Oedipus . . . Freud's favorite whipping boy . . . Ernest Jones' ridiculous rationale for Hamlet's mom-and-pop obsessions . . . and the most famous motherfucker of them all . . .
Pity the ultra-discombobulated prince of Corinth, hoping for Delphic reassurance. Goggle-eyed oracle gawks and gasps at him, babbles her bullshit, and drops dead. A blasphemous bloke who claims oracles suck wind, Delphi worst of all, convinces Oedipus to head home instead of fleeing.
There, they run headlong into the fecundity-drenched Festival of Demeter. Super-hot Queen Jocasta and her hateful, tiny-dicked hubby come a-visiting from Thebes. Makes the young prince's pecker stand tall.
He's lost in bewilderment around Mom and Pop. And in a night of pitch-dark bedchambers and bare-naked thighs, a flurry of bed swaps lands them all in exceedingly compromising positions.
How will our poor lad's turmoils end? Who the fuck knows? Well actually, the Blind Bard knows. And trust me, this ain't your great-grampa's Homer, no way, no how!
Fuck the Trojan War. To hell with storm-tossed Odysseus, the man of twists and turns. This Eros-inspired epic'll have you twisting and turning, tossed in storms of ecstasy, as singlehandedly you read and moan and marvel!
