Recovering WWE star Mick Foley's first novel (after two hit memoirs) is alternately touching and bitter, awesomely crude, and jarringly inconsistent. From the opening bell, Foley's tale of a physically and emotionally scarred teen bonding with his lecherous papa while awkwardly romancing the school hottie stays on its feet with winning honesty and tender charm. But it tires out soon enough. The author makes a few desperate moves -- yes, someone does get hit over the head with a chair -- and his wry prose ultimately succumbs to a series of feebly derivative verbal maneuvers (''Two tickets...ten dollars.... Spending an afternoon with your dad in a skuzzy porn theater... priceless'') and a rushed, inexplicable conclusion. Hardly a literary body slam.