I guarantee you this: If this stream of badly written diarrhea had anybody else's name on the cover, this book would be one of those works everybody brings up to bond over how much of a shitfest it is. Rightfully so. The plot is entirely predictable. The characters are laughably cartoonish. I wish it was a sort of fun cartoonish that you find in bizarro fiction, but sadly, it is that sort of cartoonish one can only laugh at in hopes of forgetting one painful fact: This book was written by King. All this is bad enough, but for fucking love of everything holy and unholy, why, oh why, is this book so fucking long.