Oh Mr Robbins, Seattle's own female diety worshipping closet lesbian; inventor of some of the finest characters to grace the pages of literature, from Switters the walking (pun intended) contradiction to the philosophising tin of beans; Oh Tom Robbins, spinner of tales of madness, enlightenment and bizarre magical poetry; pensmith extrodinaire, mushroom addled genius - why the hell did you bother to write this book?
Get back on the pad and let's not have anymore tales about 8 year old girls and beer fairies. Please.