As the father of two teenagers, I found this book invaluable. I’m sure other parents here can empathize when I say I shudder at the thought of the increasing presence of huge dicks in the lives of my children. I certainly remember the strain I caused so long ago for my own parents when I began experimenting. To think, I was even younger than my kids are now. Huge dicks are everywhere. It doesn’t help that the movies make them seem glamorous and cool. This book helped me approach the subject with my kids in an honest and non-judgmental way. Now I can sleep a little better and cope with the reality that I can’t always be there to protect my kids as they become adults. At the very least, my children know that they can always come to me if they ever need my support when it comes to the topic.
Typos galore. Every few pages. This, a great work of literature proofread as if it were a company newsletter. Come on, e-book publishers, show some respect for the artist, and for us readers.
Absurd, sexist, outright homophobic, and somewhat racist.
Slays me. Every time. I would never claim to know what meaning he had in mind. Indeed, little perhaps there was. He wrote. That is, he urged out a new language. But this I know: the words fall on you like heavily beautiful wings. Images like destiny unfold, as though your life is threaded by what he is saying, forced into view by the written word. In a way, reading him is unbearable.
I bought How To Avoid Huge Dicks as a companion to the Captain’s other excellent titles: How To Avoid A Train and How To Avoid The Empire State Building. These books are fast-paced, well-written, and the hard-won knowledge they confer is as inspirational as it is informational. Thank you, Captain!
A huge dick has been stalking me. It follows me to work. It waits outside my house for me to come home. I was fearful because my parents were terrorized by one when they went outside four years ago to walk the dog. The Captain takes a look into the psychology of how a huge dick thinks. I haven’t had to deal with any stalking me since. However, I do have to deduct a star in my rating because this book did not come out in time to save my parents.
Maybe I read this book literally when I wasn’t supposed to, but what the hell are we to do with the following advice?
1) Do not charge the huge dick at full speed in an attempt to scare it off.
2) Do not roll over and play dead.
3) Do not attempt to swoop under the huge dick.
4) Do not attempt to leap over the huge dick.
Brilliant and unclassifiable . . . Poignant, cultured, moody . . . His images dazzle even when his meaning is most obscure. When he is writing of what he despises he becomes lucidity itself. This is a book that, like a good painting, can be picked up anywhere and will continue to reward renewed contact over months and years of acquaintance.
Once I fucked this lawyer—or almost fucked him—because when he pulled off his pants I started to giggle then laughed my fucking head off. I told him, “there’s no way you’re putting that in me.” Or at least that’s what I tried to say. I was laughing so uncontrollably that he left. I felt bad. I really couldn’t help it. I had no idea they could get that big. Honestly.
Before this book, a huge dick would permeate my being, twisting me into the venomous category of a man ruled by paranoia. When How To Avoid Huge Dicks rose into view, I shipped it with next day shipping and waited by the door, clasping my sweaty palms worriedly. Would it come? Or was this all some joke perpetrated by infernal beings intent on robbing me of what little sanity I still possessed? Dawn broke, and I tore open the cardboard protective layer like a lion shredding a fallen antelope, feasted on its finely printed words, and downed its yawp like nuclear flesh. My wife in the kitchen turned to me and asked whether I would prefer my eggs poached or scrambled. I looked to her, eyes filled with the mad surety only those who have seen the unseeable can know, and I smiled and opened one of my hundreds of jaws, and I sang the song that ended the Earth.
I’m a little annoyed with the sarcastic “reviewers” of this book who all seem to think it’s funny that a person would like some honest advice. All I can say is, Congratulations! What’s it like to be so perfect? I, for one, am going to read this book because I live in the real world where huge dicks and the dangers they present are a serious issue.
I doubt anyone here has even read the whole book. Where’s Oprah? We need Oprah.
My husband, by some whim of the gene pool, has always had a huge dick. It doesn’t quite fit, but I respect him. Please know that there are gentle giants among you. The owners of huge dicks have feelings too. So watch out.
To feel like a new species in the middle of your body. To write something that collapses the middle ground. Imagine reading this in Perth, in London, in Delhi. I take it everywhere I go because it cuts through to the part of life where writing is also possible.
This is the type of book that is turning America into a nation of ostriches.
Man, the title is misleading and sells the book short. I would go so far as to say it will help you avoid dicks of all sizes in all aspects of your life. There is nothing worse than waking up in the middle of the night only to collide with a straight-up dick of any proportion. Now I am virtually collision free. To be quite honest, that last impact three weeks ago was my fault, as I was slightly inebriated.
I had a panic attack while reading this book. The hyperventilating, the pacing, the curling up on the floor. Reading is mad love, convulsive beauty. I think so few people have written coherent reviews because it’s frightening to talk about a work so intimate. So many of the sentences are monuments in themselves and would be strange and wonderful secrets in the desert if they did not stand so close together. This book will either sound like the closest thing to truth or the most preposterous self-magnification. The author toes the line between truth and bad taste, and it is a dangerous line. He goes closer than anyone else: he stands on it and whispers in your ear.
Look at how many used copies there are for less than a dollar. Some book.
Aren’t dicks attached to bodies? Isn’t each dick unique from one to the next, just like a snowflake or fingerprint? How To Avoid Huge Dicks locks the real penis in an academic cell of solitary confinement.
If you’re still thinking of adding this to your cart, this book is trash. This conversation, a joke. A kindergartner can tell you these things more intelligibly. Trivial, really.
This book did nothing for me, but somehow, after reading it, now I find myself yearning in ways I’d never before imagined. Some days I wish I could have two dicks like that guy who wrote the autobiography. Other days, three. To be honest, I never had a gluttonous bone in my body until recently. I have always lived a meager life. Since reading this book, I’ve had flickerings that burst into urges such as: “If three, why not ten?” Sometimes I want a few filling my holes, a few massaging other body parts, some floaters for balance, aesthetic as well as physical. Other times I want to be suffused with cock, ripe with cock, positively inherent to cock. I want to be the epicenter of a seismic cock event, the sun in a cock-based solar system, the Radon nucleus of a cock-based atom, the last bacterium alive in an all-out acockalypse. I hope all are hard and shiny with want and ready for play whenever I wish, mine included, like an everlasting flood of cock, with men, of course, but we are beside the point. There should be an endless encore of cock, I think, as I consider what I know and what is unknown to me. Cockfinity awaits.
This is a book to read in the quiet of yourself. It is a book to read when you’re ready to receive intensity like the center of a great hush. The Captain has a way of arresting a strange interior reality on the page. The text is the author’s, but it ascends to a level of ownership by the reader in mysterious ways, time and time again. The text is so free. It’s not a guidebook, a poem, or a stream of consciousness; it’s an architecture of consciousness. The reader can only feel the freedom of the disembodied word. You love the text, perhaps you’re even jealous of it, but you know you have to kill it in the end. You know it must die. But that ending is a freedom for you and for the text. It’s a difficult freedom, disturbing even, because it’s the start of an unlikely silence, a silence unknown to us. There is always a last word. This is not a book to be made sense of. It is a book that makes sense and does so rather deeply.