BBB: Angel Food and Devil Dogs (pt III)

To my good friend Alex, no, I did not mean to imply that my brother was bisexual, nor did I mean to imply that I found Megan Fox attractive. I apologize for worrying you otherwise.

---ooo---

Goddamn Maggie can't keep it in her pants for five minutes. So as the curtain rises on the final act, we see her once again off to the Language Arts building to jump Anthony's bones. Once again we run into Leo Getty, who once again is having a nervous breakdown and talking like a nervous wreck. This guys about to drop a ton of bricks in his pants every time he sees Maggie, and she's not at all suspicious of it? And another thing, remember that he was the one who had the scoop that Carl was thrown out of his old private school? How did he even know that in the first place? Nobody else brought it up. What, was he Carl's confidant? And he seems to have a particularly flimsy alibi to boot. So you think this would be a guy who you'd really want to call for further questioning, right? But the Mag's off the clock, and as we all know, she doesn't do responsibility.

So the two meet up and start making out before they can even say hello. Maggie, being the champion charmer that she is, recites "Wild Nights" by Emily Dickinson. Again Maggie, even if Emily Dickinson was a lesbian, it doesn't take a history major to know she wasn't a prolific sexual dynamo. You might want to work on your pick-up poems.

"Oh Kathryn, I want..." I began passionately, but then came t my senses. I said in a reasonable voice, "I'd love to roll around on the floor with you right at this very moment, driven by desperate desire..."

Yeah babe, you make me feel all desperate. I take back my previous statement-the more Maggie talks, the more Emily Dickinson looks like a smooth operator.

So Maggie and Anthony go out to order Mexican food (because nothing says romantic night on the town like bean burritos), as we encounter the first real shocking twist of the entire book-the restaurant owners are completely straight. Of course, the book doesn't want to step too far out of its comfort zone, so the Spanish-speaking owners oggle at how Maggie managed to get a drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend. Which at this point of the book I find to be a surprisingly reasonable reaction

"Go ahead Kathryn, nothing you can say will chase me away," I reassured her. But that was a lie. After all, I knew very little about her ad there were things that could make a difference.

This is why you shouldn't rush dating so soon after sex, Maggie! Things get awkward if you do it before you're ready!

One would hope that this talk produces some degree of realistic tension or conflict that the two get to work out. But as every good author knows, realistic relationships get in the way of the lesbian sex. Turns out that a year ago, Anthony went to the exact same restaurant on a business trip from California, and while there was lamenting her solo life. Because just as no hetero woman can truly be happy unless she's in a relationship with a man, no femme lesbian can possibly be happy unless she's in a relationship with another chick. Anyway, what are goshdarn odds, it was the exact same day that Maggie came in to celebrate her gay couple friends Farrel and Jesse's anniversary, and of course, Anthony falls instantly in love, and continues to dream of Maggie even when she goes back home, knowing nothing of her personality, preference, or even her name. So meeting Maggie again has been nothing short of a dream come true for her.

Wow. Wow. This just. Wow.

She stopped and started again. "Last night was wonderful, really wonderful, but if sex now and then is all you're looking for, well, I can't...I need...

Sex 24/7! Now hurry up and top me, betch!

Maggie agrees, because showing reluctance or needing to inquire further would be equated to those pesky "character faults" that would get in the way of her godliness, and again, the lesbian sex. So she proceeds to tell how she beat up Druckenmacher like a frat-boy jock trying to show off, and of course Anthony giggles and rubs her muscles and other girl things like that.

Afterwards, Maggie Gale get's a call from the elderly house sitter who tells her that one of the bulbs broke (and manages to squeeze in another comment about Anthony's attractiveness, whoopie), so Maggie Gale volunteers to go take care of it. Oh, hey guys, I know this one! How many lesbians does it take to screw in a light bulb?

...uh, anyway. So they go to Farrel and Jesse's house, Maggie fixes the bulb, and the day is saved! Maggie decides to celebrate her victory in a way any rational human house watching for their friends would. Have sex loudly in their hot tub in the backyard.

Okay, I live in central New York, and I know that in the middle of the night in December, you have to fight to keep yourself from freezing your ass off. Doing so much as letting the dog out for thirty seconds is an ordeal. If I'm out at night in the dead of winter, what runs through my head tends not to be "man I so want to get naked and romp through the snow into a scalding hot tub to pound someone I've only known for two days". To think otherwise is either sexual frustration verging on insanity or the onset of early hypothermia.

But uh oh, in a classic comedic twist, Farrel and Jesse are home from their vacation early! And Maggie and Anthony are in their birthday suits in the backyard right in the middle of getting their jollies on. Finally the book has the decency to admit that there are consequences for just going at it wherever and whenever you please. Yeah, you give them a piece of your mind Farrel! Get out here, and read Maggie the riot act. Oooh, I need a little cathartic release from riding shotgun in Maggie's head. So can't wait for this.

Farrel turned and noticed our piles of clothing on the chairs. She walked over to them, then turned to look out the French doors at the tub. "I think we just caught two lovely young mermaids in our courtyard lagoon," said Farrel with amusement.

I

BEG

YOUR

PARDON?!

Are you out of your mind? Lame and completely inappropriate line aside, how can you be amused by that? Amused is coming home to find your dog's sleeping on the couch. Not when you've just come home from a vacation early in the middle of the night, and you've found your best friend you asked to shovel your driveway is making the beast with two backs with some skank she picked loud enough to wake up the neighbors in your hot tub. This isn't a "you crazy kids" situation, this is grounds for arrest! Farrel should at the very least yank them both out of the water by the scruffs of their neck, drag them to the house through a few snowbanks,

and demand an explanation before or after they null their friendship and apply for a restraining order.

But no. Get this. Not only does Farrel and Jesse offer to give them a few more hours alone, they show both Maggie and Anthony prime hospitality and even offer dessert for them, and then Jesse apologizes to Maggie for walking in on them, while Maggie doesn't apologize at all. Huh. I don't think that twitch over my right eye was there before.

So after confirming Anthony's "politics" and "how out" she was, they decide they absolutely adore her, and want to take her out antiquing for a proper dating interview. Again, they seem totally nonchalant about her having sex in their tub less than an hour earlier. I can't believe this never comes up again. Even if I had saintlike patience and could forgive them, I'd at the very least never let it die. And then we're given the second half of our title: apparently, Carl liked Angel Food as much as he liked Devil Dogs, so Farrel and Jesse serve it to the two little horndogs as a special treat. Man, of all the elements of this story to pick, Bradbury picked the one least plot relevant that sounded the trashiest to make her title. More evidence that this book is purposefully satirical. God I hope.

So after all of this, it's back to Maggie's place, where Maggie proceeds to show off how butch and awesome she is. I love how in an earlier passage, she complained that she hated exercising and only did it because she has to, and yet she can bench press 150. Yeah, that's totally reasonable. Anthony does more giggling and squeeing, as Maggie continues to do maneuvers akin to Olympic gymnastics, which in case you're wondering, take years to perfect and not just one hour of jumping on the treadmill every day. But we've already established that this book is not on speaking terms with reality.

"Kathryn, if we wrestle physically, I will always win...unless I want you to, and I'm sure I will sometimes."

I can think of at least ten ways to phrase that to not sound like a total dick.

We talked about everything. Our families, our lives, our work. How we felt about pets, where we chose to live, whether either of us wanted kids. We covered politics, religion, marriage, and a dozen other subjects. No conflicts, no attitudes that were diametrically opposed.

So the two managed to accomplish what most couples can take years to sort out in one night. How do you even pull that off? A check list? I could go on about how near impossible it is for them to agree on absolutely everything coming from such phenomenally different backgrounds and careers, but I'm more amused by the fact that since there is no difference in the two at all, there's no chance that they'd need to view opinions that are different from their own and develop into better, more open human beings. Joy.

However, Anthony manages to have one obligatory character flaw-insomnia! That's...really not a character flaw, but sure! And then the two do bad things with a paintbrush. However, the phone rings, and in her first real moment of redeemable character, Maggie turns her back on sex for thirty whole seconds (!) to answer it. And good thing she did, because, dun dun dun, Rowlina, our favorite offensive German stereotype, has been shot! Not fatally, but enough to ruin her giant coat made of murdered animals and the countries she ran her tanks over.

