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4.0étoiles sur 5
Fine entry in the Kinster's mystery files..., Janv. 7 2004
Elvis, Jesus and Coca-Cola might possibly be the least imaginative of the plot lines in the Kinky mysteries (at least up to that point). It involves two of Kinky's lady friends, cleverly dubbed Uptown Judy and Downtown Judy, who are unaware of the other's existence until one of them is killed and the Village Irregulars pounce on the case.For fans of the series, however, the plot lines are secondary to the humorous anectodes of our hero and the everyday situations that he finds himself. Kinky's friends are all featured extensively throughout the novel, which results in a number of hilarious boozy gatherings in various bars, restaurants and a gay burlesque theatre. The infighting between Ratso, Rambam, McGovern, Brennan and Kinky's new neighbor and her two yapping dogs make up for any shortcomings in the detective yarn. I always seem to read these out of sequence, but I remember this as one of the last great entries in the series. Soon, Friedman would start resorting to new twists (including a trip to Hawaii that would make the Brady Bunch writers cringe). These books are always the best when it's Kinky and his friends drunkenly stumbling through a new case, snapping off one-liners and stories from Kinky's Texas roots and days as a country singer. Good stuff.
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4.0étoiles sur 5
Funny as ever, Aoû 27 2000
I have read 4 of Kinkys books in the past few months, no one is better than the other, they all include very interesting characters and come bundled together with laughs a plenty. Kinky has a wonderful habit of making the extraordinary seem very ordinary, and he gives the ordinary an added twist of the extraordinary. This book is really harmless, and it is an easy read. As it is so laid back I found myself drifting and missing key moments but it really is a wonderful book for any depressed person who needs a laugh and a new outlook.
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5.0étoiles sur 5
Well what do you expect? ? ?, Juil 10 2000
If you pick up a book of a shelf, like I did, and find a title so compulsive as Elvis, Jesus and Coca-cola, like I did, that you just had to buy the Jesus thing to Jesus read it, like I did, then you're probably not looking for the 'great American novel' are you?. Let's face it, you want trash- compulsive, in your face politically incorrect post-modern alcoholic cigar stained trash. The guy is a Texan Oliver Reed pronounced in New York Hebrew, the antidote to the Woody Allen vision of the nerdy Jew. 'Down town Judy' for instance, didn't know she was called 'Down town Judy' because she didn't know there was an 'Uptown Judy' - I mean, don't you just love the rogue? , But hey, something is not quite right here is it Kinkster fans? As anyone who has read the eplilogue of this will know a certain character in the book is now lamentedly paws upwards wearing a baseball sweater. However, we are in this book introduced to a most delighfully propotioned figure with thighs all the way up to her characature, who arrives on the scene with two yappy little freinds that really are only good for wiping your windsheild with. In 'Spanking Watson' however, (a later book I think) the whiskered republican is still skulking between the two red telephones while the walking window wipes appear as old enemies together with their entirely more attractive and now familiar mistress. Now Kinkster, be real, tell us. Is chaiman Meow tucking in the great tuna salad in the sky or were the rumours of demise, shall we say-premature? It would'nt be the first time would it?
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