One tan gent

In case any of you peoples didn't realize it, Im's a writer. I write. I know what the eff I'm writing about. Therefores, it's your luckiest days! I'm agonna say a word or two about the esteemable Mister Josh Williams and his review of my swirly book Harvey & Eck.

It is apparently the case that my novel about the human being experiences of stuff I wrote about caused a mystical-type memory about a magical road trip to come to the color-filled airport-ish space of mr. Williams's mind. I was surely satisfied about that and, bein' the author, I feels compelled to comment on what is me favorite part of mr. William's a-ramblins:

"Oh and the sleezy hotel where we overnighted and the woman who's short shorts revealed most of her mommy parts."

When I read those words, I felt a huge inflating wonder rise up in me. I tried real hard to show mommy parts in me book, but in a way that people hadn't shown mommy parts before. I am carrying a warm tingling feeling with me on accounts of I feel like mr. Williams understood about what I was trying to do.

And that crazy Williams cat goes on a-talkin' about a helmet cam in his crazy review, which means to me that the viewer of the resulting movie-tape from the helmet-cam sorts of gets to see everything just like the original helmet-wearer did. That was the marvelousest of coincidences because I'll be effing dratted if that isn't what I was trying to do in me book!

Mr. Williams is 104 years old, you peoples, and he probly knows what he's talking about. I meself consider him real respectable and thankable and I might possibly say that his review is perhaps my most hugely favorite collected bunch of stuff anyone has ever told me about me book, as the words crumble, that is.

I am off to share me some cold bubbly beer out on the road with my droogies Sal and Jack.

I sure loves you peoples.