Sicko sex and rotten writing as two pseudonymous diarists pool their efforts (and their lack of inhibition) to immortalize their affair, which culminates when her young daughter catches them at it in a supermarket parking lot. This is one of his (you should excuse the expression) entries describing a typical lovers' dinner: ""Carrots are now flying around. And sliced onions. Peppers. Tomato paste smeared on our faces, our arms. Our clothes are coming off. A carrot is slipping up my. . . ."" They called it love. We Call it yukky.