A review by serenastrike
Buster Midnight's Cafe by Sandra Dallas

2.0

What is it with backwoods-y novels and people having weird-ass names? And it's not enough that the names are weird--they say the full name every time they address someone. It's like, "Me and ol' Purple Shoe went down to the picture show with 32 cents to see Stinky Jones and Shirley Bologna. Shirley Bologna said that it was hotter than a hyena sitting on a griddle down at the burger joint on a Friday in July. Stinky Jones just told her to hush up so we could listen to the show. Purple Shoe reached down and held my hand and I felt happier than when Birdie McBiscuits found her old pearl earrings in the mineshaft after the 4th of July picnic when Tugly Stevies blew up his left ear trying to shoot roman candles at Ms. Porkchop's old cat."

I say all this to say: meh. I keep going out of genres I would normally read just to see if I find something I like. I haven’t. I guess I just know what I like.