it exists only in YHB’s imagination.
In Which Your Humble Blogger begins what will become a Book Report, when I finish the book.
In Which Your Humble Blogger rushes in where Angels would probably, you know, fly, or float on clouds, or just sit around with a harp and a Harp, chatting about those bastards zooming around on Red Bull.
In Which Your Humble Blogger goes off topic just a tad.
In Which Your Humble Blogger returns to a simpler time, when we didn’t have records of how many homeless kids were abused, killed and dumped in the woods.
In Which Your Humble Blogger, despite having decided that Mr. Mamet’s brain-dead screed wasn’t worth either arguing with or analyzing, steps into the dog shit.