She was shot at in the Language Arts building, the same building that Anthony worked at. Apparently, it was late at night, and she had a deep and personal problem that she wanted to talk to someone about. So she happened to see the light in the office Anthony left on (probably too distracted swapping saliva with the Mag to turn it off earlier), and decided it would be a good idea to talk to her. Apparently, she was having troubles with government officials in regards to her marriage to the man on the west coast. Government officials were jumping her, because they suspect she married him to get him citizenship. Rowlina shows a rare moment of being wounded and genuinely frightened, so of course, Maggie seizes the opportunity to squash what little likabili...redeema...what little ounce of character you could almost sort of tolerate.

Probably, over the years, many lesbian coeds had gazed with desire at Kathryn's late night office lights. Had Rowlina hoped for a midnight tryst with Kathryn? I'll admit to a certain smugness in knowing that Kathryn was resting her beautiful head in my lap, while Rowlina prowled the night looking for her.

Okay, so let me get this straight. Here's a woman who's been shot in the middle of the night, being dogged by government officials, has no idea what's going on or what exactly happened, and the least childish and presumptuous thing Maggie can inner monologue about is shoving her thumbs in her ear and waving her hands going "nya nya, I got the girl and you didn't?" Rowlina even asks if Anthony is okay, and all Maggie can think of is making out with her. So Maggie is the bigger jerk than the over-the-top German stereotype. That's really not something to brag about.

So Maggie goes home, and acts like a creeper by drawing Anthony while she's asleep. From different angles. Anthony seems to think that the safety of her colleague can wait until after a couple more hot rounds of sex. Then after talking about it for like five minutes, they get to talk about stupid things like dreams. Maggie says that her dreams can be prophetic, and upon reading that, I groan in dread knowing there's no way that's not going to come up later on.

So Maggie and Anthony drift off to sleep, and when Anthony wakes up to go to the flea market, Maggie sleepily whispers to her an "I love you", then a few minutes later wakes up in shock, wondering what the hell she's just done. Now, to a normal couple, the first "I love you" is a big, fat, hairy deal. I mean, we're talking about talking two hours before and after about it minimum. So of course, Maggie will not discuss it with Anthony, nor will it ever come up in the storyline again.

And now we get to Carl's memorial service, which is second only to the books ending in the most ham fisted "being gay is awesome and homophobia is naughty and bad" message in the whole book. Okay, there's a bit before where Jimmy Harmon acts really suspicious and Maggie nearly gets run down by a piano, which I'd normally get behind, but man. This service. Is just a riot.

Carl's song, I Can See, had both the lines I am a blind man and I am a gay man, in it. I was glad Carl's true self was being celebrated on this day that had been set-aside just for him.

And before you ask, yeah, that funky comma after "gay man" and "set-aside" really were in there. It wasn't just my abysmal typos again. And yes, Carl's true self is nothing but his sexuality and his disability. Nothing about his musical talent or his friendly nature, nor was it the fact that he actually went back and completed his education in the face of adversity, or started up a symphony to help the next generation, or anything of the sort. But his gayness and blindness, that's what you should really be proud of. Because nobody else in the world is gay and blind.

I wondered if this 100-year-old Chapel had ever had dozens of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgeder people singing a gay hymn in honor of a gay man, with such fervor.

Wow, that would be a powerful line if it wasn't hypocritical up the ass. Oh yes, here we are celebrating the LGBT framework, but how many real characters have we seen in the story that are actually GBT? I haven't seen bisexuals or transgendered people at all, and the only really prominent gay man in the story is dead. And even though we're harping on how stinking gay he is, we've never seen him in a relationship over the course of the story. We don't see any male gay couples, but we somehow have room for two lesbian couples and two lesbian lawyers.

There have always been gay people in the world, it's just that now, we no longer buy into pretending we're the same as the majority, just so the majority won't feel uncomfortable.

Yeah, because we're gay, and we're different. We're above your mortal laws! We have our culture and our land, and you can just keep yours. We don't need to live in your reality anymore! We're not just out, we're out of this world! Oh yeah, and the straight community doesn't affect you at all, miss masculine-butch-lesbian dating miss feminine-lipstick-lesbian. I mean, there's writing for a target audience, and then there's supremacy literature.

And of course, the cherry on top is that as the crowd exits the church, a cloud passes by, and out of nowhere, a giant rainbow stretches across the sky, casting it's divine blessing on this great gay-but-not-dating-a-guy-because-that's-icky man. And this is about the time you start feeling the kink in your neck again.

Somewhere along the lines, Maggie gets to talk to Farrel about the antiquing trip, and Farrel, of course, heartily approves. So she tries to paint Anthony as actually having some semblance of a consistent personality, of course adding that Anthony is both hot and hot for her. Thank goodness she does, because then we get a line that's the closest this book gets to being self-aware.

"What did she say that made you think...I mean that's she's...you know, hot?" I reddened a little.

Farrel snickered, "You don't need me to explain that."

It's at the end of the ceremony that two significant clues pretty much walk up to Maggie, drop their pants, and wave their butts in her face. The first was that Connie ran up to Maggie saying that she remembered Shel Druckenmacher harassing another woman at the party that Daria Webster was murdered, at about the same time as Leo Getty's family was screaming at him that he's a complete asshole. So if you in the audience have any semblance of neuron function, you can probably figure out who killed who at this point, but Maggie doesn't, so let's go off to do more gay things.

Maggie goes back to give her report to the president, who after having one person murdered and another one shot at is reasonably at the end of his wits. He presses Maggie for any sort of theory or idea she has, and of course, Maggie has nothing. Are you really a detective Maggie, or just a professional sexer of grad professors? The inquest is coming soon, and Max begs Maggie to think of something.

"Max, it's all coming together, but I can't promise I'll figure it out by Tuesday. It's less than two days away!"

"I know, I know, but...try, OK?" Max rumbled sincerely.

'Try, OK?' Really? Really? You're paying this sleeze out of your pocket under the table by the day and she's spending all her free time boinking one of your professors. 'Try, OK?' is not the correct term. 'Listen up assclown. You're not getting another dime until you get your face out of Dr. Anthony for five minutes and give me something about this case. This isn't a vacation Gale! If you want to get laid, do it on your own time. But I'm paying you through the nose to help me, and if you won't, you're ass is on the curb. You understand?' is much better.

So Maggie heads off to the after party at Farrel and Jesse's place where only the gayest of the gay are allowed to go. When she gets there, Anthony is working in the kitchen and wearing an apron, and in the most blatantly stupid-high-school maneuvers, walks right over to Maggie in front of the crowd and jams her tongue down her throat. The crowd, of course, rejoices at this perfect couple, instead of rolling their eyes at a couple of women in their late thirties acting like a couple of teenagers.

And here's another thing I need to get on a soapbox about. How sexist would Anthony's character be if Maggie was a guy? Think about it, she was introduced as nothing but a future love interest, she falls in love at first sight with Maggie, and still holds onto it after one bloody year when she knows absolutely nothing else about her. Everything about her, is based either on her looks, her sexuality, or her relationship with Maggie. She has a family and a job, but that's thrown to the side so she can be Maggie's sex toy, her personality changes depending on what would be best to get the two in a relationship, and Rowlina was the only person to give her any sort of respect of acknowledgement outside of being in a relationship with Maggie. Seriously, everyone else is commenting either on how hot she is or "hey heard you got a girlfriend".

Also, everything about her over the course of the book is sexualized. Maggie never notes her intelligence or personality or talents or aspirations, but she can't shut up about her auburn hair or her pretty cheek bones or her alabaster skin. Even when Anthony eats pie at the party, she moans in pleasure. And Maggie seems to never go out of the way to intellectually or emotionally stimulate her. Having sex and making out is pretty much the only way they say hello and goodbye. And that's not even counting how they met by means of creepy sexual coercion and glamorizing how what eventually changed Anthony's mind about having sex with Maggie was simply that she got turned on enough. If Maggie was a dude, we'd be screaming sexist before Anthony could get her bra off. But this all feels like a moot point considering we've already established how badly men are treated in this story. So the moral of the story is, everyone in the world is Maggie Gale's bitch. Makes total sense.

