Honey Don't

When reading Tim Sandlin's Honey Don't, one is tempted to make comparisons to other writers of very funny books: Carl Hiaasen, Tom Robbins, Kinky Friedman, and Robert Ferrigno, for starters. But after consideration, the conclusion is that Sandlin is strictly sui generis. Nobody else is quite as over-the-top as Sandlin. His Gro Vont Trilogy, set in Wyoming, introduced readers to a motley group of free spirits, but this one has them all beat.

RC Nash, a journalist returning from a bungled European assignment, and Jimmy Sebastiano, a small-time Mafia bagman who is carrying $656K for delivery to his boss, improbably share a cab from Dulles to downtown D.C. RC gets home to find his girlfriend gone and his entire wardrobe cut into bite-size pieces; Jimmy surprises his girlfriend, the eponymous Honey, in flagrante delicto with someone who looks vaguely familiar. Turns out it's the President who, in his haste to leave, trips on his shorts, hits his head and dies. What to do with the body of the President? Enter Secret Service men; a gay Washington Redskins third-stringer' a Mafia don whose name is Rat's Ass and his savvy grandson; a coke-snorting VP; a First Lady who used to be a jazzercise instructor; the C.I.A., F.B.I. and a few walk-ons from the local Damien's Donuts.

At times, there are too many sub-plots in motion to keep track of the action, but Sandlin takes on every sacred cow in existence: ethnicity, gender, politics, sexual conduct, self-serving greed, and hypocrisy--and shatters them one by one. For a refreshing vacation from political correctness and a few good belly laughs, Honey Don't is a good choice. --Valerie Ryan