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Amidst disillusioned saints hiding in wrestling rings, mothers burnt by glowing halos, and a Baby Nostradamus who sees only blackness, a gang of flower pickers heads off to war, led by a lonely man who cannot help but wet his bed in sadness. Part memoir, part lies, this is a book about the wounds inflicted by first love and sharp objects.

Online reviewer Amani concluded: "There should be more books like it around."

Online reviewer juicydicksalinger summarized: "The sheer creativity put into this book is amazing, but the ideas are cluttered."

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