Bitchin' Blog Posts
Title: Gold Plated Garbage Truck
Author: T.C. Allen
Publication Info: Chippewa Publishing LLC/Lady Aibell Press August 2006
I paid $5 to read this book on my Blackberry, and took two Tylenol for the headache I got from reading on the tiny screen, and two more this morning for residual agony. I’m thinking that I might need some kind of counseling to recover from the utter badness that is this book, and that’s roughly, what, $80-100 an hour?
This was a very expensive mistake indeed, but when the Bitchery clamors for a review, I try to step up.
Even Hubby said, “You’re seriously reading that?”
I exacted revenge for his doubt by reading portions aloud, prompting the following responses:
“Oh, my God.”
“Please, please stop.”
If I had to describe this book in two words, those words would be: complete bonerdeath. This book will suck the sexy out of any known being, and leave any libido in the tri-state area dry and gasping. This book is the real reasons all those erotica novel vaginas are weeping.
It’s so awful I can’t even finish it. I already need some kind of mental restoration for having introduced the story into my head. If only I could return my brain to ‘last known good’ configuration, because my memory at present contains the following details:
Wilbur and Homer are best friends. Wilbur drives a garbage truck in Humper County, Oklahoma, and dreams of driving a gold-plated garbage truck while wearing a white Stetson and a red bandanna and some clothing of some sort. He prefers to drive said truck while high or drunk or both, and shoot the reflectors off the road signs and pepper the anatomy of billboard models with bulletholes from his handgun. At the start of our story, he runs out of bullets and goes home to find Homer boinking Wilbur’s wife, Emily.
Emily, it should be noted, is referred to repeatedly and I assume ironically as innocent, sweet, delicate and pure by Wilbur, the narrator, despite the numerous times he comes home to find her naked with some dude sneaking out the trailer door.
Homer takes off running because he thinks Wilbur’s gun is loaded and aimed at his ass, leaving Emily naked on the floor to explain what was going on. It certainly was what it looked like so at least she didn’t attempt a lame defense.
Instead, she attacks Wilbur’s manhood, tells him he doesn’t sexually satisfy her, and furthermore, she’s right pissed at him for not shooting Homer when they were both caught bareassed on the floor: “I’ll tell you what the matter is. You come waltzing in here with your truck pistol in your hand and catch me bare ass naked with another man and you don’t shoot him? I mean, even if he is your best friend, you should of shot him, at least once, somewhere.”
You can read more of the first chapter here. Bring painkiller. Or vascodilators. Or both.
Mixed in with the decidedly un-erotic content is a plot that somehow details how Wilbur, Emily, and Homer become country music stars by playing in a bar, which upsets poor Wilbur because he’s neglecting his trash collection duties. Emily gives birth to a baby that looks like neither Homer nor Wilbur, and they start calling themselves co-husbands since both of them like to boink Emily. Connie, Homer’s ex, is in there somewhere, too. And there are other ancillary characters, like some religious nutjobs who want to shut their act down. And here I am, siding with the religious right - these characters should be stopped.
Now, I’m fully willing to take a good number of romance and erotica plots with a great heavy grain of salt, most notably those that mix camp and sex for really off-the-wall erotica. And when reading erotica, I am also fully willing to read through scenes that don’t do it for me personally, but may engage some fantasies of other readers, such as watching a spouse do the carpet burn-and-roll with someone else, or catching someone in the act of poopchute lovin’ in a cop car. Whatever. People get their jollies from all manner of sexual content, and most of the time, I’m not judgmental about varying sexual proclivities.
However, this story isn’t erotic. It’s not even sexy. It’s just bad. Despite being categorized as “erotica,” with warnings that the content of the eBook is meant for mature audiences there’s really no erotic content. It’s just… lame. Lame lame lame. There was plenty of room for mixed-partner sex scenes, but Allen describes the sexual interaction in one sentence. There’s no description. At one point, Wilbur decides that he likes what-what-in-the-butt with Homer’s ex-wife Connie, so he grabs some butter, slaps her on the butt with it, and engages in some back door lovin’ on the hood of a car. This is described in fifteen to twenty words, tops. My description here? Longer than the actual scene. Allen has the same problem Wilbur has: “crawl on, stick it in and shoot it off.” This is the first erotica novel I’ve read that has its own case of sexual dysfunction.
Another example of potential erotic content that suffered total melting of the man cannon: during a brawl, Connie gets hurt on her breast, which she shows to the two arresting officers who report to the scene. Medical attention is needed - from both officers! In the squad car! And Connie decides to engage the car’s radio so the boinka-boink in her badonkadonk is broadcast to every listening officer AND every person tuned into the police scanner. It’s like the cop-car-in-the-woods version of having the pool boy visit the cabana. Imagine the sexual comedic potential of writing a scene like that.
Connie goes off to the squad car, comes back a few minutes later, and tells Wilbur she turned the CB radio on before they got busy. That’s it. That’s all the reader gets. There’s no show, no tell, and really, no damn point to the whole thing. How is this erotica? It’s not. It’s merely rot.
In the hands of a writer who could craft a sensual or even a raunchy sex scene, the rural ramblings of Wilbur (the story is told in first person, heavy on the rural vernacular) could have resulted in something spicy and sexy, if not at least entertaining. The story itself could have been an erotic romp between bizarre characters, or a journey toward ignominious stardom, or even a lot of backdoor buttered sex, but the plot deflated every time it got close to being something other than tawdry, lame, and altogether stupid.
In short: this book is instant, complete, and total bonerdeath. Stay far, far away.