What a con. I read, and under duress, enjoyed a Bill Bryson book a few months ago. Imagine my surprise when on the new fancy digital television channel I saw the darned fellow.
Dis-a-pissing-pointment doesn’t have enough syllables to convey how let down I felt when I saw the author on the screen. Not chubby enough. Not like Michael Moore. You can trust him and his beard. He has a reliable girth. Moore is substantial, bespectacled, steadfast, and his whiny voice is filled with character.
Bryson – what a sham. Too thin. True, he has facial hair, but his voice is dull. Too wanky. Boo. I would find it very hard to read another of his books, though no doubt full of hysterical observations, without hearing that wanky voice in my head, and picturing the unsubstantial frame of the bloke, mincing about and mewling in a sickly way.