Dear Reader,

Don’t be fooled: the book you are holding in your hands, You Don’t Love Me Yet, isn’t nice at all.  Somebody may have told you it is quiet entertaining, but have you considered which side their bread is buttered upon?  The story recounted here is a distortion.  I should know.  I appear in the book.

The so-called author has written about me and several of my dear friends and their awful band (I’m sorry, but I have to be honest with you) without regard for the truth.  A faithful account of these events would be quiet different.  Here, minor characters have been given undue prominence, while major characters have been relegated to the margins.  Real art has been willfully confused with fake art.  The sex scenes just go on and on and on.  I particularly recommend that you avoid Chapter Three.  Oh, are you flipping there now?  I’m disappointed.  Perhaps I was wrong to think so highly of you.  Fair enough, then: You Don’t Love Me Yet is the book you deserve.

Regretfully,
Falmouth Strand

    

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