The gotta, as in: I think Ill stay up another fifteen-twenty minutes, honey, I gotta see how this chapter comes out. Even though the guy who says it spent the day at work thinking about getting laid and knows the odds are good his wife is going to be asleep when he finally gets up to the bedroom. The gotta, as in: I know I should be starting supper now hell be mad if its TV dinners again but I gotta see how this ends. I gotta know will she live. I gotta know will he catch the shitheel who killed his father. I gotta know if she finds out her best friends screwing her husband. The gotta. Nasty as a hand-job in a sleazy bar, fine as a fuck from the worlds most talented call-girl. Oh boy it was bad and oh boy it was good and oh boy in the end it didnt matter how rude it was or how crude it was because in the end it was just like the Jacksons said on that record dont stop til you get enough.

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About Stephen King, Misery

Stephen King, Misery.

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