Body Rides

Body Rides - Richard Laymon Poor Richard Laymon, he was born into the wrong world. The Eskimos live in a world of snow and have a hundred words for it, but Richard Laymon lived in a world of nipples and had only the one word. One single, lousy word. Nipple.
Sure, there were 'hard nipples' and 'long nipples', even more exotic 'glistening' or 'jutting' nipples - but in the end, it was all just nipples, nipples, nipples. So many adjectives, just one lonely noun.
No, if life was fair Richard Laymon would have been born into a time and place where the language had hundreds of special words to describe each and every type of nipple that could possibly exist...such as the 'precipipple colostorium nexus', which means a nipple that is three-quarters erect (from finger pinching), resembles a slightly used pencil eraser, and has a small freckle on the left side.
But alas, life IS unfair, as Laymon's untimely death has proved with even more certainty than the dearth of words for nipples.
My brother Adam recently shared his beloved paperback of BODY RIDES, and I loved it. It's preposterous, full of equally unlikely coincidences and decisions, and requires such a spectacular level of suspension of disbelief that in the hands of any other author the whole thing would've been nothing more than a giant joke.
But Laymon's writing possesses some sort of magic spell, and once he's got you he never lets go. I haven't read a book so eagerly in a while. The writing is not classic literature, the plotholes could swallow Seattle, but damn if it's not one of my favorite books so far this year.
If you've got a single fun bone in your body, I don't see how you couldn't have one hell of a good time with this one. A word of warning, though - don't try to play a drinking game using this book, because if you took a drink every time your eyes passed over the word 'nipple', you'd be dead by chapter three.