My type of book review

Last nigh I had just killed some mean auld bollix of a husband who had the misfortune of been married to woman i was having an affair with and i’d buried him in a shallow grave up the mountains and on the way back i picked up some queer one from the quays and sure after I had my way with her and didnt i dump her in the river. Then I was relaxzing after washing out the blood at home and sitting down with a glass of whiskey and that mad whore from number nine decides to blow feck out of the whole estate by committing suicide by lighting a match while the gas from the oven had filled his kitchen. Just then I realised its time for the bed because I couldnt see the keyboard with the tiredness when all of a sudden a book catches my eye, a book I cant remember buying. It started whispering to me “Franky stop typing I want to tell you a story”. So I look at it and I wonder how come I’m still hearing voices in my head when the doctor said he had me all cured up. So I took a holde of the book and I put on the glasses and I take a big slug of water and I listen to Patrick McCabe start to tell me about a young lad from Ireland who becomes a teacher. The sky get dark and the stars climb higher and I can hear myself saying “Paddy that’s a fine story boy , i think i’ll be reading the rest of it and any other auld stories you may have to offer, I still remember the Butcher boy and the Dead school looks to be a monster of a read too Bucko” I dont know if they will find our man up the mountain or your one in the river and his wife has given up on me but sure a few keystrokes and all that can change

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