WhatWhat: A powerful nanobot being arises and becomes author Chuck Tingle.
“Because it’s meaningless,” I counter. “I want to have meaning…maybe it’s the pornography inside of me, but I want to bring joy, pleasure, and sensation. I want to make the world feel something, even if that feeling is the sensation of getting pounded. ” (loc 83)
The nanobots start to form clothes and, as they do, I picture a way to reflect my interests; to fit in. The hobby that i randomly generate is martial arts and I go with it, manifesting an outfit derived from a porn film that takes place in an erotic dojo. (loc 165)
“A son and a wife,” I start, “but let’s add some character. How about the wife was in a tragic accident?”
“That’s dark,” the raptor counters.
“That’s life,” I tell him. (loc 173)
The Barbara backstory never fails to worry me. So I guess it’s working.
Seriously, following the hints about his ‘family’ that Tingle drops on Twitter is what I do instead of watching soap operas.
“Do it,” I command. “Teach me what it’s like to be fucked by a simulation of my own story from the future.” (loc 245)
This is a thing that I’m sure we’ve all wondered about.
I smile, realizing that, even if I was to confess my little secret to the world, nobody would ever believe me. (loc 329)
I’m never going to sleep again.
Verdict: We are all Chuck Tingle. We joke about it, but that’s because we know it’s true.
WhatWhat: Astronaut Lance Tanner, last seen in the Hugo-nominatedSpace Raptor Butt Invasion, stands trial. The charge is being too weird for space, and the lawyer argues that a serious, historical institution like space travel can’t be associated with Lance and his raptor lover Orion. Worse yet, Lance’s mission was funded by Scoundrels Inc., and even though he didn’t know that he’s somehow guilty by association. But a demonstration for the courts wins Lance his freedom and his raptor.
I am world-renowned astronaut, Lance Tanner of the Earth Outpost Program, sanctioned with the unequivocally important role of searching out planets that could one day be inhabitable for human life as Earth becomes more and more toxic. (loc 20)
So Lance’s Earth, much like the real one, is drowning in dangerous levels of toxic smug?
“I don’t support bad guys,” I try to say as clearly as I possibly can.
The reporter just stares at me blankly. “So you’re not going to come out against them?” (loc 66)
Lance is basically being subject to a level of bad faith argument rarely seen outside of Twitter. It’s a dark day in the Tingleverse.
It takes a long night of working with helpful friends to translate my words into something that sounds even the slightest bit like a speech fit for a courtroom. (loc 78)
I feel like I’ve had a glimpse at the author’s process.
“Okay,” I counter, “but did you ever think that something could be dumb…and good?”
There is more chatter from the jury box.
The lawyer laughs. “Ha! In space stuff? Not a chance, space is for smart people.”
“Maybe that’s why nobody likes it enough to get a rocket off the ground,” I offer. “You know Chuck Buckarooski once said ‘An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way, and artist says a hard thing in a simple way.'”(loc 152)
You will never convince me that the Bukowski-quoting Chuck Tingle doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.
“Have you ever heard of Andy Kaufm–” I start but the lawyer interjects. (loc 159)
The performance artist? Why yes, I have. Up on this layer there was a movie made about him, called Man on the Moon. He was entirely unlike any other performer, and a lot of people disliked that about him.
“So you’re telling me that you would rather just not go into space at all?” I ask, suddenly much more upset than I expected to be and in an entirely different way. “The core of the earth is dying because of these guys, right? The fate of the planet is up to astronauts exploring new worlds and inspiring others to do the same, and your answer is just to burn it all to the ground because my version of sace is not serious enough for you?”
“It was funded by Scoundrels Inc,” the lawyer repeats like a skipping record. “You wouldn’t have been up there in the first place if it wasn’t for Scoundrels Inc.” (loc 207)
When assholes are assholes you don’t react by shutting it all down and doing half their work for them, you react by finding joy in the darkness. (loc 242)
WhatWhat: Jols Dorp, longtime fan of “This American Butt,” wins the program’s cutest butt contest and gets up close and personal with stegosaurus host Ira Ass.
When you live on the edge of town but work in the city, the daily commute just becomes part of your existence. You’re not bothered by insane amounts of traffic because, in a sense, traffic becomes you. (loc 1)
That’s arguably the most depressing intro to a piece of erotica I’ve ever read. It does nicely set up the main character’s interest in the podcast, though.
Of course, Ira Ass is a stegosaurus, which gives his voice a certain reptilian edge, but I’ve heard plenty of dinosaur speakers in the past and none of them quite fall into this exact category. (loc 31)
Friends I consulted who are familiar with the our-world equivalent assured me this rings true.
I drop my pants and turn around, holding out my camera phone behind me and struggling to find the best angle of my cute, muscular ass. (loc 55)
I bet in the Tingleverse there’s a popular social media site called Facebutt.
…grabbing my small carry on bag and taking off down the isle…(loc 66)
Besides, it’s not gay if it’s between a dinosaur radio host and a human man, especially if it’s in the context of a radio contest. (loc 125)
Well, I can’t argue with that.
“Shove that dinosaur radio host cock up into my asshole.” (loc 193)
Verdict: I enjoyed it as a commentary on present day society, but I suspect you have to have heard the radio show to truly appreciate the erotic aspect.
WhatWhat: Arriving in Los Vegas with his friend and fellow party bro Shibs Bark, Larb sees a billboard and finds himself overwhelmed by (and this is a quote from the blurb) “gay attraction to these handsome dinosaur entertainers.” A private showing makes all his previously-unheld fantasies come true.
