All of Chuck’s books take place in a realm called the Tingleverse which, as far as I can tell, is a tight collection of very gay parallel universes. As the book describes, each layer is more erotic and absurd than the next, and while some characters are aware they exist within this strange, infinite existence, many of them do not.
The book ends with the revelation that the world of the reader is also part of the Tingleverse, the outer shell of an onion that appears to be endlessly deep and achingly gay.
I find the book to be thoroughly enjoyable until I reach the ending, at which point I can’t help feel a sharp chill run down my spine. I realize now that I’ve stopped chuckling to myself, instead deeply focused on the terrifying words of the page before me.
“What’s wrong?” Carrie asks, breaking my concentration.
“I don’t know,” I mumble, collecting my senses. I glance at the car’s clock and suddenly realize that an hour has passed in what seemed like and instant. Not only that, but we’re parked in front of our hotel, completely motionless.
I hadn’t even noticed.
“How was the book?” Carrie continues to prod.
I shake my head. “The ending was kind of weird, he says that we’re all part of the Tingleverse, like… me and you.”
My wife laughs. “That’s funny.”
“No,” I protest, then readjust, “I mean, yeah, I guess. Something about it just feels kind of weird. Like, what if Chuck’s telling the truth, what if we really are just characters in a Tingler?”
Carrie glances around. “I don’t see any dinosaurs or unicorns,” she scoffs.
I let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Suddenly, someone appears next to my passenger side window, causing me to jump in shock when I notice him. The man leans down and smiles, then opens the door up for me. He’s the valet.
“Oh my god, you scared me,” I admit to the man as I climb out of the car.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” the valet offers with a nod. He walks around the vehicle and opens the door for my wife, as well, who then hands off her keys and grabs her bag from the backseat.
I gaze up at the massive, beachfront hotel before us, marveling over its architectural beauty. Regardless of my strange moment in existential crisis, I know this is going to be a fantastic weekend of rest and relaxation under the warm California sun. I just need to chill the hell out.
As my gaze drifts down across the entrance of the hotel, however, I suddenly freeze, my breath catching in my throat. At first I think that my eyes must be playing tricks on me, but as my mind struggles to wrap itself around the meaning of these unusual letters, I am eventually forced to accept the reality of this bizarre situation.
“Is that the name of the hotel?” I stammer, barely able to find the words. I feel sick to my stomach, a wave of nausea washing over me.
“Butt Point Suites?” my wife asks, walking up behind me.
I’m utterly dumbfounded. “I thought it was the Sandy Point Suites,” I protest.
“I mean, why would they call it Sandy Point Suites if it’s on Butt Point?” Carrie questions.
I finally tear my eyes away from the giant letters that taunt me from above the lobby doorway and look to my wife. “You’re not fucking with me?”
“How would I be fucking with you?” Carries asks.
“So that I think we’re part of the Tingleverse?” I explain.
My wife cracks a huge smile. “What, you’re afraid that everything is going to turn into one giant butt?”
I suddenly realize how silly all of this is and let out a long sigh. Butt Point isn’t that strange of a name after all, and the idea that my entire existence could be nothing more than the erotic musings of a Billings madman is more than a little absurd.
“You’re right,” I finally say. I put my arm around Carrie’s waist and pull her close, taking in the fresh, sea air for a moment before heading inside.
The two of us walk up to the counter where a rather handsome man waits, smiling and nodding as we approach.
“Welcome,” the man says, “checking in?”
“Yes,” I tell him, then remove my credit card and hand it over.
The man takes the card and then begins to type rapidly into a computer before him, a cascade of potential reservations flying across his screen.
Me and my wife have no problem waiting patiently as this handsome guy goes about his business, but the longer that we stand here in silence the more I can’t help noticing just how handsome he actually is. It’s not all that unusual to see abnormally fit men around these beach communities, tanned and toned and ready for Summer, but something about this guy seems just the slightest bit off. His attractiveness is, somehow, unnatural.
I glance over at my wife to see if she notices, but she’s checking out the lobby decor at the moment, completely oblivious to my homoerotic crisis.
I look back up at the man checking us in, his high cheekbones and incredible, chiseled jawline. There is sweat forming on my brow and my hands are trembling, despite my most valiant efforts to stay calm in the face of such a powerfully disturbing situation.
What if the book was telling the truth? What if I’m just a Chuck Tingle character?
I take a deep breath and remind myself that the Tingleverse isn’t real. If it was, would I really be married to my beautiful wife? Wouldn’t there be hung dinosaurs and talking planes everywhere?
“Alright, you’re all checked in,” announces the man suddenly. He hands my credit card back, along with two room keys. “You’re on the top floor, room sixty-nine.”
I just stare at him blankly. “Seriously?”
The man glances down at his computer, double-checking with a vague hint of confusion on his face. “Yep, room sixty-nine, the Butt King Suite.”
My knees almost buckle right then
