An explicit collection of stories from the host of The All Out Show on Sirius.
On Angelini’s radio show, guests are likely to do anything. One—“a little punk rock, porn chick”—urinated on him as foreplay, which must have made for great radio. The author originally self-published this book, though apparently there was enough demand to attract a publisher. Nearly every one of these stories involves impersonal sex either aided or thwarted by drugs that overcome the inherent numbness of the act or reinforce it. “Drug sex is great,” he writes. “The only thing better is love sex. But if you can’t get that, drug sex is a nice consolation prize.” There is little or no “love sex” in these pages, though Angelini expresses plenty of love for his daughter, who lives with her mother, whom he misses. He dedicates the book to both of them and claims that he “figured it out too late.” And what did he figure out? It’s hard to tell, though he plainly has something of the romantic in him: “Maybe some lady will pick me up, dust me off, and see me for the man I am and not the whore I’ve been acting like.” By the end of this series of short chapters, there is no sense that he is closer to any sort of transformation, though he seems as benumbed by the depravity of a life without purpose or pleasure as readers will be. As for humor, here’s a taste: “Every time I go to Flint, I end up at LLT’s, this grimy little strip club on Saginaw. They do a five-dollar lap dance, and I know you shouldn’t go bargain hunting for your tattoos or sex workers, but I just can’t turn down a good deal….Five bucks in Flint is like ten bucks in Detroit. It’s the Tijuana of the Midwest.”
A grating collection from a poor-man’s Howard Stern.