Blurb:It’s a drug that promises an out-of-body experience with each hit. On the street they call it Soy Sauce, and users drift across time and dimensions. But some who come back are no longer human. Suddenly a silent otherworldly invasion is underway, and mankind needs a hero. What it gets instead is John and David, a pair of college dropouts who can barely hold down jobs. Can these two stop the oncoming horror in time to save humanity? No. No, they can’t.
My thoughts: What can I say about this book? It’s utterly ridiculous, scary, disgusting and hilarious!
The story starts with Dave narrating the events of the past few months to a reporter named Arnie, who understandably has trouble believing him. Not in the least because he refuses to give his real name and acknowledges that he’s not sure if what he remembers is even the truth, assuring Arnie his account is “mostly honest”.
It rapidly descends into chaos… The drug “Soy Sauce” turns out to be a mind-fuck of epic proportions! Giving certain users psychotropic visions, episodes of missing time, time dilation and the ability to see the life and times of the average chicken before death.
I wouldn’t dare ruin it for you but it’s the kind of book you devour in a sitting. Hysterical and disturbing, it toes the fine line between comedy and horror without actually sitting in either genre. Reading it wasn’t really scary but the imagery stays with you and ultimately you’ll find yourself awake at 5 am huddling under the covers waiting for dawn with only your own twisted thoughts to keep you company.
Read it, I can’t promise you won’t regret it but at least you’ll know the truth…
“By this point in my stay, my list of don’ts covered three pages and included such reminders as: never fall asleep in a dumpster, never underestimate a bee, never drive a convertible behind a flatbed truck, never get old, never get drunk near a train, and never, under any circumstances, cut off your air supply while masturbating. This last one is a nationwide epidemic, and it’s surprising the number of men who do it while dressed in their wife’s clothing, most often while she is out of town. To anyone with similar inclinations, a word of warning: after you’re discovered, the police will take snapshots of your dead, costumed body, which will then be slid into photo albums and poured over by people like me, who can’t take the stench of an incoming decomp, so hole themselves up in the records room, moaning “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” not sure if they’re referring to your plum-coloured face or to the squash blossom necklace you’ve chosen to go with that blouse.”
“Into this wild abyss,
The womb of nature and perhaps her grave,
Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,
But all these in their pregnant causes mixed
Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,
Unless the almighty maker them ordain
His dark materials to create more worlds,
Into this wild abyss the wary fiend
Stood on the brink of hell and looked a while,
Pondering his voyage…”