Harris, San Francisco's most annoying gay barfly, doesn't mean to be bitchy, passive aggressive, or insulting. But he's so bedazzled by his own critical brilliance he feels morally obliged to share his scathing opinions with the world at any and every opportunity. This irritates no one more than his roommate, Maxine, an avant-garde transsexual cabaret singer.

When she overhears him badmouthing her on the phone she flies into a rage and expels him from their apartment. This crisis couldn't come at a worse time. The year is 1999 and the "dot com" boom has rendered cheap housing nonexistent, and Harris, who works as a part-time telemarketer, is—as usual—low on funds. Will he be able to convince one of his eccentric, semi-dysfunctional friends with a rent-controlled apartment to let him move in?

Vulgarian Rhapsody immerses listeners in a fading bohemia of queer dive bars, drag clubs, and countercultural cafes. The book's narrator (a longtime frenemy of Harris who's every bit as snarky and annoying as he is) tells the story with sadistic relish and an ironist's eye for the absurd. Anyone feeling sickly from too many uplifting stories of personal empowerment, precious coming-of-age tales, or sugarcoated romances will find the perfect antidote in this hilariously acidic comedy of manners.