Welcome again, fellow sensation-seekers, to yet another book introduction. If you've read my previous books, you know how I feel about these things. This is the point in the book where I stand like Mr. Roarke at the start of every episode of Fantasy Island, raise my margarita glass in a welcoming toast, and hope like hell that you're not looking around at the caliber of your fellow guests (typically: Anson Williams and Barbi Benton) and feeling like you've just been profoundly ripped off.
Yes, it's where I explain Myself. There's a good chance that you're leafing through this book at a major retailer, or at a friend's house. The book pulses with a certain resonance of destiny, and it's available at attractive prices, but should you follow your heart?
Well, it depends on what your heart is telling you. If your heart is telling you, "I should just stroll off with it," then I urge you to bring a couple of other organs in on the conference call.
Your wrists, for instance, will have much to say. It remembers the time your older brother snapped those novelty handcuffs on them and then "forgot" where he left the key. your feet report that they will do their best to propel you out of the store or your friend's house well ahead of any pursuers, but nonetheless they don't feel as though they should speak for the knees, which would need to be ready for a great deal of praying and begging, should worse come to worst.
But why am I talking nonsense? your moral compass is so powerful ...