So the party is predictably boring, and Maggie and Anthony go back to Maggie's place. Anthony shows off the awesome gay paraphernalia that she picked up from the flea market. Because I find homoerotic stuff every time I go antique shopping with my grandmother. Then Anthony gets into her tragic past which (what a surprise) has to deal with her love life. Apparently, Anthony's partner of five years didn't care whether or not they were committed to each other, which enrages Maggie. I could call hypocrisy with all of the mindless sexual flings Maggie brags about, but as we all know, Maggie is a champion virgin.

So Anthony says the ultimate flaw to her doomed relationship was that it had no "passion", whatever ill-defined thing that is. I think she means sex, because as we all know, sex is the linchpin of any loving relationship. Anthony then asks about Maggie's sexual history, and like any noble girlfriend would do, Maggie completely blows her off. Nice. Anthony figures she needs to go, because in another rare moment of intelligence, she asserts that Maggie will never actually, you know, do the job she's getting paid for if she's getting it on all night long. Being the positive female role model she is, she promises to reward Maggie with "erotic adventures" once she solves the case, and proceeds to suggestively make out with a seashell.

This finally clues Maggie in that the murderer of Daria Webster was not Mickey, but Shel Druckenmacher. What are the goshdarn odds. So Maggie comes in with the lawyers, and states that Shel killed Daria, then cleaned up the crime scene's evidence with a gardening hose, and when Mickey came in to see what was going on, Mickey got sprayed with it, panicked, and fled, and the shock wiped his memories of the event. How the fact that a hose being dragged into the house managed to escape a crime scene investigation aside, what motive did Shel have to kill Daria? Well...come on, he's Shel! He's a total asshole, so why not? Okay, so what's weaker here, the petty romance or the mystery of this story? Pretty damn tough call.

So since Maggie is a special girl who managed to figure it out, her reward is shower sex. Because that's our Maggie Gale, the sexosexual.

Druckenmacher had used a stream of water to scare Mickey and wash away evidence after a horrible murder. We'd used a stream of water to make love. Everything can seem so sordid if you let it. Or, you can celebrate the simplicity of joy by firmly separating it from cruelty. After all, what's more life-affirming than the intimate sharing of sexual love?

Glad you asked Maggie! Talking to your girlfriend about the whole "I love you" thing, first off. And you know, doing your job and saving lives like you'd vow you'd do. Actually learning about new people and cultures outside of your tiny little lesbian circle, the rest of the LGBT to start. Doing actual hobbies other than sexing up your girlfriend would also be nice. Doing fun things with Anthony other than wine, dinner, and sex would also be pretty life-affirming, I would think. Giving back to the community and being a proper humanitarian like you claim you are and how Carl was? Hey, you could even do things together with Anthony! Cooking your own meals. Reading a good book that makes you think. Write a caustic blog. Stuff's out there!

Since Maggie has the common sense of a sack of driveway gravel, it takes one of those "prophetic dreams" to figure out what Carl's Macaroni Can is and thus solve the mystery. It is as unbearably stupid as it sounds, and I would try to describe it, but I can't think of a good children's program written by a famous person who's criminally insane. So the next day, Maggie gathers up all the suspects in classic mystery style to bring out the BIG REVEAL. But first, more Bart abuse! Remember Carl's memorial service? Maggie happened to pass by Bart, one of the staff members that attended. And, I kid you not, she actually wanted to punch him in the face because he nodded hello to her. And that's downright charming compared to this.

He said, "I'm, ah, not really here," and then giggled. I took that to mean that he was still officially out on leave. He held his bandaged hand in the air in the most conspicuous way possible. In fact, he kept bumping his head into it, as though he had no idea it was there. Maybe now would be a good time to grab him around the neck and squeeze until he told me what happened right after the bomb went off. I decided to do that after the meeting, unless I had a better idea.

You're a doll Maggie. You really are.

And here's what irritates the English Major in me. This book is written in the first person, and I assure you that being at ground zero of Maggie's brain is a delight in itself. but there's a moment when Anthony sends an e-mail to the group saying that she think's Maggie Gale can't solve mysteries for crap (again, another rare moment of the book's self-awareness). So Maggie actually narrates that she's furious and angry and she can't believe Anthony would do such a thing. Like, seriously, she tells the audience she was angry. And the instant the true murderer is revealed, she says "oh yeah, I was totally faking it and didn't feel that way at all."

No.

Just. No.

That is not how the first person perspective works. The whole point of the first person narration is to, yes, narrate the story from a character's perspective, but the character is not, I repeat, is not aware that there's an audience that's being spoken to. So a character can't deceive the audience because the character doesn't know that there is an audience to deceive. You can't do that. It breaks the narration and betrays the trust we put into the character's story, not that it's easy to trust this clump of entrails of a human being to begin with. And frankly even if you could deceive the audience it really doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the whole thing was an act for it's massive betrayal of your already SHALLOW, STUPID, HEDONISTIC, POISONOUS, RECKLESS, BULLYING, IRRESPONSIBLE, HYPOCRITICAL, HOLIER-THAN-THOU, CRUEL, SEX-CENTERED, SELF-CENTERED, THUGGISH, OBTUSE, UNFUNNY, UNAPPEALING, UNATTRACTIVE, BLAND AND MOISTENED CARDBOARD PERSONALITY.

So it really isn't something you should be doing. It's a very easy mistake for first time authors, but it still looks very unprofessional.

So it turns out that Carl's Macaroni Can was Carl's Micro Scan, and it was set so that the note would come up automatically on a voice command, and that it came from an outside source and thus, not from Carl itself. So it was proven to be murder, and Jimmy Harmon has a breakdown. Maggie thinks she had the killer, and shakes him down for the story. Jimmy tells her she has the wrong man, saying that he's actually relieved, because he thought he killed Carl by saying his work was no good and driving him to suicide. Apparently, Jimmy handed some of his songs to a publishing company to look over his work, and of course they thought it was the best thing since sliced bread. Jimmy got jealous, told Carl he sucked, and he thought it was enough to make him knock himself off.

So that means the only person left on the roster is, uh oh, generic straight man number two, Leo Getty! So...basically he tries to kill Anthony, but Maggie bitch slaps him and Anthony decks him with one of lesbian statues (it's symbolic!), and the day is saved. So what why did Leo want to kill her, or Carl for that matter?

Easy! He hated gay people!

Yep!

He hates him some gays!

Gays are bad!

Total homophobe!

Yeah...

Well, okay, his son was the dude Carl made out with, which got him thrown out of school. And he also wanted to kill Anthony because he was one of the professors she tattled on for falsifying research (so the college does no background checks at all I guess) and Carl knew about the fraud. But Carl, being the saint he was, wanted to help Leo and give him a clean slate, and even suggested patching up things between him, Leo, and Leo's son. But homophobia is tragically incurable, and helping one sick with it is a fatal mistake. Leo shot at Rowlina because he mistook her fox-fur hat for Anthony's red hair (somehow), and he killed Skylar because Skylar teased him about smelling like a bottle bomb.

So at the end of the day, Maggie and Anthony go home, and in the first genuinely heartwarming moment of the entire book, Maggie tucks an exhausted Anthony into bed without making out with her. Aaaaw. And we get one last, beautiful, self-aware line:

I tucked her in and kissed her forehead. She was already asleep. The whole thing would have been pretty adorable, if the preceding event hadn't been so terrifying.

Yes Maggie, this entire scene would be very endearing if the rest of the book didn't happen before it.

And now...the epilogue.

Connie Robinson got a raise.

Yay!

Miranda Juarez was rid of Shel.

Yay!

Nancy dumped Bart Edgar, who continued to work for the college.

Ya-buhwah? What was that for? So they were dating and Nancy did break up with him? How...but...why? How? What? So basically nothing's gotten better for this poor man? The book wanted to flip him off for one last time? Yeah rob the last bit of happiness from a man with an undiagnosed mental disorder. Real progressive, book!

To the books credit, Georgia was eventually released from the hospital and renewed her vows with her husband, and the book cryptically comments "which everyone hoped would last". Rowlina dumps her husband, and Maggie cackles that she's still "in the closet". In her style, Rowlina flips her off with a cigarette in her mouth, toting her fur coat and fox hat and walking off into the sunset. God be with you Rowlina. God be with you.

