Spare Me a Moment

"I'm acutely aware that I'm benefiting from a moment in time," says Tucker Max in a New York Times profile (registration required) of a preeminent fratirist — the male version (?) of chick lit, but with the literary equivalent of listening to an MP3, karaoke version of some tune that sounds like a song you never really liked playing over the cacophony at a suds-drenched fraternity house party you are attending as a friend of a neighbor of a cousin.

Among the benefits to Max of his moment was the ability to post to his web site his (not for the squeamish) saga of a woman who e-mailed for an assignation; received it; and tattooed herself where a pantie would cover it — if she wore one — to commemorate the occasion. Voyeurs who prefer their reading between covers may consider browsing his 2006 opus, "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell."

Literature for boys moves on. When he wasn't writing of foreign adventures, Hemingway penned stories of men in domestic (i.e., with women) wars with short and simple sentences. Apparently, the times and the audience have evolved. Now, the same demo thrills to blogs, paperbacks and rap sharing compounded stories of how boys do girls.

** WD bemoans writers gone wild and where they've gone. **