We have (roughly) estimated that 90% of Los Angeles’s traffic woes can be directly attributed to a uniquely human phenomenon: the inability to drive past the scene of an accident without gawking. Such is our fascination with lad lit (our poll remains open, and exactly one potential reader would pick up a book marketed to “lads” — the rest are running for the hills). We can’t help anyone involved, but that won’t stop us from staring and wondering why these things happen. Much like the current crop of lad books that sound strangely retro. And we don’t mean that in a good way. Slate offers a brief synopsis of one recent offering:
…is a memoir of a guy who graduates from Princeton, spends some soul-searching time on his parents’ sofa in the burbs, finally lands a job in publishing, and moves to the city.
Yes, it’s like every early American chicklit novel, but stars a male. And they say innovation is dead. And yes, the only reason we’re linking to this article is that it answers a question we didn’t really have to ask — who buys penis enhancement drugs?
- Maxim 101: The lad magazine goes literary.