Even from the great beyond, Carl's awesomeness shines down on the college, as the Rainbow Youth Symphony (ran by Leo Getty's gay son), flourishes, and people like JLo and Elton John want to sing them (Elton John, what are the goshdarn odds), and the royalties pour in! And funds and scholarships are booming all thanks to Carl's magnificent death.

But just in case you didn't get that homophobia is naughty and bad, Leo Getty not only can't find a lawyer to defend on trial, but he has two minor heart attacks before, and one major one that kills him before he can appear in court. So not only is Anthony the murderer, she has a Death Note.

I think what actually killed Leo, was the realization that he couldn't find a lawyer who agreed that his revenge against gays was justified.

Yeah, because there are absolutely no lawyers in the entire country these days who are willing to take up the case of anyone who committed a hate crime, especially anyone who would dare lay a finger on the gays.

And so for Christmas, everyone has a sex gay party and exchange really gay gifts. Sara makes one last appearance, to make one last creepy attempt at a threesome. Farrel and Jesse give the two a UHAUL gift card (DUR HUR) and the girls give each other erotic Japanese paintings and sissy girl pins. Max has once again forgiven Maggie for completely assholing around, and has not only given her a tremendous bonus for her hard work, but gave her a piano that she put in her apartment for Anthony to play. Because every good female love interest needs to sing and play a romantic musical instrument.

Then comes the beautiful conclusion, where Maggie tells Anthony to give up her life, career, and home, and move in with her after going for a vacation down in Florida. Kathryn answers with one last out-of-context Emily Dickinson poem, and AT LONG LAST the story ends.

It's easy to get depressed when reading this story. It's a hard fact to swallow that anyone would bother to write this book, let alone be spiteful enough to try to get it published. It's elitist, reactionary, and overly-idealized to the point of being insulting. But I take nothing short of a prolific egalitarian method. Just as the straight community, the gay community has awful, awful literature. Surely ever minority group does to. So if we could all just bring the worst of our worst, swap it around, and have a good, hearty laugh, then truly we are one step closer to being an accepting and tolerant society. And this is yet another reason why Angel Food and Devil Dogs deserves to be known to the world.

Why The Police Is Jolly Good

This should come as a surprise to none of you, but I know how to rock. So by extension, I have a vast knowledge of exactly what does and does not rock. Therefore, today, in my generosity, I've decided to share some of that knowledge with all of you, my beloved and friendly readers. The last part of the Angel Food and Devil Dogs review is in the works, but until then, I think it'd be good if our collective sanity got a break. But in one fell swoop, we've had a massive hit to our IQ, self esteem, and faith in man's capacity to create beauty. What can we possibly do to combat it? I think it's time to bring out the most powerful weapon in my arsenal: THE EIGHTIES

Goodness gracious, where do I begin? Admittedly, the way I was raised probably gave me an unfair biased toward The Police. They seamlessly combined the two musical tastes my parents had; my Mom's deep-rooted nostalgia for the eighties, and my fathers love of a more "artistic" (nerdy) sort of rock. Both styles, depending on who you ask, have a seriously bad rep (because music, like everything else in the internet era, is SERIOUS BUSINESS). But The Police scoff this nonsense and not only embrace both, but do so with style.

How? I know you're going to be tempted to facepalm at this statement, but lot of it has to do with the fact that they're talent at both crafting music and writing lyrics. Good lyrics and a powerful vocal set balancing out mediocre music can really save a band (or vice versa). And with a lot of bands, sometimes you trip on music done so well that vocals become a none issue, or lyrics and vocals so powerful that you forget there's even music behind them. But for some reason, it's really hard for a lot of bands to be able to find the balance and strength needed in both.

So when you really trip on a band that's can check off both categories, it really feels like something of a rarity, almost to the point of being magical. When I listen to The Police, I don't feel like I'm listening to rock, nor do I feel like I'm listening to art. I feel like I'm listening to something completely different. Not that they don't have rockability though, perish the thought. You think your fingers were stinging when playing "Through the Fire and Flames" by Dragonforce in Guitar Hero? Let's see you play Landlord on Expert, Nancy.

I can really feel the effort that they put into every song they make, and I mean every song. The Police's work is very experimental, and they try to twist both their own style and the style of the music at the time at any opportunity they can. A lot of their early work is rock song after rock song after rock song, but after their hit "Roxanne", they really grew the beard and started playing around. I mean, just listen to Man in a Suitcase and then Invisible Sun. They don't even sound like they're from the same band.

Another thing I can really get behind is that they sing about a lot of different things. They're not just your love song/breakup song band. Not that they don't do love and breakup songs. In fact, they wrote my favorite breakup song ever.

Called you so many times today

And I guess it's all true what your girlfriends say

That you don't ever wanna see me again

And your brother's gonna kill me and he's six-feet-ten

Words to live by if I've ever heard them. But as I was saying, their songs cover a variety of topics, both seriously and humorously. They cover the obligatory big topics like world peace ("One World"), mass apathy ("Driven to Tears"), and depression ("Darkness"), but they also take on topics that don't come up as often, like media-based paranoia ("Canary in a Coal Mine"), a loss of direct human connection due to the onset of technology ("Someone To Talk To", and note that this was in the eighties before people were complaining about us dang kids and our eh-yai-emz), and not wanting no dead-end job ("[I Don't Want No] Dead End Job").

I will be the first to admit I am not the one to call when you need celebrity gossip, but I feel like the artists aren't just talented musicians, but are (or at least try to be) decent human beings. Part of this is that I do have a healthy respect for the lead singer, Sting, and not just because he can sing two octaves higher than I can. He's been involved in a lot of activism work, including his contributions to Amnesty International and founding the Rainforest Foundation Fund. He also remains one of the few rock stars in existence I can listen to in an interview and not want to punch in the face.

So naturally, having more than two working braincells does put you at a decided advantage when you need to write good music. All of The Police's lyrics are intelligent, ranging from witty and fun, to striking and painful. Even the way they construct the music itself has a degree of sophistication to it. I mean, listen to On Any Other Day. It's a song about a rotten day in sort of a bland life, and it has the snappy writing I love. But try to sing the chorus ("My wife has burned the scrambled eggs...") without musical accompaniment. The whole thing consists of only two notes, and you sound like you're singing while bored to tears. That's pretty damn clever.

But that's not even touching down on perhaps the one reason The Police may exist in this spectrum of reality. Easily their purpose in the cosmic plan is to create the greatest loud song in the history of loud songs. I'm not saying that it's a song that's inherently loud, it's just something that has to be played loud. It's like how ice cream has to be served cold, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show has to be watched within a crowd of heavily costumed freaks. Of course, the exact way to listen to this song is hooked up to a ten piece stereo system that's mounted between you and your window, with the brunt of the stereo system aimed at either your geriatric neighbor's dog or the nearest seismometer. Failing that, simply pumping it at max volume on your computron will do.

And I know this is a very link heavy post, but I insist that it's for your own benefit to listen to this song at the very least: Synchronicity II

Rumor has it that a Synchronicity III was in the works, but its production was forced to cancel because of divine intervention claiming copyright infringement on enlightenment.

And that is why The Police Is Jolly Good. Man, that's such an annoying title to me, because I want to write "Why The Police Are Jolly Good", but The Police is technically a singule subject even though its title refers to a plural number of subjects. It's things like this that keep an English Major up at night, when we're not dealing with why the world can't understand our brilliance and devising situations in our lives in which we can insert abstruse and barely relevant vocabulary to make ourselves sound more intelligent.

Thank you very much for reading as always, and we hope you too are walking on the moon.

BBB: Angel Food and Devil Dogs (pt II)

Welcome to part two of S-Type's review of Angel Food and Devil Dogs. I got asked why I refer to Kathryn Anthony as Anthony in this blog. Good question! I have two reasons. First off is that Kathryn is very much the "girl" in the Maggie/Anthony relationship, and is nothing short of a shameless, useless love interest. Despite apparently being really smart and having a really booming, respectable career, she's pretty much treated as a sex object by everyone she encounters. So even on a subconscious level, I like to mar that as much as I possibly can. It's my attention-getting device.

