The Mile High Club Paperback – Sep 1 2001
|New from||Used from|
Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought
To get the free app, enter your e-mail address or mobile phone number.
What do you call someone who refers to any given objet as a "dingus," takes calls on a "blower," takes a "Nixon" rather than moving his bowels, and uses "ankles" as a verb? Try Kinky "Big Dick" Friedman, the fictional star of The Mile High Club, 1999's Spanking Watson, and 11 earlier amateur detective novels by the real-life musician-turned-novelist Kinky Friedman. As The Mile High Club opens, the Kinkster is holding forth with his gorgeous Middle Eastern seatmate, Khadija, on a flight from Dallas to New York City. As the plane begins its landing approach, Khadija rises to visit the loo, neither returning to her seat nor deplaning with the rest of the passengers. And Kinky's left holding her bag.
Unable to reach her and intrigued by several callers claiming that they, in fact, had Khadija's bag, Kinky and his real private-eye friend, Rambam, (Rambam, writer Mike McGovern and the Watson-like Ratso are the series's "Village Irregulars") jimmy open the bag to find, among other things, a vibrator.
"It has three gears apparently."
"Does it have four-wheel drive?"
"We have some slinky black lace panties, stockings, and lingerie."
"Many terrorists shop at Victoria's Secret."
"We have men's socks, undershirts, underwear."
"Boxers or briefs?"
"Extremely brief briefs. Khadija may be a little kinky. Pardon the expression."
"If that's all that's in there, what's the big fuss about? That's pretty much standard contents for most carryon luggage when the final destination is the Village."
"Yes, but they don't all include this," said Rambam, holding up a large plastic Baggie full of enough passports to make a customs agent put in for overtime.
And so it jauntily goes until its nifty surprise ending. Here, as in earlier cases, the plot is marginal and intentionally laughable. It's the straight man, really, enabling Kinky's well-done paeans to Sherlock Holmes, Dashiell Hammett, and Raymond Chandler, his three-page dissertations on outdoor urination, ruminations on Talmudic proscriptions against indoor nail-clipping, and, most appreciably, his obvious facility and fascination with the language. --Michael Hudson --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.
From Publishers Weekly
Aficionados of the Kinkster and his gang of Village Irregulars are in for another round of hilarious hijinks. On a plane from Texas to New York, the intrepid detective/humorist/musician agrees to keep an eye on the little pink suitcase of his seatmate, the exotic Khadija Kejela, when she excuses herself to go to the bathroom. She never returns. After the plane lands in New York, Kinky gets a call from Khadija about the suitcase, which he's taken with him, but she doesn't show up to claim it. Curious about the contents, Kinky and his PI pal, Rambam, force open the suitcase and find a plastic bag full of fake passports for possible Middle Eastern terrorists. Realizing that both he and Rambam may be in danger, Kinky rounds up his old friends Ratso and McGovern to help figure out what's going on. Mayhem ensues. This is guy territory, albeit Greenwich Village '60s style. When necessary, Kinky takes cover with his bottle of Jameson's, a couple of Monte Cristos (preferably No. 2), his espresso machine and his long-suffering cat, whose litter box becomes the hiding place for the passports. Sometime girlfriend Stephanie DuPont adds to the chaos. As usual, the mystery at hand counts for less than the time spent in Kinky's company. The fun is in the ba-da-boom dialogue and the throwaway references. Occasional lyrical passages amidst the raunch surprise and please. The resolution may not convince entirely, but Friedman fans will be too busy laughing to notice. (Sept.)
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.
Inside This Book(Learn More)
Browse and search another edition of this book.
Top Customer Reviews
You're probably beginning to get the idea that this book has some humorous overtones. That's putting it mildly. I suspect my family might have been wondering about my sanity watching me mow the lawn laughing out loud listening to this hysterical romp.
