The narrator spends an increasing amount of time trying to explain that he is not an a**hole. But he is. He is also a control freak and a manipulative jerk. His wife hates him, his children hate him, and so do I. His is also stupid--despite the fact that he tells us repeatedly how smart he is. At least he admits that his books are worthless trash and he is unbelievably lazy.
To be fair--I only made it to page 172 before I remembered that I am too old and too busy to waste my time on Bad Moves, like reading this book. I couldn't even be bother to skip to the end--where I would hope to find that he has been put in prison for double homicide while his family returns to their old home and finds peace and happiness in his blessed absence.