Secondly, and I really hate to admit this, I actually think the name Kathryn is a good name. Maybe it does have a little of the whole "changing a few letters to make it look unique" thing, but I think it's very classy and very pretty. So whenever I type such a nice name for such an awful character, some little part of my brain short circuits. I seriously am not physically capable of doing it. I've tried, but before I know it, my fingers are just typing out 'Anthony'. Maybe it's the sign of some neurochemical dysfunction, maybe I have too big a hard-on for names, but that's what happens. Either way though, I can see how pulling a curve ball like that with no explanation is pretty unprofessional, and I really should have done otherwise. However for consistency's sake, I'll just keep calling her 'Anthony' for the rest of the review. I'm grateful for the input!

But while I'm addressing the masses, goodness I feel like a tool for asking this, but could any of you tell me how to respond to comments? Maybe you're not supposed to be able to respond on your blog, but I'd feel like a total jerk if there was a way and I just couldn't do it.

But anyway, let's get cracking into the tremendous mess that is this storyline. And what better way to get the plot back in full swing than to axing of another male character?

---ooo---

Once the night of arbitrary flirting is over, it's time for our hero Maggie Gale to get back on the case! After bumping into Leo Getty, who once again is acting like he's about to have a seizure, our protagonist Maggie Gale receives a phone call from Skylar Carvelle, who frantically begs her to meet him at his house. Maggie has a strict schedule of people she needs to interview in trying to find the identity and owner of the bottle bomb, so she needs to cancel her appointment with the clairvoyant elderly woman archetype Amanda Knightbridge. Amanda of course gives her an ambiguous-enough-to-be-meesteereeus "be careful", then promptly hangs up. Show off. So of course, when Maggie gets to Skylar's house, he's dead. Now that's just plain rude. You get sprung on at the last minute to drive all the way across town, and then the jerk just keels over. Hate it when that happens.

Skylar apparently got his skull bashed in with a glass bird, and after observing his corpse, Maggie discovers it's still warm. Egad, the killer could easily still be in the building! As Maggie calls the police, she's shot at (my sentiments exactly), but of course, Maggie Gale is a god among men, so the bullet misses by a mile. The police arrive, but alas, the murderer has long since escaped. Since someone chucking at you is a pretty easy thing to duck, it is deduced that the killer was someone Skylar knew. Maggie should, of course, stay around and collect evidence for the case, but she looks at her watch and realizes she's half an hour late for her lunch date with the candyass love interest Anthony. Being one who's got her priorities straight, she ditches the crime scene and dashes back to the college.

By the time she does, lunch hour is over, and Anthony is right cross at being stood up. Now it's clear that Anthony really likes Maggie, and its painfully (and I mean painfully) clear that Maggie likes Anthony. So how does she greet the colleague of a dead man? "Anthony, I'm so sorry I'm late, I was busy working on the case." "Anthony, I have terrible news: your friend Skylar Carvelle is dead, and we suspect it was a murder." "Anthony babe, my bad, I would have been here sooner if I wasn't being shot at."

"I'm sorry I'm late. I have a note from my mom...?"

Maggie Gale, ladies and gents!

Because Maggie makes such an inappropriately doofus greeting, Anthony is still livid. Maggie swears she'll make it up to her, so she agrees to meet her the next night for sex. I mean to discuss the case. At her place.

After that fiasco, Maggie meets up with Amanda again, who continues to do fey, wise old lady things, like talk about art, observe that the note and some of Carl's behavior has been contradictory and not like how he really is, and the greatest example of how ungodly smart she is, noting that Maggie and Anthony "compliment each other". Which makes her both obviously not the killer and obviously extremely wise and awesome, so Maggie promptly scratches her off the suspects list.

Off we go to the Music History building as Maggie moves to interview the neurotic Jimmy Harmon, who continues to squirm in the shadow of Carl, who even from beyond the grave is too gay, blind, and awesome for such a lowly breeder as himself. Jimmy Harmon has stuff to do, so he doesn't want to spend all day being interviewed, not that having an open schedule would make being locked in a room with her any more appealing. But Maggie Gale will have none of that, so she pulls out the most intimidating and straightforward threat she can muster.

"Jimmy, I'm not leaving until we talk," I said sternly, "so turn off whatever part of your brain is concentrating on doing something else and listen to me."

Jimmy's blood chills to ice at such a terrifying threat, so he spills his guts. Jimmy's not all the way there, because he's got allergies up the ass, and is taking medication with side effects that are more crippling than steroids. In one bout of allergy med rage, he nearly slapped Carl upside the head for walking in on a recording, something he feels overwhelmingly guilty about. Maggie grills him, but after awhile, it becomes obvious that he's a sad, broken man, devastated over the death of such a wonderful man as Carl. And really who isn't?

Maggie then goes to the hospital to see the new-age chick, Georgia, who's still very badly hurt from the explosion. Ah, here's another thing about the book. Every once in awhile, Maggie's inner monologues will become quasi-philosophical, so when she entered the hospital, this is what's on her mind.

Doctors, nurses, even aides, all have pagers on silent. The glaring lights are gone. Hospital lighting is diffused. Sometimes the hallways are even carpeted. Although the surface harshness is mostly gone, there's still the desperate battle between life and death. Death often wins. For many people, the worst moments of their lives are spent in a hospital, no matter how quiet and tastefully decorated it is.

I don't know what I love about this passage more: the fact that it makes no sense, it's massive irrelevance, or that there will never be any later explanation of why she feels this way. And of course, her opinion on hospitals will never come up again.

Also, this is when the story shows us that Maggie Gale is absolutely not a Mary Sue. We meet Georgia's husband, who's been by her side nonstop for two days with no sleep, desperately wanting to be around for when she finally wakes up from her drug-induced unconsciousness. So Maggie Gale only needs to stand by her bedside for ten minutes for her to wake up. Maggie Gale is, of course, much more important than her husband will ever be, so Georgia beckons her over to give he a clue before falling unconscious again. Said clue is "Carl's Macaroni Can". And don't worry, the answer to this riddle is just as stupid.

So Maggie goes to give her report to Max. Part of the reason Max hired Maggie is because he didn't want police interference in the chance they do label Carl's death as a suicide, because any press coverage of the sort would damage the school's reputation. So he's basically paying money under the table out of his own pocket. Maggie decides this isn't enough though, so she decides to break into Carl's apartment to steal more stuff.

She heads to the Married Student Housing, where Carl was put because the staff has a healthy sense of irony. Maggie comments in an inner monologue that the last time she was here was to have a fling with a poetry professor. Just keep telling yourself that Maggie. So after breaking into Carl's apartment and eating more of his food, she proceeds to search for Carl's macaroni can. Now, I'm sure that the average reader realizes that Georgia couldn't have possibly meant a literal macaroni can, because that would have no relevance at all to Carl's death or what might have remotely led to it, let alone it being absolutely silly. But Maggie indeed begins to raid the food shelves, lamenting that all the macaroni was kept in boxes, not cans.

In her brilliance, Maggie makes the next logical assumption-Carl was referring to the song "Yankee Doodle Dandy", with mentioning putting a feather in ones cap and calling macaroni. You can tell that Maggie has been a cop and a detective for all these years with such stellar deductions of this clever riddle. Sadly, this postulation also proves to be wrong, as none of Carl's CDs are in any way related to that song.

Just as Maggie is about to give up, Carl's phone rings, and when she picks it up to answer, there is only heavy breathing, and then a hangup. So Maggie listens to Carl's answering machine, which contains messages from all of the secondary characters, including Anthony asking if there are any weedy looking lesbians around to boink, Jimmy saying that they need to talk, Rowlina hating the world, Connie asking Carl to come to her church, and Leo Getty continuing to talk like a spazz bucket. Maggie is so moved, she steals Carl's answering machine. Because that's what crime scene investigation is all about-tampering with and moving evidence without permission.

However, on her way home from the married student housing, Maggie's car is tailed by a compact sedan. So after a quick round of chasing each other around the Stonewall bar (a gay bar of course, because Maggie Gale would never associate with any establishment that isn't stonking gay, even in a car chase), Maggie somehow manages to lose it. A mysterious call and a brush with being stalked. This is all very exciting, and the danger is clearly mounting around Maggie Gale's perilous life. So after a tense and adrenaline pumping scene, we are treated to a whole page dedicated to nothing but Maggie Gale narrating her exercise routine before she goes to bed. Wonderful writing Liz Bradbury. Truly beautiful.

