The nine ball

In writing this book, I have stayed as close to the truth as I remember it. Most of the “field reports” were written within a day of the actual events and only edited later for grammatical/ typographical errors and readability. Names of most principal players have been changed. I had literally thousands of interactions with people during the time frame of the story; I have obviously omitted many, and condensed some. No doubt my memory has occasionally simplified the line between cause and effect. I am confident, however, that my memory has not distorted the truth. It happened like this.
For my family
“Nine ball is rotation pool, the balls are pocketed in numbered order. The only ball that means anything, that wins it, is the nine. Now the player can shoot eight trick shots in
A row, blow the nine, and lose. On the other hand, the player can get the nine in on the break, if the balls spread right, and win. Which is to say that, luck plays a part in nine ball. But for some players, luck itself is an art.” ********* – Martin Scorsese, “The Color of Money”
FO REWO R D Well, well, uhhhhhh, where to start this?? Jeffy has commissioned me to write a quick introduction to this book, and I have to say I ‘ m at least a little bit psyched about it, because my intuition is that it’s going to be around for a long time. What you’re holding in your hands is a detailed and highly instructional manifesto on how a dude from Northern California went from being a lonely, angst-ridden maniac, to screwing the shit out of nearly two hundred women, and then realizing that sex is hollow and empty, becoming a hero who leaves the lifestyle behind to conform to society’s norms. Actually, it doesn’t really end like that. But damn, this book might have made good money in Hollywood movie deals if it did. What you’re holding in your hands is in fact a little piece of brutal reality. It’s raw.

It’s confusing and disturbing. You won’t know if you should be inspired, if you should laugh hysterically, or if you should rip your own hair out, light the book on fire, and kill yourself. You’ ll find no easy to digest message here, no easy answers. Is Jeffy the coolest guy ever – one of the iciest, most badass motherfuckers that ever did it? Or is he an immature self-pitying idiot, who uses the pain of his teenage years as an excuse to indulge in a half decade sex rampage, at the expense of all other areas of his life? You’ ll be challenged to decide. The truths of life are rarely as black and white as most people wish them to be. Usually they’re saturated in complexity, grey area, subtlety, and paradox. The typical person usually experiences little interest or inkling that this type of knowledge could benefit them, so their truths have to be dumbed down to fit their limited (and convenient) model of reality. Jeff has chosen not to take that route. Instead, he ‘s chosen to lay his story bare-to “open the can of worms” so to speak, for a “reader experience” that amounts to an orgy of voyeuristic gluttony. Hmmmmm, so that’s a little heads-up.