"He Died with a Felafel in His Hand" by John Birmingham
Title: He Died with a Felafel in His Hand
Author: John Birmingham
My Grade: B
This is a highly amusing book. Not suburb or great by any means, and I didn't exactly love the way it was laid out. He would hop back and fourth and at time it could be a little confusing (he had over 80 roommates!) and in between his own stories there would be sections throughout all the pages of other peoples experiences, and that got distracting at times. But overall it's worth a look especially for the fact that roommate horror stories are pretty damn funny. This book has made me appreciate how DIVINE it is to live alone. I did get some flashbacks about my own roommates from hell in the past. *twitch twitch* And if you've never suffered the fate of having to dwell with psychos, neurotics, junkies, and in one of my cases a loud divorcee from Miami who was hiding from a gangster husband and her delinquent kids, all the while annoying me with her refusal to flush the toilet (ARGH! The memories!)... and your parental units and other family members don't count... then this book just may scare you about EVER considering shared housing. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Oh, and if you're wondering about the title. It's the opening sentence to the book and it concerns one of Birmingham's roommates who... well, died with a felafel in his hand... and on Birmingham's favorite bean bag chair, no less! How rude.