I have a problem. My TBR pile is on the verge of becoming sentient and may or may not have its eye on the small animals that dwell in my home in order to fuel its ever-growing rage. Yet I keep adding to it. It grows stronger every day and yet I just can't stop collecting the pieces in a never-ending attempt to complete its soul.
I am currently accepting books for review. Read my policy for more information. I'd recommend against just firing off a review request without reading it. I'll just end up feeding it to the looming pile and you'll never hear back from me.
1983 not only spawned me, but the world was bestowed with another enduring bundle of joy. Mother Hollywood shot out A Christmas Story that year, gracing us with the joys of leg lamps, triple dog dares and pellet guns. With tongues frozen to metal poles, dogs eating the Christmas turkey and ‘oh fudge!,’ but not, being uttered all over the world, it’s really not a surprise that A Christmas Story has remained a classic. And plays for 24 hours straight at Christmas. I love the movie, but that’s a little much. Fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra!