Pygmy

I've been reading Palahniuk's new novel Pygmy today. I wonder why I so often wind up enamoured with incomprehensible narrators. The autistic ramblings in Mark Haddon's Curious Dog, the fuzzy logic of Adiga's White Tiger and now Agent 67. I love reading 1st person literature I suppose, and broken language seems to draw my interest in another way.  Like this hilarious little entry in 67's Second Dispatch:

"Clear-yellow bully, foot stand in cowering pig dog, yellow hair swing across fire blue eye, bully say, "You a gook? A nigger? A sand-flea?" Say, "Exactly what breed of wetback bitch are you?".  Could be, this instant, elbows of operative me fly and drive fast, wham-pow, to soft corners of head temple, stun brain of yellow bully. Blackout. Foot of this agent stomp down trouser waist of bully to pool around bully feet. Next then turgid weapon of operative me, violate stunned anus, humiliate with seed the forced screaming pain of clear-yellow bully. All dry friction".

He he.

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