I went to work with a copy of "King of the Perverts," by Steve Lowe with the expectation of actually doing my job. Before the story begins, the author's wife, Michele Lowe, gives us a precursory warning to the contents of the "book," which is a good sign in my opinion.
Honestly, I only intended on reading a few pages, but Lowe had me choking on laughter and burning through the pages. Before I knew it, the book was finished and it was time to go to work. Or so I thought.
Instead, I went ahead and picked up another of Steve Lowe's titles "Mio Padre, il Tumore," not because I hate my job, but because I love the writing style. Lowe scoops you up with a handful of simple words and carries you off to his world, however perversely insightful that may be, and brings you back with a face splitting post sex smile that will have your boss thinking you actually enjoy your job.
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