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The excerpt below from chapter one of the book is available at publisher's web site, and should give you a flavor of the thing.
For some additional lulz, here's the completely absurd promo for the book: ELEPHANT LOVE TIGER ATTACK EELS LEADER WRITES BOOK (yes, that's the official promo!)
Chapter One
Summer of Love
I WAS DRIVING THROUGH THE PITCH BLACK VIRGINIA night, down the perfectly flat blacktop that was once a railroad track, across that high bridge over the ravine, thinking about the details of how one night I was going to drive off it. I was sure Iââ¬â¢d never live to the age of eighteen, so I never bothered making any plans for the future. Eighteen had come and gone a year ago, but I was still breathing. And things were only getting worse.
The summer of 1982. That disgusting, sticky, humid weather where your back soaks through your shirt just from taking a short drive. By midsummer everything was a mess. My sister Lizââ¬â¢s boyfriend flipped out in our kitchen one night and attacked me with a butcher knife. Soon after, Liz tried to kill herself for the first of many times. Swallowed a bunch of pills. Her heart stopped the moment we got her to the hospital, but they were able to revive her.
Pretty soon after that, Liz and my mom went out of town to visit relatives and I found my fatherââ¬â¢s dead body lying there sideways on my parentsââ¬â¢ bed, fully dressed in his usual shirt and tie, with his feet almost on the floor, like he just sat down to die at fifty-one. I tried to learn CPR from the 911 operator on the phone, carrying my fatherââ¬â¢s already-stiff body across the bedroom floor. It was weird touching him. That was the first time we had any physical contact that I could remember, other than the occasional cigarette burn on my arm while squeezing by him in the hallway.
...
Now, there are different ways I can go about this. I could do it kind of "poetic" for you. Like this:
"As I stood there on the porch I noticed the pungent smell of fresh-cut grass and I could hear the faint hum of lawn mowers all over the neighborhood. The air-conditioning poured out on me as I waited. Finally, Mary came down. I never made it inside. She broke up with me right there. I walked home with the cicadas singing, oblivious to my pain."
Or I could turn it up a notch and get really flowery for you. Like this:
"In the distance I could hear the faint hum of lawn mowers. Golden, waxen-chested boys, sweating in the sun, a last experience with genuine physical labor before they bundle duffel bags and ship off to Yale or Brown. I could hear Maryââ¬â¢s footsteps on the stairs, she hesitates. I notice a cricketââ¬âno, itââ¬â¢s a grasshopperââ¬âat my shoe. I donââ¬â¢t know how Mary feels about me, but this little one sees me for who I really am. We connect for a moment and he hops away. Iââ¬â¢m alone now. Mary appears. Sheââ¬â¢s going to break up with me, I can see it on her face. Sheââ¬â¢s going to take the unbridled and wholly unconditional love Iââ¬â¢ve offered her and throw it to the ground, shattering it into thousands of tiny, useless shards. I steady myself. I steady myself. (Chapter end.)"
Or I could just be straight with you. Like this:
"One day in July I went over to Maryââ¬â¢s house to hang out for a while. She answered the door but I never even made it inside. She broke up with me on the front porch."
I donââ¬â¢t want to waste your time with the flowery shit, so, out of respect for you, gentle reader, Iââ¬â¢m going to stick with the direct approach.