The next day, Maggie Gale starts to fiddle around with the Voice Transcription Program that she stole from Carl's office. It's as complex to get to work as it sounds, so Maggie gives up for awhile and heads off to Carl's old high school, the one he went to after he got kicked out of the one Leo Getty mentioned. The president of the high school pretty much confirms what we already know-Carl is an awesome kid, really sweet, gets good grades, a good musician, and one who wouldn't suddenly go Bohemian Rhapsody style. All and all, not someone who'd hate themselves for being blind or gay. But then that president drops the bomb of the reason Carl got kicked out of his old school: he got caught kissing a dude under the bleachers.

Upon hearing this, Maggie Gale bursts out into laughter. Because as you know, homophobia is naughty and bad, so whoever would thrown him out must have been either a conservative or a douchebag. And so the president goes on about how evil religious colleges are and they can do awful and inhumane things that a public school could ever do, and wondering why Amnesty International isn't on them. So after getting her information, Maggie Gale continues onward. Logic dictates that it would be a good idea to go to the real old college to try to get more information on who got Carl kicked out and if they still have any association with him, but that would mean needing to associate with those people, and that's simply not how Maggie Gale flies.

But she does make the hideous mistake of going to talk to Carl's family, and that leads to the most wildly entertaining portrayal of heterosexuals I have ever seen. Now, I've already mentioned the term "breeders", but I think that it may fly over one or two of your heads. A breeder is a derogatory term in the gay community referring to heterosexuals, especially heterosexuals who have traditional families. Basically, any straight couple that gets married, has two kids, lives a family-oriented middle-class lifestyle or aspires to, that sort of thing. It's been estimated this sentiment came from a backlash after a lot of conservatives used the argument that only heterosexual sex produces offspring, and is thus more "valid" than homosexuality. This term is never explicitly used in the book, but man, the implications are there and proud.

So we meet Carl's sister, Eileen Crenshaw, which is already a name that feels like a steel comb being shoved up your backside. She is introduced wearing a pink Care Bear jumpsuit, a three-year-old hanging of her leg, and owning one of those universally annoying vaguely defined yipping dogs. And of course, the minute Maggie Gale sits her down to talk, she laments how Carl wanted to be different and how he got all the breaks. And how he could have avoided getting thrown out, but nooooo, he was a true gay and was crazy out of the closet. And of course, she's furious that she was out of his will and that all of his possessions and finances would go to Rainbow Youth Symphony (bet you can't guess which community they take their kids from), so she begins her evil ploy to try to get the money to continue her degenerate heterosexual lifestyle. Man, whenever I read Eileen's lines, I imagine her voice sounds like a cross between Fran Fine from The Nanny and Libby Chessler from Sabrina the Teenage Witch.

Then she goes off to see Carl's brother, Kevin Rasmus. What a surprise, he's not even home to talk to her. But his saintly wife Janie is home to talk to Maggie, as she spills that she's eventually going to become his saintly ex-wife. She reveals that the ultimate tragic flaw in life was not a lack of confidence in their own talents or being selfish or losing control of their dreams or not pushing themselves to their full potential, it's because they were taught that it's bad to be gay, and along came Carl, who was gay, and of course, completely awesome. It didn't help that their mother supported him (which makes me wonder where they learned being gay was bad. Their father? Figures) and since they refused to change their ways, their homophobia turned into a poison that eeked into their entire lives and sent them on a downward spiral to failure. And that slight pain you may feel in your neck right now is the weight of a moral the size of a semi being dropped on your head.

Janie, however, is very aware that Carl was a demigod among men, and condemns her husband and his sister and his sister's husband for being the cruel, spineless antigays that they are. So she knew that her husband and his family were totally evil, but she still married the guy? Why is ever heterosexual married woman making such abysmal choices in men in this story? First Miranda, and now Janie. Rowlina's marriage life goes sour later too, so the implications just get uglier and uglier. She suggests that Maggie talk to Barbara Getty next door, who was married to Leo Getty before they got a divorce (of course), but Maggie has bigger plans. It's time to accomplish the task she was born to do-get up Anthony's skirt.

So after getting lost in the admissions building, Maggie Gale makes it to Anthony's office, and while Anthony makes the smart move of ignore her sorry ass, Maggie proceeds to oggle her and sap her beat-up polo shirt with drool. Again, Anthony is crazy gay like everyone else in this story, so half of her office decor involves naked women making out, artistically of course. And of course, Maggie Gale approves.

However, Anthony can't ignore Maggies drooling loser charm for long, and eventually gives her an ear. Maggie Gale explained what happened, and while Anthony is sorry, she refuses Maggie's offer to talk more into the night, due to being stressed out, needing to use the laundromat, and being able to crack nuts on her muscle cramps. Maggie Gale offers to buy her dinner and wash her clothes at her place, and when Anthony continues to refuse, she offers her a massage. I don't know about you or anyone else, but when I've had a stressful day at work, the last thing I want is a horny yabbo giving me a rubdown. But Anthony, being the bit of tail she is, is instantly interested. And of course, Maggie glees.

The half smile was back. So was the voice tone I'd been longing to hear, a hint of a melodic humming growl before each sentence. If there was a Disney cartoon with a female panther, it would be Kathryn Anthony's voice they'd use.

Yes, because when I think of erotic voices, I automatically think of Disney films. It's true-Maggie Gale really does want to make your kids gay. Also note that this is the beginning of many, many unbearably wonderfully awful romantic lines. You can see how there's no way that Maggie can score with lines like

I think buttons are sexy.

And

She sounded wonderful and she was just talking to some guy about a grant or something. What would she sound like if she were talking about...

And

Before I could possibly know on an intellectual level, I knew in my soul it was Kathryn Anthony.

And of course, the fan favorite

"Yeah baby, you found the right bait for this panther."

And since Anthony is nothing but sex on legs, this also begins the tendency of everyone commenting about how drop dead hot she is, and I mean everyone. It sounds normal now, but trust me, it gets unbearable later. So Maggie dashes home to prepare for her date, and she runs into one of Mickey's lawyer's, Emma. Of course, Emma doesn't pester Maggie for pretty much flipping off her case. Instead she proclaims that that Maggie must have a date, and with a hot lady too. Yes, this is the first person to tell Maggie that Anthony is hot. Someone who doesn't even know her.

So Maggie pulls a quick queer-eye on her house, and then Anthony arrives, ready for a night of plot irrelevant lesbian tension. Goodie. Conveniently, the delivery boy also shows up, and Maggie Gale emphasizes that she's sure he's gay. But that's really something you should take with a grain of salt, because Maggie thinks everyone who isn't married and miserable is gay. And of course, as he leaves, he comments to Maggie that she's scored a total hottie. Yes, that's right, even the maybe gay delivery boy thinks Anthony is hot.

It only takes about two pages after Maggie gets Anthony in her apartment for them to be talking about gay things, by the way. From there they make excessively sterile conversation, like how Maggie pours tea, and something about the Mad Hatter, stuff you talk about with a business friend. Though to the book's defense, Anthony does get to tell a little about her past as a young graduate student who had to blow the whistle on a circle of professors who were pulling research fraud and plagiarism. In fact, we get a solid one and a half page of character from this girl. Granted, we have a whole twelve-page chapter dedicated to detailing the erotic massage of her body, so the valiant effort to give Anthony any sort of depth and complexity remains a valiant effort.

Maggie then discusses the case with Anthony, and it gives the two a good excuse to make caustic and degrading comments to all the suspects. Skylar's a weasel, Georgia's a dimwit, Rowlina is totally in the closet, and what they say about Bart is just abysmal. Anthony said the one time he was to pick her up, he kept doing really weird things, like not hearing a direct order to watch her bags and getting the wrong drink for her, you know, totally inexcusable crimes.

What's more, the more I hear what she's saying about him, the more I heavily suspect that Bart has some sort of mental health issue. It's not like he's stupid-he's already shown that he's genuinely trying to help her, and even she noted that he tried his best to start a friendly conversation with her, even if his words were complete jargon. In fact, a lot of the description of Bart is identical to the description of Mickey, the mentally handicapped man who Maggie is supposed to be trying to save.

