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on 30 October 2013
I love this book. Such deep, maddening despair interspersed with grim laughter really puts life into perspective. Boyle provides a better summation of modern society in these few chapters than any I've seen. One day we will just be remembered as the people who lived during the oil wars and I hope that this is the only book to survive the inevitable decline of man. Hopefully the ones that come after will find this book and worship a ginger, bespectacled Glaswegian as a morbid deity.
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on 30 October 2013
Having read the first two books from Frankie, I was fearful that his third opus Scotland's Jesus would go the way of so many other threequels e.g. Matrix Revolutions, Rambo III, Prisoner of Azkaban and so on. Frankie's use of forbidden knowledge has seen him compared by people such as me to HP Lovecraft and categorically despised by the BBC and for no good reason. Frankie's curiosity to push the proverbial limits of comedy here has left him being "the Outsider', a Lovecraftian theme bestowed upon those who are not asked back to Mock the Week after carrying their show for seven years. Frankie manages to leave the reader with a notion of laughter and also sadness at how terrible and corrupt the world has become. Like Bill Hicks and George Carlin and even HP Lovecraft, we may not have seen the best of what Frankie has to offer yet and unlike everything else in pop culture, true comedic genius is achieved in the autumn years of his life, which this book may have caused this epoch to be in effect.
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on 1 March 2014
Let’s be honest, if you don't realise what this book is going to be like, then you've not been paying attention. This is Frankie Boyle being Frankie Boyle. Not the sanitised version from Mock The Week, but the full bloodied version.
He talks about everything that upsets or interests him. From the nature of comedy, to the takeover of the world by corporations, from Royalty to the Scottish independence, this is him taking the world apart. He's not the left wing comic of the Ben Elton school, I'm not sure he can actually be politically classified like that. He's more like the apolitical scholar. Sitting on high and shooting down his targets his acerbic wit that in turn amuses, shocks or just makes you think. The world could do with more like him
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on 21 August 2015
Having read his other two books I can say that he is certainly consistent, like those, this shares many of the same qualities and to a lesser extent the same flaws too. He is only ever a page or two away from making some hilarious or great points and his intelligence is always present even when he lapses into more tabloid territory. I was laughing aloud for much of what he had to say.

Now that he has given up the stand up game, I'd be very interested to see him fully commit to a book that concentrated even more on some of his great philosophical points, as he really does make some excellent points and just when he is building his theory or argument nicely he takes another turn into something about a celebrity footballer or soap star.
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on 9 March 2015
This book is pure, vicious, demented, misanthropic bile. Yer man has refined the art of hating his fellow creatures to an unprecedented pitch of perfection. Buy it.
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on 11 January 2014
Scotland's Jesus indeed! This is Frankie doing what he does best, hilarious social commentary which pushes the borders and takes down a few deserving targets along the way. It's a little bit different from his two previous books, but equally as provocative and witty. Like him or loathe him, he has a conscience which most modern comedians are so sorely lacking, and is willing to tackle taboo topics with his own wry style.
Read and re-read this with pleasure and laughter.
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on 30 October 2013
Laying deep under your covers, avoiding the harrowing passes of nature outside of your transparent window portal to the underbelly of despair that is the outside world, this book transforms your eroding and wearful mind into a juggernaut of hateful and realistic bliss that will make you breathless like a wretched old hag slitting your throat with a rusty bit of iron, whilst she dances around your corpse in a vengeful delight.

The aforementioned travesty making you spurt knowledgable blood from your jugular raining down on the underwhelming ignorance of the peasants and foreign dociles of which have no understanding or knowledge of your new found glory and tranquility and newly found argument of modern societies, with the burning and lynching of everything you once thought of as acceptable and unmistakeably generically followed as fact by the weak and the ignorant.

For what we have can not be sewed into the parallel thoughts of whom be near us, until the written texts of a tortured soul can haunt and scar our understanding of what we think. The sheer damnation that affects the mind can project onto others in a strongly set text and implement a holocaust affect of everlasting horror and subsequent remorse.

So now you must go and lust for your imagination to be captivated and traumatised by the heart stopping depths of a brilliant mind.
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on 30 October 2013
I will admit that I was at first cautious of Boyle's latest release, as anyone who has read his previous works will be all too familiar with the creeping madness that boils within each pages ink. At first I thought that it would be a harmless endeavour, that maybe I could find some solace or even reason in Boyle's insane scribblings that could shed some light on the truth behind his despairingly critical outlook on our universe.

Never before has the truth cost me so much.

Upon first handling the book, I could feel something...wrong stirring behind its cover. Like the day before an illness takes grip of you, I felt light-headed, even nauseous to bear such a tome in my hands. It took a week before I could summon the courage to pry open the book and not fall prey to sickness created by Boyle's haunting stare. I wish I had never gone through with it.

I will admit, the courage gained through simply opening the book allowed a surge of adrenaline to rush through my veins, effectively hijacking my mortal senses and enhancing them so that my efforts to actually read the scriptures were successful. I was rewarded with several pages of vicious musings that resembled what most literary experts would call an "introduction", and a very funny one at that. Despite the raw cruelty behind some of his analogies, I felt a small ray of hope and wonder shine within me. But of course, such triumphs over the inter-dimensional are short lived and to grace the worlds of our cephalopod rulers is often paid with a heavy price.

The text of the book began to morph into otherworldly symbols soon becoming runes inked with the tears of the Myr-Dolphins of Xcylleptop XII, which danced and laughed and cried at my efforts to deduce their meaning. For eons I watched them, bursting in and out of space-time, until the runes simply ceased being. Cold and abandoned in a void of solid darkness, my corporeal body was soon enveloped, crushed and digested by the Koklotep - an emperor mantis of dark matter who dwells omnipotently within shadow, slobbering away at mankind's dreams and genitalia until he can restore his host body: Saville. And so I perished into the space between time, trapped within Boyle's eldritch prison of truth and mania.

I emerged from the book an entirely different entity. I feel his knowledge wreaking havoc in my tiny, primitive mind. As I type this, I travel to Kirkcaldy, the last refuge of Dagon. Only there can my suffering end.

Rahl! Rahl! Boyle tugorp!
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on 31 October 2013
Professor Frankie Boyle's latest epic tome is a momentous wrenching of consciousness from a dead and indifferent universe, absolutely demolishing the limits until now placed by the laws of physics on our ability to gain insight into observer-independent reality. This book will largely be forgotten in centuries to come which is a shame as it contains the answers to ALL the major epistemological problems, which he nonchalantly, almost accidentally, sets straight in chapter 7 in a way which is utterly impossible to refute and then goes on to describe Wayne Rooney's brain on cocaine as being like the world's bleakest snowglobe.

Much Recommended.
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on 31 October 2013
Hey
Frankie - do you remember me?

He looked at me and then I blushed

'Cause I remembered I loved you so much.
Way back then we were friends going together
but then you left me.
Frankie - do you remember me? Frankie - do you remember?

You were fifteen
I was twelve
it was summer

we were so in love.
I never loved anyQne this much
look at me

I'm thrilled to your touch.
Hey
Frankie - do you remember me?
Frankie - do you remember me?

Love you Frankie XXXXXXXXXXXXX
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