Oh Nicholson Baker. Seriously. How can I not love you when you leap at words like 'scrotatiousness'. You race past me in your hunger for perversity. You leap at the severed arm and the girl who can tell if your sperm is magic when she licks your balls. You place a woman's legs in the stirrups and ride her against the leather bicycle seat. You use play words, toy words and all it does is make me laugh like I have just been tickled. You throw political correctness to the wind and take us on a romp that stays on the right side of Benny Hill just by the strength of your language.
I love you Nicholson Baker. I wish I could send you a copy of my next book.