Best Review of Unfair & Unbalanced: The Lunatic Magniloquence Of Henry E. Panky, 2010 Revised & Expanded:
Most helpful customer reviews 0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. no appeal to me By Bonnie S. Driver Just could not get into it. Didn't see the "blazing" humor at all. I have been looking all summer for a LOL read, but this was NOT it. 5 of 5 people found the following review helpful. A General Absence of Free Will By The Spinozanator Henry isn't sure why at age 15 he bought the John Denver album. He continues, "Let's chalk it up to raging pubescent hormones, psychotropic drugs at too early an age, too many Herman Hesse books, a compromised decision making capacity, and a general absence of free will."Well, I don't know why I think it's so funny when he makes fun of John Denver, especially since I've always liked his music, but it is funny. Pubescent hormones? Yes, neurobiology tells us they'll make us crazy...psychotropic drugs at an age perhaps earlier than 15?...whew...too many Herman Hesse books? Well, I read them all in my mid-twenties, and several of Louis Lamour's, but the Hesse entry does work nicely. The last one - general absence of free will - blew me away! - one side of an ever current philosophical enigmatic question thrown in following a bunch of unrelated one-liners which strangely enough make a coherent and hilarious sentence.To a conservative political pundit, Panky says, "Darling Ann, my winsome hyena, how I yearn to slip the tough leather straps over your slavering muzzle and ride you like a gaucho through the befouled and slippery charnel house of your political desires." Wow! This sentence paints quite a picture for a guy like me who doesn't really understand poetry. Continuing..."Your saccharine sophistries reek (italics) of an utterly Faustian and silver-tongued sodomy of the human spirit." I don't think he likes her.Tongue in cheek he deprecates himself: "Even utter strangers naturally sense my Ivy League roots. Those lustrous days spent upon the mountain peak of academe, bathed in the brilliant light of reason, breathing in the high, Rocky mountain spring water of purest intellect, have imbued a certain effulgent je ne sais quoi (italics) deep into my very marrow. It's who I am. You might as well try to hide the Koih-noor diamond under a cheap thrift store merkin."Well, okay, I have to keep the English and French dictionaries handy, and several trivia books. When I understand most of the servings, I feel proud. By the way, these examples from the book weren't exactly cherry-picked. When I came across the "free will" comment, I decided I had to write a review. The other 2 selections were just short enough, had not been mentioned in other reviews, and were found in the next 7 pages.This book is an introduction to a new way of perceiving our world, the Hank E. Panky way. If you are tired of the same old mundane books...if you have memorized the self-help book by your commode...Try a little Hank E. Panky, and I predict a satisfied customer. I can't wait to get my hands on his next book. 0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. When I need a laugh.... By Kevin Edwards When I need a laugh, for any reason at all, I come back to this book. I cannot say how many times I have read it, there would be no sense in it for the number will only grow.Patrick Carlisle, writing as his slightly twisted and hilarious alter-ego, Henry E. Panky, is difficult to pinpoint as far as style, content and humor. Perhaps a cross between Chuck Palahiuk, Vladimir Nabokov, Hunter S. Thompson and Corky the Clown. No. That doesn't do it justice.You'll just have to read it. And I highly recommend you do. Never have I had such a high-brow and low-brow experience simultaneously. It's disorienting. It's brave. It's erudite. And most of all, it is funny.Do yourself a favor. Really. See all 25 customer reviews...
