While I appreciate a good rogering as the next person, I also appreciate bad rogering, such as the annual Literary Review Bad Sex award. Of course, this year Tom Wolfe won the less-than coveted prize for his book I am Charlotte Simmons.

And just like any self-respecting man, even one who writes "Slither slither slither slither went the tongue," Wolfe defended the "irony" in the text (personally, I prefer "The smell of his armpits was on her shoulders -- a flower depositing pollen on a hummingbird's forehead" from Nadeem Aslam in the novel Maps for Lost Lovers.

Anyhow, the reason I bring this up... (will continue later)