Full Blown Panic Attack

It took me a long time to get around to writing this review, mostly because I didn't want to think about this book anymore. I had plans of writing something long and in depth, but instead I will keep this short and to the point. 

Cuts can be summed up in one word: Tits....or breasts, if that word makes you feel more comfortable. Richard Laymon is a boob man through and through, it's obvious as the day is long. Not a chapter in this book goes by without a reference to a woman's chest. Even if it isn't in a sexual way, the boobs are there no question, but let's be honest, it's usually sexual.

Now, I'm not a prude at all (which is why I made a point of using tits there at the beginning :P), but I've never read something written for adults with such a juvenile approach to sexuality. Most of Laymon's work covers these basis, but none of the others I've read scraped the bottom of the boob barrel so unapologetically. 

I hope Laymon's heaven is two massive chesticles pressed to either side of his face for all time, I truly do. But for you, dear reader, chose another book.