The story gets under way when Kinky gets stuck with a little pink valise left in the airplane seat next to him by a very attractive woman. She leaves for the lavatory just before landing, and to Kinky's consternation, never is seen leaving the plane. He collects the little bag and the woman's suitcase assuming that she will call him getting his number from the business card that he had given her during the course of their conversation.
It turns out that many people are interested in the valise. Kinky can't bear not to peek inside and he discovers several illegal passports obviously intended for use by persons of less than high moral character, e.g., international terrorists. Soon the State Department, the Mossad, and Arab terrorists are all trying to find the passports. The opposition knows the passports must still be in his apartment because, as Kinky and his friends discover, a miniature transmitter was hidden in one of them. Kinky decides to hide them in the only place he know no one would think to look: his cat's litter box. Scatological remarks abound.
The book is filled with double entendres and puns.Read more ›
Here Kinky's life is disrupted by a fellow air traveller, on a plane with him from Dallas to NY, who disappears after entrusting a small pink suitcase to our cigar-chomping hero. Kinky keeps the suitcase after not being able to spot Khadija among the swarm of passengers disembarking at LaGuardia Airport, and lo and behold we later learn that it contains a bag full of phony passports. As usual in Kinky's novels, his buddy Rambam does all the meaningful legwork and essentially solves everything, with a nice surprising twist here and there which I will not give away of course.
Along the way, we are treated to Kinky's patented observations about everything from Howard Hughes (who didn't trim his toenails or fingernails for the last few years of his life, but who found the time to watch Ice Station Zebra hundreds of times) to Texans' willingness to urinate in public. I read more than I wanted to about cat turds and litterboxes, but since the litterbox played a role in the novel I can't complain that much. Overall, I think this novel represents Kinky in peak form, with an actual story to tell, punctuated by his unmistakeable irreverance.
Not that Kinky's work was ever of low quality - but even good authors can improve. And indeed, Kinky seems to be interested in honing his craft. The little asides and ancillary information he injects prove that the cowboy hat he dons holds a bigger brain than most with that particular style. No, he's no William Faulkner, but then, he probably doesn't want to be.
Smart, funny, openly and intentionally offensive. Kinky's books are becoming the model for humor in the new century.
With its Beat standpoint (or, rather, perspective, for surely no self-respecting bohemian would stand where they could recline) on terrorists vs. the State Dept. vs. every other major official power in the face of sexual adversity, MHC is Kinky's singular, grooviest, pageturningest, most cat-poo infected, seedy extravaganza yet. With great giggly hauter, I give this book two shots of Jameson's (up) and a complimentary crate of airline peanuts.
Most recent customer reviews
I wish I had known about him sooner. Kinky's cynicism is charming and I just can't believe some of the things he comes up with, it's truly unique. Read morePublished on May 25 2004 by jewelsinsd
I got hooked on the series a few years ago with "A Case of Lone Star." I have read every one since and love them - Kinky, please keep writing. Read morePublished on March 10 2003 by Dom Miliano
To sum it up bluntly, this is the worst book I have ever read.
I made it about halfway through but it was so bad I threw it in the trash. Read more
I read Kinky Friedman mysteries not for plot but for the fresh, raunchy, philosophical whirlpools along the way. Read morePublished on Oct. 14 2002 by C. Morgan Hunt
The world is full of two kinds of people: people who "get" what Kinky is, and people who don't. Just read some of the reviews. Read morePublished on Sept. 12 2002 by Annie_Xmas
i found Kinky's work was boring. i waited for something to really happen. Blower was dumb,take a nixon was not funny and a few other goofy sayings trying to be funny but not... Read morePublished on April 28 2002 by anthony sanchez
Kinky Freedman always gives you a fast paced enjoyable read.
I prefered some of his earlier works 'Musical Chairs' and 'Frequent Flier' to this one. Read more
This is one of my favorite reads by the Kinkster and, as with so many others, it was just too short. Read morePublished on Oct. 4 2001 by Ellen C. Falkenberry
I highly recommend this book for anyone who wants to read a lot about cat poop.Published on June 12 2001