Are sloths an appropriate mascot for this novel because it took me 24 years to finish it? You betcha.

Did I write the only near-future cli-fi conspiracy action-adventure comedy to incorporate sloths as a major plot point? Maybe.

All the senators were in the boardroom, seated except for Massachusetts. He’d won a sloth in an exotic animal gambling event last week and carried it around everywhere like a baby, despite several accidents with its claws.

Either it smelled or he did.

Hell, could have been one of the others. Bob’s stomach turned over. He took a seat next to Sam.


“Hey, Bob. I think that thing’s taking a crap. It’s not sanitary.”
“Who is this guy? Do you know? Am I being replaced?”
“A really slow crap.”


Nobody in this cabal had any focus.

Corporate Torsos Need Not Apply
JR Pomerantz

Sloth love has seized everybody.

They’re in tattoos. They’re on TV. They’re in comedy.

I took a bunch of naps today and pinned it on their holiday.

In this fast-paced, driven time period, we can all get behind something that’s so slow, it’s rotting a little bit. Just like me and this novel.

Happy international sloth day, sloths!

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