“You now have a magic dinosaur dick inside of you,” Pinn informs me. (loc 214)
I bet you never thought “what happens in Vegas” covered situations like that one.
Never could I have imagined that I would one day find myself in this situation, furiously sucking off two of the greatest dinosaur magicians on earth and loving every second of it. (loc 254)
Yes. Well. Never could I have imagined myself reviewing it, yet here we all are.
Verdict: I’m not entirely sure what to make of this one. Sure, it’s a “suddenly gay!” group sex scenario with dinosaurs and a happily-ever-after, but beyond that I’m unclear. Is this part of a new story arc? A one-off? Part of the ripped-from-the-headlines hyper-reality commentary? I don’t know how to categorize it.
WhatWhat: “Pharma Bro” Marky Sharky has gotten rich by raising prices on prescription drugs and is now the most hated man in America. Thanks to an overlooked clause in the contract he signed, a group of dinosaur rappers (and comedian Bill Murky for some reason) show up on his doorstep for anal sex, and retrieve their one-of-a-kind album.
Let’s get one thing straight, I don’t hate puppies and blind orphans, I just know that they will spend a lot of money to not be in constant, brain-melting pain. (loc 16)
I laughed out loud at several points in this book, but it would have made equal sense to cry at the realization that the real world is just as awful as the world of that sentence, except without any justice-dispensing dinosaur celebrities.
He takes his time while I look on in arousal and confusion. (loc 100)
That could easily be describing the relationship between Chuck Tingle and the reader.
It appears that the dinosaurs weren’t expecting such a quick and enthusiastic validation of their legally binding clause, but they quickly fall into step with my passionate blowjobs, placing scaly hands on the back of my head and helping to pump me up and down. (loc 192)
I’ll just leave that there for you to ponder.
Verdict: At some point over the past year, I’ve started viewing current events through a kind of Chuck Tingle filter. Oh, not the really serious events like terrorism or sexual assaults, but all the things that fall halfway between “news” and pop culture: that dress, identity issues, the war on Christmas stuff, the American election (I know: that ought to feel like a serious issue, but somehow it doesn’t), online dating debacles, that hunter….
And it’s not that Dr. Tingle has anything profound to add to these issues. Mostly he just offers a reassuring statement of what the liberal-leaning parts of the culture think anyway, but wrapped in a shell of ridiculousness and sex. But that shell is like a candy coating that makes our world slightly more palatable, at least for a little while. So thank you, Dr. Tingle. Thank you.
“A raptor, like in the name of the blog,” the review said in its sultry, Canadian-accented voice. It stretched itself out, growing until it was the size of a duck. It made whirring sounds when it moved, as if, under the scaled skin, razor-sharp teeth, and hooked claws, it was a mechanized machine inside. (loc 163)
Just to clarify: I do, in fact, have a sultry Canadian voice. Sometimes it’s Ontario-ish and sometimes it’s Newfoundland-esque, but it’s always dead erotic.
Verdict: Dialogue rings true (for me anyway, I can’t speak for the other reviewer who has also been immortalized), and this was insane amounts of fun to read. I mean, my husband may require therapy to recover, but even he agrees that was an amazing, disturbing bedtime read.
Seriously, don’t miss your chance: go leave a review at Amazon or somewhere so you can experience the thrill of inclusion in what is surely our era’s signature art form.
Also, as a fellow Canadian Mr. Delaney is probably particularly appreciative of whatever coins get tossed his way. Our dollar is steadily sinking into the depths; we’re talking sub-sub-basement levels. If you can afford to support kindle authors, please do. They’re generally a decent group of people. I personally just bought five hard copies of The Pop Culture Value Combo (reviews to follow), four of which I shall bestow on unsuspecting friends, who I encourage to respond with gifts of chocolate and/or restraining orders.
WhatWhat: Journalist Pibbles Pooch catches the eye of presidential candidate Domald Tromp, and finds out his secret: he’s the Loch Ness monster. Also they bone.
“So what’s old Milk Magazine want from Domald Tromp?” I ask him.
Barno shrugs, “Typical feature about the guy’s favorite chocolate milk brand, ask him what he thinks of strawberry milk; fat free, two percent. Just the usual. You still with Bowling Bones?” (loc 30)
Only in the Tingleverse is an obsession with chocolate milk “the usual,” but there’s a strange kind of coherence emerging if you read enough of these. Or I’ve read too many of these, whichever.
“Speaking of immigration, I was wondering if you had anything you’d like to say about the dinosaurs who are upset about your racist comments regarding them crossing the border into America,” Barno suddenly interjects. (loc 67)
Soon enough, Tromps erection is standing at full attention before me, jutting out at my face like a deep green Popsicle. Without hesitation, I open up and swallow the reptile politician deep, pushing down as far as I can onto the candidate’s presidential dick. (loc 275)
Verdict: This has everything I expect from Chuck Tingle: perfect names, that one strand of saliva connecting a previously-straight guy’s mouth to an improbable penis, up-to-the-minute current affairs rendered clearly but bizarrely.
You know what it doesn’t have? Wonky punctuation. For the most part this is grammatically standard, and the first few pages are so perfectly constructed I started to worry something was wrong. Please be okay, Mr. Tingle, and don’t let this rigorous editing be a sign anything’s changed. DON’T EVER CHANGE.