The Thousands

I genuinely don’t like to call shit on other people’s work. It’s like Neil Young sings in ‘Ambulance Blues’, So all you critics sit alone / you’re no better than me for what you’ve shown. And I wholeheartedly concur… even though that song totally sucks dogs balls (kidding). Seriously though, I see no value in criticising what other people create. After all, who’s to say what sucks and what don’t?

Having said that, I have to tell you right now that Klaus Kinski’s autobiography KINSKI UNCUT is by far the biggest steaming clump of horse-shit I have ever had the misfortune of reading in my entire life. It’s completely preposterous and I’ll tell you why: he has sex with someone on every single page! I’m not exaggerating! Without fail, on every page of the book, he indiscriminately bangs some woman in ‘the bushes’.**It is so profoundly absurd, so supernaturally ridiculous a memoir that you actually can’t stop reading. That’s the worst part; you’ll finish it. Your eyes will drink up every last word until finally you turn that last page and realise you’ve been robbed, robbed by a dead lunatic with a zipper for a mouth.