Crooked Little Vein
absolut fetaste boken jag någonsin har läst

Chapter One
"It's not like I have an easy job, and I feel I should be cut some slack in this area. Heroin angels, strutting around for me. With Enya playing. They play a lot of Enya on the Fashion Channel. Great regiments of heroin angels lined up in endless long dressing rooms elegantly banging smack between their delicate toes to the sound track of British TV shows about Celtic people. You should try it. It's a poetic thing, you know?"
His eyes closed, a beatific grin spreading across his weathered face like an old wound opening.
"In that moment, son, I am as beautiful as they, and you are to ignore the rabbit droppings steaming on my bed: interior chocolates placed on the pillow by the solicitous maids of my bowel. Sometimes I get up and dance, scattering the gifts of my intestines across the Edwardian carpet, ignoring the shrieking of the housekeepers and the priests they call in. 'Phone the White House,' I sing to them. 'I control the nuclear bombs.' All of which is to say: I am a functioning heroin addict and also the most powerful man in the world, and you should pay attention now."



"You know I got an adultery case last year? You know what the husband turned out to be doing at night? He had formed a sex cult that broke into an ostrich farm at midnight three times a week. You know what it's like, finding eight middle-aged guys having tantric sex with ostriches?"
The chief of staff made a sympathethic noise he'd probably learned off a talk show. "I'm not sure I can even imagine how to do that."
"I had that image in my head for two months. I couldn't have sex. My girlfriend came to bed one night in a feather boa and I started crying. She left me for a woman named Bob who designs strap-ons shaped like dolphin peninses."
"That's very sad, son."
"Bob had a hair transplant procedure on her nipples. They email me photographs."
...
This had a weird appeal to me. It seemed like what the job should be about. As opposed to waving a flashlight over a fat bank manager hunched over an ostrich full of Rohypnol.

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