What makes me the most uncomfortable is that all of these professors and presidents, many of which need to be trained to identify individuals with special needs or who may have mental or psychological problems don't even seem to notice any of this. They just sort of roll their eyes and think urgh, why did we end up with this loser who's got a legacy? This is only made doubly uncomfortable with the fact that one of the case's Maggie is still on is helping a mentally handicapped man, and is being played up as a sign of how noble and selfless she is for doing so. And she can't notice that Bart is displaying just as many symptoms of one with such a handicap, if not worse? Indeed, both she and Anthony will dehumanize him any chance they get? This is the only part of the book that slides out of campy territory and into offensive.

But none of this is important at all, and now we finally get to the part everyone's been waiting for, the super-hot massage and the not-really-that-hot sex. Of course, I love how Anthony undresses Maggie with her eyes on that one flirtalicious walk they took together, but the instant there's any chance of real sex, she goes "remember, this is just a massage, so no hanky panky mmkay?" Of course, this is Anthony, so the book plays the her-mouth-says-no-but-her-eyes-say-make-me thing. Nice, book. Maggie, despite this, completely respects Anthony's wishes, and makes sure to give a completely chaste and platonic massage, merely for the sake of releasing muscle tension and ha ha, who am I kidding, she's all but feeling the tramp up through the whole thing. At least the narration is...honest about it?

I traced the waistband of her jeans, acutely aware that her clothes were just plain in the way of the kind of more intimate massage I wanted to offer at the moment.

That's...uncomfortable.

She closed her eyes and her breathing slowed. I could see the muscles in her hips relax. I wondered if she was as wet as I was.

...ugh...um...

I was musing on the extraordinary advantages of having a left-handed lesbian lover. Really...think about it.

...wait what? What does that even mean? Does it...wait how...what I...I really don't get that. How does it make a difference whether your left or right handed? Is this like a hand holding thing? I mean it's not, it's not like...what?!

Well! Good on you Maggie. I'm certainly thinking about.

Now now, I know what you're thinking. Come on S-Type, this is just generic sexual coercion and consent violation! Every good mystery/romance/bad book has this! What makes this one any different? Well, glad you asked readers, because that's where this book's subtle satire comes in. Right in the middle of Maggie's creepy all-over body massage, she suddenly has a flashback back to her high school boyfriend. Because nothing says "I love you" like giving your girlfriend a massage while remembering that one time you were slobbering over some crater face in the back seats of the auditorium.

Massaging someones hands can be extremely intimate. Years ago, when I was in high school, I had a boyfriend who was a little older than I and who had a full-time job and a lot of disposable income. I was becoming aware of my true sexual orientation and not very interest in having sex with him, which was what he wanted to do all the time.

Instead we would go to the movies. Which was fine by me, I like movies. To keep him at bay, I'd hold his hand in my lap and trace pictures in his palm. It wasn't very taxing on me, but frankly, that kind of stimulation can be a direct conduit to areas below the belt. Much later he got in touch with me to say that he was still in love with me. Unfortunately for him I'd ben a confirmed and committed and contended lesbian for years. I really think it was the hand massage that made him remember me more than all the girls he'd slept with.

Wow, how many weird double-standards can we pick up from this story? Sexual aggression in men is petty and a sign of childishness and being easily led. But being a woman and straddling a chick who said she doesn't want sex and proceeding to do everything in your power to convince her otherwise in ways that aren't obvious enough to get you arrested? Totally a-okay. And that's not talking about all the generally sexist things about men this book has to say. In two paragraphs we establish that:

• Men claim that they want to have sex, but in actuality, all men want is an erotic handshake
• A lesbian who has no real interest in a man and does not want to satisfy him be it non-sexually or sexually is a superior romantic partner to all the women who do
• Whether you're straight like Miranda and Julie, or gay like Maggie, getting involved in any relationship with a man will, in one way or another, eventually prove to be a mistake

Wow. I'm getting queasy reading this. Jesus. Though if there's anything that perks me up reading this, it's the fact that Maggie didn't have the guts to do any more than give a guy a intimate palm reading. Your virginity's showing again, Mags.

Also, more unfortunate implications! Remember that one sedan that was chasing Maggie around after she broke into Carl's appartment? Turns out it was Anthony's car. Aaaaaw, Anthony was stalking Maggie out of jealous rage at being blown off for a lunch date. That's so cute! They really do love each other! If a guy like Shel Druckenmacher pulled a stunt like that, Maggie would have the cops on his ass in about five seconds, but since Anthony is a hot lipstick lesbian, it's adorable. Also, it turns out that their romantic walk at night? Another product of Anthony's stalking. D'aw. What does Anthony have to say about all this? Any sign of remorse? An apology for privacy violation?

She closed her hand on mine. It was just a light squeeze. "You win," she laughed softly.

Not yet, I thought.

BEST ROMANCE EVER

So in a twist as shocking as the sky being revealed to be blue, Anthony totally caves and wants sex. Normally I'd warn that I can't give details because I vowed this blog wouldn't have adult content (I use "adult" in the loosest terms imaginable for these two), but the book already does that for me. I think my girlfriend put it best when she described the romantic scenes as someone trying to paint a room with one hand covering their eyes.

Though I will say I loved how the plugged safe sex in the first few paragraphs, and insisted that it was just as romantic and awesome as without, but then they're like "oh by the way, we've both been tested and we're clean, so yeah, no more of that". I can't help but be reminded of all those nineties cartoons when the main characters would be beating the crap out of each other with guns and magic powers and stuff, then there'd be a one-minute lesson after the show where they'd address the audience to be safe and do things like brush your teeth and not climb into washer/driers. And yet again. All those lesbian flings and no STIs Maggie? Totally probable. You are NOT a virgin, we get it.

Also, after having sex, Maggie's personality does a 180, and even though she expressed no interest in Anthony besides getting into her pants, she suddenly is madly in love with her and wants nothing more than to be with her forever. Because that's a good message-coerced sex leads to happy relationships, and if you let your boy/girlfriend sleep with you, they'll totally be committed to you for the long term. A-yup. And thanks to it, we have even more awful romantic one-liners!

It happens that way sometimes, after a long period alone. That huge rush of release can bring uncontrollable tears.

Because it's been awhile. Mmm. Of course.

She was so beautiful I could barely believe she was lying next to me.

I bet.

She touched my face softly, "Oh Maggie, I've just found you and the thought of losing you..."

Seriously, this is unbelievable. They've spoken face to face for about three hours, they have one night of sex, and suddenly BAM instant relationship. And if you think that's the worst of it, oh my friends, you are so wrong. Because now we've entered chapter twenty-eight of the book, easily the most hideous literary chapter I have read in my entire life. Part of the reason is because this is the chapter we meet goddamned Sara, Maggie's adopted sister. And yes, like everyone else in this book, Sara is gay, probably gayer than Maggie. If you thought Maggie's idea of a healthy sex life was warped, you haven't met Sara.

While Anthony is in the shower, Sara calls up Maggie and wants all the gory details of their night out. Uncomfortable, but you know, girl talk. Then when Kathryn bolts outside to pick up donuts wearing nothing but a button down shirt, Sara is spying on them on a closed circuit television, and she starts hooting like a drunken frat boy. Creepy, yes, douchebaggy, yes, but still not the worst of it. The worst is that Maggie actually needed to erase the DVD from the security recording the night she was getting it on with Anthony, because the minute Sara comes upstairs to see her, she tries to steal it.

Okay. Whoa. I don't care if my brother was simultaneousness dating Megan Fox, Johnathan Rhys Meyers, Tifa, the entire American Olympic Male Swim Team, and Venus herself. I would still break his twig arms before he could even suggest that I'd ever want video footage of him getting horizontal. Probably even more so seeing that lineup. Eargh.

I went on, but with hesitation. "I...I...will you have dinner with me tonight? is it too, lesbian relationship overkill?"

Wait whoa, so a night of non-stop sex is less embarrassing to ask for then having an actual date for dinner with a chick? What plane of reality do you operate on Maggie? I think you don't quite get how the progression of human intimacy works.

So the two all begin talking, and Sara begins creepily hitting on Anthony in a way that makes me wonder if she's eventually going to try to talk her and Maggie into a threesome. Also, you know those mainstream TV shows that try to write conversations between teenage girls, but most TV writers are middle-aged men and thus have no idea what they would discuss? So said fictional teenage girls will probably talk about shallow and heavily abridged versions of what a girl would actually talk about, like who's hot and makeup? Imagine something like that, only for lesbians. They're conversation pretty much breaks down to:

Sara: So how gay are you Anthony?

