It's the tale of a young man who really just wants to love a nice, fat-butted woman, but things keep going wrong on his quest for happiness. Various murders. A bullet in the head. Germ warfare. Police immorality. Adultery. Incest. Women who don't want their fat butts touched. Terrorists. A mysteriously absent cartoonist father. A mysteriously absent fat-butted girlfriend. A mother who must be avoided at all costs. A homicidal maniac of a cousin-in-law. A professorial stalker.
The whole thing is frequently disjointed and dream-like. The story is ... uh ... interesting ... I guess. But it's not really my cup of tea. I would rather read Alex Robinson's Box Office Poison for the same basic type of subject matter ... in a more Kimberly-friendly format. When it comes to narrative structures, I'm quite a fan of the bizarre. But when it comes to the actual plot, I prefer something that actually makes sense in the world in which I live. But that's just me.
So, in short, I was entertained by this graphic novel, but I don't particularly like it. If Shannon has no objection, I'll probably sell it to one of the nearby used bookstores.
And now, finished with my book, I relax in my office, serenaded by the repeated disbelieving college-boy strains of "Oh my god! Oh my god, dude! Oh my god! Oh my god, dude!" emanating from the neighboring apartment. Quite the vocabulary this kid's got.