(click to enlarge Mr. Terry's self-portrait -- the likeness is amazing)
How can anyone have so much talent? Oh, it's not enough that T.M. Wright's fiction kicks most righteous ass, or that his poetry can bring tears (or laughter) to the eyes of anyone with a heart...Yes, my eyes actually laughed while reading one of his poems. No, the gods saw fit to bless the man with incredible artistic ability as well.
I'm groaning in awe even as I type this.
I swear, if I find out Terry can also sing like Tom Jones, I may be forced to, I dunno, worship him or something. I'd have to buy steel wool pads and glue them onto the face of my daughter's Ken doll, then set Ken/Terry on my bookshelf (in front of the many, many T.M. Wright books I own, of course), light a musk-scented candle, open a bag of Fritos, and totally, like, pray to Ken/Terry for fame and fortune.
In completely unrelated news, Constantine sucked tonight. Bo, however, certainly did not.