The American Shirts Council enthusiastically endorses... The Traveling Vampire Show!
There are so goddamn many shirts in this book, man. People choosing shirts, buttoning or unbuttoning shirts, shirts soiled or soaked or torn, shirts removed, loaned out, repurposed as weapons, bandages, towels, shirts laundered or changed into or lost or found, shirts removed or discovered or fantasized about, shirts causing inconvenience, shirts saving the day or destroying it, shirts shirts shirts shirts shirts shirts shirts, shirts shirts shirts shirts shirts.
I mean to tell you that halfway through, I finally snapped and did a search on the word. It appears TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN TIMES. For comparison I tried Gravity's Rainbow, on the basis of its much greater length. Thirty fucking seven.
I could maybe understand the fixation on shirts if they figured heavily into the plot, like, say, if it were Shirt Tales fanfic, but it isn't, okay, it's just this weird OCD thing that happened, no shirt left unmentioned, no shirt left unused, ever.
EVER.
You should've let Laymon keep all his creepy, endless buttstuff, man. Even though the book is about kids. You may take his "rumps," but you'll never take away... HIS FREEDOM!!!
Anyway!
This book earned Mr. Laymon a Bram Stoker Award, which baffled me at first, because in my opinion it's pretty terrible, okay, like egregiously dull for the most part, like I get what he was shooting for but I feel that he fell far far short of it, but then on a hunch I Googled the year of his death, and found "awarded posthumously," and... yeah.
He wrote dozens of books, countless stories, was popular and influential, had been nominated twice before but hadn't won, and, uh. It be like that sometimes.
I have one other thing to say about it, and here it is: at one point, one of the characters finds one of their books not just destroyed, but destroyed in a super weird way. Later on, it comes to light that what happened to that book is less alarming and more goofy than imagined. The mental image of the truth of it will amuse me forever.
In conclusion: shirts!
Shirts, boners, shirts, Velveeta, shirts, animal cruelty, shirts, ridiculously brutal, inexplicable, preteen beatdowns, shirts, hamburgers, shirts, incestuous, "multi-generational orgies," shirts, creepy, red herring murder twins in a Cadillac, shirts, bewbs, shirts, wildly inappropriate teachers, shirts, extremely poor understanding of the rate of inflation from circa 1963 to 2001, shirts, a notorious, evil field located directly beside a sleepy, wholesome small town, shirts, obnoxious, confusing character notes, shirts, numerous digressions that seemed to have no point other than to distract from the protagonists spinning their wheels for 350 pages, shirts, characters whose hair colours changed randomly, shirts, film festivals whose names changed randomly, shirts, fugly fat people who deserve every misery in life for being fugly and fat, shirts, oh, and also, scorn for the guy who didn't share his chocolate snack cake with a stray dog, even though that would've fuckin' killed it, bro, what are you even talking about? And shirts.
Shirts!
SHIRTS.