Buenos Tardes Amigos

This is my second Cormy Mac, so if I had to sum him up, I’d say BLEAK.  This one is like some kind of rambling Steinbeck that fell out of someone’s backpocket into the sluice grate of the slaughterhouse.  After repeated scalps being peeled from still screaming victims, and endless infants being cracked open like decorative gourds, and people’s brains spattering cacti, you just get desensitized. Which I guess is the point.  But jeezum crow.  What a slog to get there.