Author: Philip Roth
Twenty-seven. Ask Philip Roth how many novels he’s published and he’ll grab his cock, adjust it in his pants, and say, “Twenty-seven, motherfucker,” before going off to look for young tail. At least, that’s how things go in my dreams.
When you’ve written that many novels, of course you’re gonna have duds. The Breast, a blue Metamorphosis where a man turns into a giant breast, is a dud. But give the man some credit—he knows he can only keep this jerk-off session going for so long; the book expires after a mere 78 pages.
Still, sitting through 155-lb. David Kepesh, a man become mammary, obsessing over whether or not he should proposition a woman to fuck him while he’s a breast for that long is asking a lot. It would’ve been better as a tweet. —Ross Scarano