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in which the author discusses five books he’d read, if time permitted.

1. The Vegetarian Imperative, by Anand M. Saxena.

Dear Occupy Wall St./D.C./Oakland/Berlin/Milan/Honolulu/Darfur/et. al.: I don’t wanna see any of you crusty motherf*ckers eating a hamburger, a hot dog, a chick’n McNugget, a half-smoke, or any other damn thing that used to be alive. It’s bad enough that y’all are chowin’ down on decidedly corporate, decidedly un-vegan donuts like it ain’t a thang, but if I see anyone eating chicken wings, I’m calling bullsh*t on this whole operation. Yes—-even chicken wings from a dumpster. Have some anarchist pride! The revolution starts within.

2. No Regrets, by Ace Frehley, Joe Layden, and John Ostrosky. C’mon, Ace—-no regrets? What about “God Gave Rock ‘N’ Roll to You II?” (OK, OK—-Frehley didn’t appear in this video.) What about K*I*S*S* post-makeup? (OK, OK—-Frehley’s involvement with K*I*S*S* during experiments without make-up is murky. This guy is slippery.) What about publishing a book with two co-authors? I’ve got you dead to rights on that one.

3. The Continuing Case of Manny Tippitoes, by Bruce Adams, illustrated by Anna Wieszczyk. My daughter’s 16 months old, so I’ve got to puzzle through this whole “YA” thing. Can I assume that The Black Cauldron and The Great Brain Returns aren’t the titles that the pre-tween set is clamoring for? And can I further assume that Harry Potter and Twilight won’t be hot properties in 2020 when my spawn is 10? Books: I tried to get out, but they keep pulling me back in.

4. You Are Not So Smart: Why You Have Too Many Friends on Facebook, Why Your Memory Is Mostly Fiction, and 46 Other Ways You’re Deluding Yourself, by David McRaney. So—-my memory’s fiction, eh? Are you saying that I did not actually see the feature film Buffy the Vampire Slayer starring Kristy Swanson and Paul Reubens alone at The Strand movie theater near Wonderland Pier on the boardwalk in Ocean City, N.J., at age 15 in 1992 but, for some reason, invented this terrible memory? Because those were not good times.

5. Mile Marker Zero: The Moveable Feast of Key West, by William McKeen. Hemingway and Hunter S. Thompson were bastards, but I read books by and about them anyway because I am a f*cking red-blooded American male. Deal with the testosterone!
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