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trin 's review for:
Assisted Loving: True Tales of Double Dating with My Dad
by Bob Morris
I have two questions for Bob Morris. One: how did you feel when you learned that your book, on which I’m sure you worked pretty hard, was being published with the most soul-scarring, eye-bleaching cover I’ve ever seen outside of the horror section? And two: would you like a little cheese with that whine? Man. If you ignore the SCARY SCARY cover, this book’s sole selling point is that it’s supposed to be a funny account of, and I quote, “double dating with my dad.” Well, it’s not funny, and while widowed father and gay son are both searching for love, they never double date. They just complain. A lot. And at great, great length.
This was like one of those endless, obligatory meals with relatives you don’t much like. You know the kind: the ones where at the end, everyone decides to skip dessert. Gah. Check, please!
This was like one of those endless, obligatory meals with relatives you don’t much like. You know the kind: the ones where at the end, everyone decides to skip dessert. Gah. Check, please!