Critic's Cherce.

Another rave review has appeared on the Tallyho, Tallulah! Amazon page, this time by Dylan Brody. A second rave. Dylan is, as I was, a scribe at The Huffington Post. His Huff Po writer's profile says:

"Dylan Brody writes and performs humorous short stories and whimsical essays in venues around L.A. and across the country. A thrice-published author and award-winning playwright, he has performed stand-up comedy on A & E's Comedy On the Road and Fox TV's Comedy Express and recently was honored to present a story at the New York Public Library's Tribute to George Carlin, hosted by Whoopi Goldberg. Mr Brody's CDs Brevity and True Enough are available through Amazon.com and iTunes. He lives in Sylmar, CA, a location he describes as 'crap neighborhood adjacent.'"

Here's What Dylan had to say about my new tome:

5.0 out of 5 stars.
"You know what? Make it a double."
By Dylan Brody

There's a particular type of boozy-broad snark that has been emulated for years by gay men. I have never fully understood the allure for some men of imitating a sedated and inappropriate aging Judy Garland or a gin-addled Dorothy Parker, frankly, but the impulse is clearly there and for many the attitude and snideness serve as a crutch for an inadequate wit.

Douglas McEwan does not adopt this persona, from what I can tell, as compensation for a lack. Rather, Tallulah Morehead, drunken, aging, Hollywood sexpot, serves as a vehicle for a wit that I found myself wanting to hear beyond her recognizable voice. Tallyho Tallulah, McEwan's second turn with the character (I haven't read the first), had me laughing from the introduction. Once the story was underway it held me, grinning and chuckling throughout.

The delightful debauchery of this tale of self-importance in the world of summer stock puts camp on the page so exquisitely that one can nearly smell the vodka in the printer's ink. If text can slur languidly, Douglas McEwan has figured out how to make it happen.

Do yourself a favor. Read this book. With a drink in one hand and a hot young pool boy in the other.

What excellent advice, even if he's fallen for the myth that Dougie wrote the whole book and that I am some sort of fictional character, just because that's what the book says. (My publisher's lawyers felt they had to allege that I don't actually exist so that I can't sue myself. Lawyers.) I wrote it with a drink in one hand and Eduardo, my gardener's son, in the other. Little Dougie did all the typing. Incidentally, if you opt for one of the less-expensive ebook formats, Kindle, Nook, iBook, you can eSmell the eVodka.

I should be back in a day or so, reviewing The Hobbit. I can tell you, Peter Jackson would like my review of it. Cheers, darlings.