Primo Love (& Intoxication)

By Prink Veebles

Babette has seen it all in her relationship consulting business: couples who fight about their pets, long-suffering marriages, as well as day to day battles waged between the sexes. However, in her personal life, with her boyfriend thousands of miles away, Babette finds herself increasingly turning for companionship to an older man closer to home. It is Barnum who suggests that one cannot always be the consummate professional, and that sometimes, getting wasted is all one needs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Prink Veebles
• Release date: Apr 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476159980

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Primo Love (& Intoxication)

by Prink Veebles

Copyright © 2012 Prink Veebles

Smashwords Edition

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Primo Love (& Intoxication)

In fact, I’ve never been drunk.

You’re kidding. Here. Look. Have you seen this, it just came out.

What language is this written in?

The language of Bacchus, apparently. It’s a book supposedly written by a writer entirely when he was drunk. He would only write it when he was in that state, and wrote until he passed out. That, my friend, is what you’re missing.

Is he still alive?

Well, on a liter of aquavit a day, I would think it a miracle if he was.

Is this supposed to be any good? I can’t even understand it.

The critics seem to be eating it up.

1,000 pages of drunken stupor—what was the point?

The point, I think, was a literary experiment on the order of, ‘observe as I do something utterly incomprehensible and be credited as an artist nevertheless.’

And did he succeed?

Honestly, I don’t think anyone knows who the identity of the real author is. Whether it’s autobiographical or a sober attempt at charlatanry.

I don’t get it, though. Is this supposed to be English?

He seems familiar enough with our alphabet, having used 26,000,000,000 characters therefrom.

But this is nonsense. I don’t recognize a word. It must be one of those charming tongues that only have consonants. Or it must be some sort of joke.

That was a very long joke, if it was one.

What does the jacket flap say?

It reads: not content to say nothing, the author insists on saying nothing while loaded with no less than a liter of the highest quality aquavit. More importantly, he wants to share this with you, the kind-hearted reader, whom he neither knows very much about nor cares for, yet still genuflects towards, even as his innards roil in discomposure. What is this but human communion at its gut-wrenching finest, an illustration no less of the agony of life? He captures it best: …

He could’ve just computer-generated all that mumbo, what, in two minutes? Then slapped on a title, sent it to an editor.

Or he could have crafted every word painstakingly by hand, in which case, would this deserve your attention?

"Personally, words should make sense, if they’re going to be published. I don’t get into the artistic thing. If words are together, they should say something. There’s enough that’s clouded and confused out there, that doesn’t need to be cruddied up even further. They shouldn’t be used to make senseless statements or mean something that only a few can comprehend. If I don’t understand them, I start to doubt myself. Then I can’t keep reading. It’s a question of pride,