Using the come-on, ""guaranteed to offend everyone,"" which recently launched a film as a prophylactic admonition--this is to say that those who are not with it will not put up with it, namely your more sanctimonious readers. Moon is a talented humorist, off color, pure black, but in another context Moon will tell you there is no such thing (i.e. Negroes are not colored since black isn't in the spectrum). The King diaries are those kept by two San Francisco recluses, a mother and son, published after their death (they burned in the house in which they had immolated themselves after the enigmatic disappearance of the husband of Mrs. King, father of Edward). The diaries, maman's in a suffering, regal third personal singular, Edward's Full of shameful obscenities and indignities, are annotated with the priggish illuminations of the little minister who was their (rather her) personal advisor, chaplain and only visitor during their voluntary internment (viz. interment). In between all kinds of intermittent nonsense, Edward's ""playlets"" in which his mother assumes the persona of Helen Trent, the good man's sermonettes, random observations on politics, the Jews, Christmas, etc. etc. the action itself, or rather such as it is, has to do with the death of their longstanding next door neighbor and the purchase of his house by the Robinsons. They are Negroes, and maman's rather incestuous relationship with Edward is threatened when Edward spends most of his time watching Emily Robinson. Enough--the diaries, certainly Edward's full of willful, wayward humor--the DD's, hot and stiff-necked under his cleric 1 collar, are very funny. This is a young talent which consists of resilient wordmanship, a wicked irreverence, and a lovely, disorderly sense of humor.