Few people can turn a phrase better than V-Man. Indeed his prose always manages to convince me that my time spent at the computer keyboard might be better spent doing something else. Although his writing covers the waterfront, he can perform a verbal evisceration better than anyone I know. A while back he wrote a post about the “Red Hat Ladies,” which resulted in the ladies of the Red Hat Society taking out a contract on his ass. [Sorry, the search feature on his blog appears not to be working.] He also wrote a piece that managed to engender the ire and ridicule of
big time blogger of the Atlantic Monthly Major Knucklehead, Andrew Sullivan [he gets no link from me], a badge of distinction.
I ordered the book, and I am anxiously waiting for my copy to arrive in the mail. I just know it will be an ass-kicking read.
In the interest of full disclosure, I should point out that I have known V-Man for more than five years. I have supped with him in a civilized manner in a Jersey restaurant and have been in his company for several blogmeets, all in Southern venues. On one memorable occasion, he helped me down a steep flight of stairs and into the passenger seat of a car after I had suffered severe ataxia as a result of my tangling ass with homemade “Georgia wine.” As such, I’d buy the damned book even if it were written in Sanskrit.
Look, just buy the farookin’ book. If you don’t like it, it will make a handy place to park your drink while you read something else.