One of those picaresque novels that begs you to acquiesce to their own unrelieved cheeriness. Suddenly realizing that his wife split with their kids about two years previously, failed English writer Willy Turpin jets off to America in pursuit. Having no money, he is persuaded to act Jesus in the Reverend Properjohn's (Church of the Livid God) march from NY to Las Vegas -- where Properjohn will announce the date of the end of the world, which he conveniently carries around in his pocket. Willy gets hung up on carrying the huge (but light) balsa wood cross, and somewhat less on the Reverend's lusty, if slightly pudgy daughter Ambrosia, but his real interest is Sin City, where his wife is working as a nude dancer in a sex s(t)imulation show. Due to various hijinks with cops and TV talk show hosts, Properjohn is something of a celebrity -- and 10,000 folk gather with him on a mountaintop eagerly awaiting the Apocalypse. It never comes, but apparently Willy's wife Silvie does, for she forgives him his carnal trespasses and welcomes him back in the fold. An ultimately offensive novel in which the men get all the goodies and the women are left holding the bag.