Don’t judge a Chuck Palahniuk book by its cover

Judge it by its opening paragraph:

One dude stood all afternoon at the buffet wearing just his boxers, licking the orange dust off barbecued potato chips. Next to him, a dude was scooping into the onion dip and licking the dip off the chip. The same soggy chip, scoop after scoop. Dudes have a million ways of peeing on what they claim as just their own.

By which I mean, Snuff is more than just a porn movie novel, although I have no problem getting into a novel about a porn movie. It’s more than that but I don’t know what it purports to be, to be honest. Judging from this paragraph, the surface funniness of a Chuck Palahniuk novel might be a means to get you hooked on an introspection on things other than a huge vagina. Or maybe not, but who cares.

A major selling point for me is the various descriptions of guys in boxer shorts and briefs, getting ready for a cameo in a snuff film that would catapult a Jenna Jameson-like legendary porn star named Cassie Wright to unchartered porn  territory: a porno movie starring one star and 600 dicks. She will fuck her way into porn superstardom by having sex with 600 men of all ages and sizes. Yes, please.

In what should be a titillating movie setting occurs boner crushing inanities involving a has-been porn star with an impossibly huge, dildo-trademarked dick, a virgin who ‘fucks like he has something to prove’, a daddy-diddled gay guy who has issues, a loyal assistant who is more than she appears to be, an heirloom worth millions of hefty insurance claims, and cyanide.

The characters interest me more than the story does so suffice it to say that stuff happens. Internal dialoging  throughout are Mr. 137 (the gay), Mr. 72 (the virgin) and Mr. 600 (the huge dick), stars of the movie-in-production, World Whore Three. Automatically, Palahniuk wins me over for conjuring the most number of hilarious porn titles – Chitty Chitty Gang Bang, The Da Vinci Load, The Twilight Bone – to name a few. Sheila, the production assistant who doubles as Cassie Wright’s left hand, keeps the boys in check and makes sure all the dicks are lined up and ready for take (ie hard). While I like how seamlessly the story flows through each’s narration, I feel like like Cassie Wright was robbed of characterization. It was her who says ‘this boy fucks like he has something to prove’ after all, leaving me in stitches, not to mention, drool. You will seriously love this.

If I’m reading books on the basis of cuteness, and I think I do more than I care to admit, Palahniuk should fit right on top of the heap of books I intend to read. If this sounds like platitudinous non-sense it’s because it is and congrats for letting me let you figure it out. Also, there’s no point in rebuffing the charms of the Palahniuk cannon as the thousands of coolists who like cool things including Chuck Palahniuk would tell you. Snuff’s vagina lips were just too hard to resist.

3 1/2 boners out of 5.