Review of Sally Putterman's Review of Alfred Butterman's The Mucus Stain

The Mucus Stain
By Alfred Butterman
Alfred Butterman Publishing, 178 Pages
Review of Sally Putterman's Review by Alfred Butterman

The world of online book reviews hit an all-time low yesterday with the release of Sally Putterman's review of Alfred Butterman's wonderful new novel, The Mucus Stain. (The review can be found

here.)  First among her catalogue of outrageous assertions was the assertion that self publishing hit an all-time low with the release of Al Butterman's The Mucus Stain.  It certainly did not.  Self publishing started at an all-time low and it is now a full two degrees above that line.  Also, What kind of hackneyed opening is that anyway?  I'll tell you what kind it is, it's the same hackneyed opening Ms Putterman uses to begin every review she's ever written.  It seems every time Ms Putterman opens a book, publishing hits an all-time low.  It's lazy writing and it goes with her lazy reading.   The truth is Ms. Putterman didn't even understand Mr. Butterman's novel.

Review: The Mucus Stain

The Mucus Stain
By Alfred Butterman
Alfred Butterman Publishing, 178 pages
Reviewed by Sally Putterman

The world of self publishing hit a new low with the release of Al Butterman’s science fiction novel, The Mucus Stain. Possibly the most disgusting book ever written, the story begins when a mysterious stranger deposits a glob of spit into a toilet and flushes his DNA into the sewer where it combines with some radioactive waste--it seems a newly built nuclear power plant has been diverting its own waste product into the sewer--and somehow--it is never properly explained--the spit merges with the waste and  evolves into to what will henceforth be known as--and these are the author’s words, I’m not making this up--the Doo Doo Monster. I told you it was disgusting.

An Open Letter to Tom Wolfe

An Open Letter to Jack Kerouac, An Open Letter to Dave Eggers, An Open Letter to JK Rowling, An Open Letter to Cormac McCarthy, A Recent Interview with Jack Kerouac, An Open Letter to Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Dear Tom,

How are you?  I am fine.  I must say, though, I’m a little miffed you haven’t answered my letter of the 25^th in which I inquired about apparent inconsistencies between the “gangbang” scene in your book, Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, and the one in Hunter S. Thompson’s, Hells Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga.  Something tells me (and it’s the Hells Angels book) that the rape scene didn’t take place at Ken Kesey’s ranch in La Honda as your book maintained, but at another party attended by the Hell’s Angels and not the Merry Pranksters.  I’m not upset though.  It was rude of you not to return my letter, but I understand why you would shy away from such a sensitive topic.  You probably assumed that after forty years no one would catch your mistake, or perhaps you thought no one would waste valuable time on so trivial a matter.  Well, you were wrong!