if you can't tell, i fucking love this book. but why? if youve ever read it, you know the narrator is not a great person. but something about the book just resonates with me. i dont know why, but frank somehow became a comfort character. do not ask, because i do not know! boy has never had a day of comfort in his life yet somehow. i fw that heavy...??. yeahu. BUT IN SERIOUSNESS THIS BOOK IS SO COOL N I LOVE IT 

'No. I steal things. Shoplift. It's so easy. I steal things I can't eat, just for the hell of it.
Like tampons and plastic dustbin-liners and party-size packets of crisps and one hundred cocktail
sticks and twelve cake-candles in various colours and photograph frames and steering-wheel covers
in simulated leather and towel-holders and fabric-softeners and double-action air-fresheners to
waft away those lingering kitchen smells and cute little boxes for awkward odds and ends and packs
of cassettes and lockable petrol-caps and recordcleaners and telephone indexes slimming magazines
potholders packs of name-labels artificial eyelashes make-up boxes anti-smoking mixture toy
watches-'



'Don't you like crisps?' I broke in quickly.



'Eh?' He sounded confused.



'You mentioned party-size packets of crisps as being something you couldn't eat.'



'For Christ's sake, Frank, could *you* eat a party-size packet of crisps?'

THE WASP FACTORY