By Tim Sandlin
A unique that skewers the inanities of our age, with effects which are outrageous, wildly humorous, and totally subversive. it really is Sandlin at his so much maverick top.
Set within the very close to destiny, Honey Don't encompasses a hit record that runs the gamut: from a goatish President loss of life in flagrante, to an getting older Don appalled via sleek manners; from a certifiably silly mafia bagman fleeing either the key carrier and the mob with $656,000 of soiled cash in a locked connecté case and the President's head in a carry-all, to a coke-snorting, blow-dried vice chairman who has without warning stuck the brass ring. Circling them are conniving White residence staffers, corrupt politicos, sleazy newshounds, and off pro-football coaches-all including as much as a DC three-ring circus.
And within the middle ring is the eponymous Honey, a type of Texas girls cursed with a given identify that condemns her to a life of cheerleadering. yet this daddy's little woman is a unfastened spirit in complete uprising, and her tackle life-offbeat yet on target-is the center and soul of this antic story. And, as constantly with Sandlin, it is the girls who've the final giggle.
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President now, penis head. And oh, incidentally, you are being audited. Chip stated the phrases aloud to listen to how they sounded. "Mr. President . . . correct this fashion, President Allworth . . . solid morning, Mr. President. Did we sleep good? " The paper—technically known as a bindle—had been given to him via the mayor of Lima, as a token of esteem from the Peruvian humans. great man, the mayor, even though he might by no means make it in American politics with these enamel. As Chip rolled his five-dollar invoice right into a cylinder, he daydreamed of the next day, while he will be president of the U.S..
He and Parker persevered working, yet Stonewall stopped to assist her up. He acknowledged, "Sorry. " She stated what southern girls will frequently say if you push them down from at the back of. She stated, "Well, i will be. " the most baggage-claim zone used to be a beehive of individuals opting for up and expecting baggage. family reunited. Businessmen and bureaucrats walked with mobile phones clamped to their ears. luggage declare eight was once surrounded through a touring Riverdance troupe— Stonewall had by no means noticeable such a lot of ruddy cheeks—and nine and 10 have been off to the left, down one other, shorter escalator.
His ears flamed purple, and tiny blood vessels pulsed in his nostril like varicose veins on a Denny's waitress. Ream time in Dixie—"What the shit have been you pulling available in the market, Stubbs? not anyone can disguise punts with their head up their ass! " They have been stopped in a move of avid gamers on the head of the tunnel resulting in the locker room—smell of big-man sweat; clack-clack of rubber cleats on concrete—but not one of the tired avid gamers rather a lot as glanced at Mai or Farlow. they might all heard trainer matches 1000 instances prior to, and if this one registered in any respect, it was once with aid that it used to be geared toward another individual.
He stated, "Nash and Sebastiano stashed a leather-based bag at the again of the stolen golfing cart, the place the golf equipment cross. initially we suggestion the President will be within the bag, yet Jonathan made a few measurements and proved Charles could not have slot in the distance supplied. " Chip grew to become to examine Claude. "Did you ever ask yourself why plane bathroom water is blue? i've got a theory—" "I've referred to as a gathering for ten a. m. day after today. i am afraid if President Franklin cannot be accounted for by means of then, we can have to head public. " Claude had a small black mole on his cheek, the place the dimple might were if he had had a dimple.
Chip was once serious about Claude's face, not only the colour, which tired from hard-on violet to anemic-nun white, yet Claude's cheeks and mouth looked as if it would shape-shift earlier than Chip's eyes, like a plastic toy in a campfire. Chip acknowledged, "You lose. " "Where did you get this? " "Lonicera Franklin gave it to me. " Chip lightly pried the envelope from Claude's arms. "Boy, does that girl hate you. What did you ever do to piss her off quite a bit? " Claude stated, "But Lonicera loves me. we'll be married. " "I do not believe so.