When his secretary conveniently dies shortly after, his brain is put in her body and the Benny Hill theme tune comes on. An elderly, dying businessman wants to find a way to escape his hospital existence and since he's also filthy rich, decides to have a bit of fun and puts out an outrageous demand: find a healthy, young body for me to put my brain into. The premise could have worked and at the very beginning, I had hope. This book has done for Heinlein what Cop Out did for Bruce Willis - it's so bad, it has cast its miasmic cloud over all other associated works and ruined them a little bit for me. What could have made this a 4 or 5-star listening experience for you?Ī pseudo-philosophical study into identity and sexuality, told with the emotional intelligence of Twilight, subtlety of Benny Hill and plotting finesse of a telephone directory imagined by a dirty old man, gleefully rubbing his thighs.
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