Tenth of December - George Saunders

Joe Pesci help me I’ve discovered George Saunders. Now that the fall semester is over and teaching the Psych class is done and the holidays are passed, I can get back to reading on my lunch.

Enter The Tenth of December by Saunders. Uproarious. Sitting at my desk in tears from laughing so hard. It is like a little mixture of George Carlin and Woody Allen all literaryish. 

Alas, my library only has this one so I’ve got to wait for my next Saunders fix. Some bits from Tenth. 

Al Roosten

He believed they preferred to be called “homeless.” Hadn’t he read that? “Hobo” being derogatory? Jesus, that took nerve. Guy never works a day in his life, just goes around stealing pies off windowsills, then starts yelping about his rights? He’d like to walk up to a homeless and call him a hobo. He’d do it too, he would, he’d grab that damn hobo by the collar and go, Hey, hobo, you’re ruining my business. I’ve missed my rent for two months in a row. Go back to the foreign country you probably—
                He just really hated those beggars walking past his shop with their crude signs. Couldn’t they at least spell right? Yesterday one had walked by with a sign that said, PLEASE HELP HOMLESS. He’d felt like shouting, Hey, sorry you lost your hom! They spent enough time under that viaduct, couldn’t they at least proofread each other’s—

In Escape from Spiderhead, apparent wrongdoers are part of drug experiments to make amends. Jeff was given a drug that made him fall immediately in love and have sex with three women who were also given the drug – all in one day. He had sex with each woman three times. One upshot, but not the whole upshot, no spoiler alert needed, is that the experimenters think they have a drug to create love. This exchange:

                “Well, it’s a lot to sort thought,” he said. “Luckily, it’s night. Our day is done. Anything else you want to talk about? Anything else you’re feeling?”
                “My penis is sore,” I said.
                “Well, no surprise there,” he said. “Think how those girls must feel.” I’ll send Verlaine in with some cream.”
                Soon Verlaine came in with some cream.
                “Hi, Verlaine,” I said.
                “Hi Jeff, he said. “You want to put this on yourself or you want me to do it?”
                “I’ll do it,” I said.
                “Cool,” he said.
                “Looks painful,” he said.
                “It really is,” I said.
                “Must have felt pretty good at the time, though?” he said.
                His words seemed to be saying he was envious, but I could see in his eyes, as they looked at my penis, that he wasn’t envious at all.
                Then I slept the sleep of the dead.
                As they say.