Anthony: Crazy gay. Love me some girlbits.

Sara: I like girls too! Wow! You like girls too, right Maggie?

Maggie: Oh you bet I do.

Sara: It's awesome to be gay!

Anthony: Isn't it?

Maggie: Ha, sex with women.

Sara: Same-sex marriage and coming out stories!

Everyone: lol yeah

Maggie appologizes to Anthony for her disgusting abomination of the human genome Sera, and Anthony comments that it's alright. Apparently she has a twin brother, who she also assures is gay, so she understands. Wow, how statistically improbable.

So FINALLY, after all that, we're allowed to get back to the plot. Lucky us. Maggie goes off to interview Bart, and continues to inner monologue about what an inept idiot he is. Just getting out of the hospital and being on heavy pain medication is no excuse for being in a daze Bart! Anyway, it turns out he's being helped out by his friend Nancy, who's so kind and puts up with Bart that Maggie insists he should marry her before its too late. Yeah, because every marriage works out so swingingly in this story.

Bart of course can't provide any information because he was overwhelmed by the people there and had a severe memory blackout of the actual explosion (again, symptoms pretty much identical to Mickey and totally not any sign of a mental disorder). Maggie gets frustrated, as does Nancy, so as she leaves, she hopes that Nancy isn't putting all her hopes on a married future on Bart.

What if your best prospect was Bart Edgar? I frequently thank my lucky stars I'm a lesbian.

What if my ideal partner was Maggie Gale? I frequently thank my lucky stars I'm not the author of this book.

So Maggie calls both Miranda ad Max to ask them questions, and after general goofing around, she decides it's time to call up Connie Robinson to talk to her about the case. The book's pendulum of mockery that swings between conservatives and breeders has once again landed on conservatives. The number Miranda gives Maggie is Connie's home number, so its Connie's mother that answers. Pretty much the only thing she says is that the homeless shelter Connie works at is a den of sin, Connie's a scrawny weakling that has no friends, and that if Connie doesn't answer to her, she's a heathen. Wow, I am totally shipping Connie's Mom and Druckenmacher now. They're generic offensiveness compliments each other so perfectly.

At the homeless shelter, what a surprise, Maggie runs into Druckenmacher, who commits the first reasonable act he's done in the entire book and fires up a loogie to hack on her. Maggie quickly moves on (sigh), and meets Connie in the back room where she's washing dishes.

And here we see why Connie is easily the best written character in the book. I know I gushed at how awesome Rowlina was, and she is, but of all the characters, Connie is easily my favorite. She's the only person who's genuinely good in this entire story. She's volunteering her time at a non-Christian homeless shelter, even though we've already seen that her mom in her generic horribleness rejects her choice, and she's twenty years old and working full time job on top of it. Dang man, and here I spend my free time writing a snarky blog.

She eventually reveals to Maggie that's she's troubled, because her pastor read an article about Carl being gay, and so he tells Connie to bring him in to make him stop. Connie, naturally, is a little freaked out by this, so she's sent into a troubling spiral of how to negotiate her beliefs and her feelings that Carl isn't a bad guy and she can't think of any good reason for someone to stop being gay. Also, she's struggling with the loss of her friend Daria Webster, the woman whose murder Mickey is falsely accused of committing, and thus is dealing with her loss and now having no one to talk to. Finally, she eventually spills that she messed up the drink orders before the bottle bomb exploded, so she wasn't sure if by messing up the drink order, she was somehow responsible for the bomb. So when she was talking to the police, she panicked and lied to them, and afterwards is consumed with guilt.

See, this is why I like Connie. Liz Bradbury has accidentally tripped on how you make a good character. An amateur writer things that in order for an audience to love a character, you need to make a character that is infallible, which isn't true at all. Connie isn't a flawless action hero or paragon of wisdom and intelligence, she's just an earnest young woman who wants to do good and who's trying her hardest to do so, to varying degrees of success. Her flaws are realistic, she has internal conflicts that she's struggling with, and, here's a shocker, she has problems outside of sexuality. Additionally, she does try to learn and grow and develop as a human being, and despite being weighed down these worries, she summons the courage to speak out and try to change. She's the closest anyone in the cast comes to being a real human being; she makes mistakes, she doesn't have the answers, but she's still sympathetic. And that's why I like her.

Of course, Maggie Gale, being Jesus, easily solves Connie's internal problems with a flick of her mighty wrist. Hand over the names of some liberal churches, let her vent, pat her on the back, problems solved. However, Connie mentions there's one more problem-apparently she picked a really, really bad person to confess her guilt to. She decided it would be a good idea to discuss her problems with Shel Druckenmacher. Because he asked about Miranda, and he seemed very nice (beg your pardon?). So surprise surprise, Druckenmacher is threatening to tell on her to the police unless she gives him a blow, and when Connie refused, he told her to give her money insted, and now rubs his privates every time she passes him by. What a dreamboat.

So Maggie talks to the director of the shelter, who says that he hates Druckenmacher and that he's been fired for weeks, that there's three reports of him selling drugs, but, get this, they still can't throw him out. The guy's jerking off every time a twenty-year-old girl passes him by, and that's still not enough to pound him into the pavement? Wow, sign me up for volunteering. The director does concede that he can be expelled if he gets into a fight, and nobody starts dunking brawls like Maggie Gale.

So she calls Druckenmacker over, who of course is hammered up and down, and pretty much all but calls him a chicken and starts flapping her elbows up and down. Druckenmacher, being a drunken macker, takes the bait and punches her. A gasp echoes through the crowd, as Maggie walks over, trips him, and sends him to the floor. Druckenmacker is still in a drunken rage despite being easily outnumbered, so he pulls out a knife (toting around a knife, yep, definitely won't get you thrown out of a homeless shelter) and attacks Maggie. But Maggie, get this, does a karate spin kick, knocks the knife out of his hands, and breaks three of his fingers in the process. Oh man, I was hooting with laughter when I was reading that. I mean, Maggie was too much already; Kung-Fu Action Maggie is just comedic gold.

After all this, Maggie finally confronts Miranda on why she could have married such an obvious asshat of a man. Apparently, he'd been contacting both Miranda and her children for money, and the reason Miranda didn't send him to court was...because he wasn't the father of his son, Enrique. What? That's it? That's the whole linchpin of this entire abusive relationship? Not complex emotional scaring or dealing with what you thought was genuine love being broken, but because you feel guilty about a shotgun wedding? And what's the logic behind that even? Can you imagine how breaking that to your kids would be?

Miranda: Children, I have something I want to tell you. I love you both so much, and you have to believe I never wanted to hurt you or deprive you of any of the good things in the world that you deserve. And no mater what, know what I'm about to say isn't going to change how much I care about any of you. Awhile ago, I made a terrible mistake. Enrique, Shel isn't your real father.

Enrique: Oh, SWEET! Now I can actually have kids! Holy crap, I need to call my wife right now, get all the buddies together, oi, Ma, you're coming with me! I'm buying you a drink! Hell, I'm buying you ten drinks! You know what, I'm buying you ten drinks and a rent boy!

Daughter: Frigging A.

And that concludes part two of Angel Food and Devil Dogs. You'd think, surely after that, there's no way I could possibly have enough material to criticize. Oh my friends, you couldn't be more wrong. We have yet to read the thrilling conclusion of our story! Next up, we have another attempted murder (but it's a chick, so naturally, they live), what not to say when you walk in on someone, and a pro-gay message that makes everything we've read thus far look subtle and believable. Who killed Daria Webster and Carl Rasmus (the answer is so obvious that it may surprise you)? What shocking secrets will be revealed, and ignored, at Carl's memorial? Seriously, when the hell are we going to have a well-written guy in this mess?

Stay tuned for the exceptionally average conclusion of Angel Food and Devil Dogs. But first, a little something to help cleanse your brain.

_{Angel Food and Devil Dogs Copyright 2008 by Liz Bradbury. All rights reserved. For more information, visit Liz Bradbury's website at http://www.lizbradbury.boudicapublishing.com}