Author: Chuck Tingle
WhatWhat: Nick works the night shift at the local milk bar, and after a rough night dealing with unpleasant patrons, he’s pleased when the sentient chocolate chip cookies from his kitchen cabinet drop by to say hi and pound him up the arse.
Sure, every once in a while they’ll stop by and grab a quick drink of milk, but when I’m on the clock I don’t have much time to chat, especially in a milk bar as crowded as this one. I can barely get in a hug and make a bit of small talk, but the second this is over then it’s back to the grind, mixing up strawberry Quick and popping the caps off of ice cold chocolate milk in the glass bottle. (loc 13)
You know, in Australia milk bars are an actual thing, but not in the Tingleverse sense. They’re just corner stores, basically. I like his version better.
“It’s been a while,” my living cookie Shipple adds, “you stopped eating us last month and now I feel like we never see you.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m on a diet, you know this.”
“Well, we figured we would come to you instead,” Gorbot continues. (loc 67)
This raises so many horrible questions. Has Nick been eating sentient beings? Are these cookies destined to be killed and consumed later?
Of course, I’ll admit that there are times when I realize this feeling of love may be a little more sexually potent than I’d like to admit, but that kind of goes without saying when you consider the fact that we’re all pretty attractive and living in a post-college world where casual sex and hook ups with your own living food is the norm. (loc 78)
I’m so glad I’m married.
I don’t even fight it when my thoughts begin to drift into places where they shouldn’t, noticing how toned and muscular Shipple’s chips have gotten, or sitting a little too close to Gorbot and placing my hand on his crumbling, baked edge. (loc 162)
Verdict: More and more, I see Tingle’s work as an extended metaphor probing the plight of ordinary people who struggle to survive today’s economic uncertainty and insane political climate.