The follow up to Stinker Lets Loose, Randy! takes it even further. Introduced by a version of Sacks who finds the document in a garage sale, it is written by the struggling poet and novelist Noah B., who is embedded in the mind and lifestyle of a perversely unexceptional American asshole - one from Maryland, no less. Like Pale Fire if it were about a Danny McBride-style fuckup, it is both unmoored from time and eerily prescient of our own - one so stupid and unbelievable that it requires a writer like Sacks.
