…damn you right to hell.
Maybe some of you don’t know Halton Stoves. Consider yourself lucky. This man (and I use the term generously) once petitioned Webster’s to have his picture placed under (“or in the general vicinity”, his words) the definition of degenerate. Upon Webster’s refusing such an absurd request, Stoves was arrested in Booklore pasting wallet-sized photos of his ugly mug into dictionaries, encyclopedias and even in thesauruses (under the word “gadabout”, for the love of Mutt). His writing, while beautiful and thought-provoking, has been known to cause cerebral Herpes Zoster, or brain-shingles. I overheard him once in a bar calling himself a “modern day mix of J. P. Donleavy and the team who wrote for The Littlest Hobo“. While I couldn’t have put it better myself, I found it to be quite pretentious, especially when considering that he was talking to a gumball machine.
Do yourselves a favour, STT-folk. Take the utmost care in all of your dealings with this literary snake-oil shucker, this flim-flam man who preys upon the willing suspension of your disbelief. He should be approached with caution and taken with not only a grain of salt, but a liberal splash of rubbing alcohol and a healthy scrub of any prison-grade de-lousing agent.
And don’t say Tasty didn’t warn ya.