Spacey, Viet-vet, born-rich Gareth is just about the least charismatic of Robbins' climbers, but he's functional enough for innumerable coke-snorts and pure-porn thrusts and throbs with Verita, Denise (she prefers Rev. Julio, king of the barrio, bails him out with Chicano muscle, however, and Gareth can go on to build the Macho empire: centerfolds with King Dong and ""cunt coiffeurs,"" a string of hotels and print spin-offs, and unfortunate, Big Climax drug connections. Sam Gannon), Gareth turns it into a hot porn item but runs afoul of Mafia-connected distributors and the leatherboy set-when he rescues gang- and dildo-raped Bobby from queen Kitty's S/M revels. With the help of adoring Chicana CPA Verita and more-adoring gay photographer Bobby (son of evangelist Rev. ad-rag that his power-rich uncle gives him on a silver platter-Uncle John uses the ad-buying to launder dirty money. His first one (the book's first and far less unreadable half) is an eight-page L.A. Macho is Gareth's Hustler, his second publishing project. And what better device for keeping up with the Miss Joneses than to make narrator-hero Gareth Brendan not only actively bisexual (accent on the hetero, though) but also a kink-merchant in the no-holes-barred, Larry Flint mold. In this age of porn uber alles, it's getting tough for Mr.
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