A dazzling read...and most of all laugh-out-loud funny...the command of language is mindblowing -- C.E. Gatchalian, 2004 Lambda Award finalistA dazzling read...omnivorously learned...laugh-out loud funny...the command of language is mind-blowing. -- C.E. Gatchalian, 2004 Lambda Award finalistI don't know anyone writing like this (Dave Barry on speed?)...unique and wild...really funny -- Frances Mayes, Author ofI don't know anyone writing like this (Dave Barry on speed?)...unique and wild...really funny. -- Frances Mayes, author of 'Under The Tuscan Sun'hysterically funny...a wry and captivatingly hysterical look at the baffling contradictions of modern life -- Midwest Book , December 2004this work of brilliance...all of it is hilarious. Thank you, Patrick/Henry, you crazy bastard. -- Fearless s, December 2004 From the Publisher AN APOLOGY TO OUR READERS Writer Henry E. Panky leaves long trail of deception, anguish and steaming, hot-peppered spoor Three bloodhounds critically injured President condemns "very evil deeds," vows "robust revenge," and decorates three "heroes" after flying F14 "Tomcat" upside-down through concrete drain pipe while drinking a glass of water with his eyes closed to the music of Take My Breath Away After a rigorous investigation, sources now confirm that writer Henry E. Panky committed frequent acts of humoristic fraud, fabrication, plagiarism and unwelcome exposure upon unsuspecting readers. This morning, the obviously deeply-shaken publisher, Henry E. Panky, made this statement to the stray, diseased animals commonly found skulking around his domicile: "Oh, sad, sad day. This horrifying breach of trust represents one of the top five low points of the past seven to ten days." After tossing gruesome chunks of flyblown meat, bone and gristle around to his "pretties," the publisher went on to speculate that the hot-peppered stool idea, which he deemed "damned smart," was inspired by Cool Hand Luke, The Defiant Ones and/or the Jon Voight prison-break movie wherein Mr. Voight, looking terrifically ugly for someone who was once such a nice looking lad, slathered his naked, ropy body in thick, black axel grease, wrapped himself with saran wrap and then slid to freedom in an icy waterfall of rancid sewage. "Oh Lordy be! The things that men do," shuddered the publisher, shuffling back into the windowless shed purchased from the Kaczynksi family. "But I’m almost positive that the hot peppered droppings came from one of those three films." Managing editor Henry E. Panky made this statement, "This is a deeply disturbed, hairless, middle-aged, bi-polar schizophrenic, whose head was freakishly oversized as a grotesquely skinny child. There is also evidence that his brain may have been removed during a hernia operation in Great Britain. He deserves our compassion and our help. Unfortunately, our health plan doesn’t cover these things, so we’ve readied the rusty cage previously inhabited by the office weasel. It died of the zeitgeist." President says "Hanky Panky not welcome" at Crawford ranch. It is now clear that the renegade scrivener misled readers and colleagues with dispatches purporting to be amusing, while concocting interviews, interior monologues and gratuitous sex scenes. Contrary to representations, evidently Mr. Panky had not left his apartment since neighbors boarded up his doors and windows in 1993. He therefore played only the most negligible of roles in the captures of Uday Hussein, Dolf Eichmann, John Malkovich’s hair-piece in Dangerous Liaisons, the man with one arm and Tama-chan the bearded seal, upon whom the fate of the world rests. It now also appears dubious that the writer ever participated in the "three-way" with Tina Brown and Arthur Sulzberger Jr., which Mr. Panky described in such visceral detail in his 14 part, Pulitzer prize-winning series. Book publisher signs Panky to burgeoning "Rogue Journalist" imprint. Movie rights under negotiation. "Did the fact that he was a poltroon play any part in his continued employment?" executive editor Henry E. Panky mused at the town-hall-style meeting of staff. "Absolutely not! At least, not consciously. But we’ve always had a commitment to diversity – Jeez, just look around at this freak show. Also, my mother’s people were poltroons. So maybe, on the other hand, I have to say yes." The publisher apologized, in particular, to the lovely and talented Meg Ryan, who literally convulsed with distaste over the discredited writer’s representation that they had "circled each other like a cheetah chasing its own tail." "Ugh," she said, making a lemony face that implied a terribly foul taste in her mouth – though even then, she was so cute you just wanted to gobble her up whole and lick the plate besides. "This is a humongous black spot with a hair growing out of it upon the maggot-ridden carcass of Henry Panky Enterprises. We are dismayed certainly, but not disheartened. Or for that matter surprised. I take full responsibility and promise our readers that hands shall be slapped, noses tweaked and heads nougied. Now, let’s get on with it people. We’ve got work to do!" President & CEO, Henry E. Panky From the Author From the Editor: Henry E. Panky is a creature of his times. Born into any previous age, Mr. Panky would likely have been abandoned on the midden for the hyenas, buzzards and Morlocks, sold into slavery for a few copper rupees or, if the family was a religious one, donated to the local, baby-eating deity in exchange for a good crop of peanuts. In the unlikely event of living to maturity, it’s almost certain he would have been burned, impaled, stoned, flayed or defenestrated to entertain the riff raff. For that matter, even in our modern times, his second wife did abandon him on the midden, and I, his editor, did half-heartedly try to defenestrate him over the holidays. This modest book "of tender mercies" was conceived in 2002 when Mr. Panky had the between-medications epiphany that everything in his life – the drug abuse and religious quackery, the sexual obsession and dysfunction, the dependency, despair and pathetic career as a real estate agent – had been for a reason, an extremely dubious reason. He wasn’t, after all, just another mood-swinging, moral munchkin sliding, squealing with terror, down the dark, offal chute of life. No, something had moulded him – like playdough or Jell-O salad – to deliver a glorious message of emotional and intellectual sclerosis! Two years later, that triumphant communiqué now lies, like a slouching beast awaiting only your hesitant poke to awaken, within the pages of this very book.
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