In Robert Rankin's latest warped fantasy, a serial killer is murdering notable nursery-rhyme characters and leaving very special sweeties as calling cards at the scene of each crime: The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse.
Humpty Dumpty is the first of Toy City's upper crust to sleep with the fishes. Boiled alive in his own swimming pool. A nasty fate, but maybe not as nasty as Little Boy Blue's, with his own shepherd's crook thrust a long way into a place where the sun does not shine.
Bill Winkie the P.I. has gone missing, and his hard-drinking teddybear sidekick Eddie takes up the case. Down these mean streets a bear must go. He needs a hand, though--two hands, owing to a lack of opposable thumbs--and reluctantly teams up with "gormster" country boy Jack, who foolishly thinks he can make his fortune in Toy City.
Of course the police, jolly bouncy rubber policemen who are sadistic at heart, object to interfering freelances. So does the mystery assassin, who seems to be a curvaceous woman in a kinky rubber outfit--death on high heels. Even kindly old Mother Goose, madame of the Toy City brothel, gets her neck wrung before she can talk, and Eddie is in serious danger of losing his very stuffing.
Fast, demented, fairytale-noir action, filled with gruesomely silly deaths, self-referential thriller gags, and the true meanings of those nursery rhymes whose royalties made Humpty and the rest so rich.
Robert Rankin is fond of introducing peculiar, repeated figures of speech, and this book's is the Maddeningly Incomplete Simile. Like this: Hollow Chocolate Bunnies is as good as. It's as weird as. It's as deeply bonkers as. In short, it's as Rankin as
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