Set in the very near future, Honey Don’t features a hit list that runs the gamut: from a goatish president dying in flagrante, to an aging Don appalled by modern manners; from a certifiably stupid bagmen fleeing both the Secret Service and the mob with $656,000 of dirty money in a locked attaché case and the presidents head in a carry –all, to a coke-snorting blow-dried VP who has suddenly caught the brass ring. Circling them are conniving White House staffers, corrupt politicos, sleazy journalists, and rancid pro football coaches: in short, the usual D.C. three-ring circus.
And in the center ring is the eponymous Honey, one of those Texas women cursed with a given name that condemns her to a lifetime of cheerleading. But this Daddy’s girl is a free spirit in full rebellion, and her take on life – offbeat but on target – is the heart and soul of this antic tale.
Honey Don’t is a full frontal assault on the inanities of our age. Often outrageous, sometimes shocking, always wickedly funny, it is, in the end, utterly and slyly subversive. It is also Tim Sandlin at his most maverick best.
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