This is a story about two writers. One is published, rich, and famous; the other, unpublished, poor, and unknown. The rich guy is me, Max McMillan. I’m the greatest hack ever. I swear I am. On most days, I walk around the house naked and publish best-selling books every few months or whatever. The women come and go like it’s a goddamn whorehouse. But I’m thinking about marriage. See, there’s this girl. She’s got a name, but I can’t remember it. I call her Cowgirl Up. It suits her well. I don’t love her because I don’t think I can. I only love four people: my poor writer friend, Jack, his wife, Jane, and their two kids, Lucy and Nathan. I hate everyone else. Jane is dying from cancer. And I hate cancer. This is my story. It’s absurd and outrageous. It really is. If you’re an asshole like me, you’ll really love this story. I swear you will. It’s that crazy. And if you buy this book, I just might buy myself another Corvette. (Hell, at least you know that I’m also honest.) Goddamn, I fucking hate cancer.
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