A priest who cannot tell his ass from a hole in the ground. Larry K. opens with a crude, sprawling joke about donkeys in England to mask a lifetime of absolute loneliness. He describes his pre-sobriety existence as standing on a cliff, watching the rest of the world have a picnic on a distant ledge, separated by a chasm too deep to leap. For Larry, alcohol was the bridge. It was the only chemical that could dull the image of his own perceived ugliness and the guilt of stealing from the poor fund.
He spent years as a "nomad" in his own home and a failure by priestly standards, eventually ending up in the rural wreckage of Sterling, Oklahoma. He details the psychic cost of pretending to be 5'11" when he is 5'10 1/2", fighting the "schizophrenia" of a religious life that demanded he hide his lust and greed. Through the steps and a Higher Power, he stopped trying to be a saint and started being a man, plank by plank, building a bridge back to fellowship.
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