I imagine one of the greatest things about being a famous writer is the ability to put any piece of crap on a napkin and getting to publish it. Some of these stories even won awards, but I give less and less regard to awards every day. Mainly they are ideas that should have been either developed or chucked, but not published as it. Every story I asked myself "why am I still reading this?" and in the end I was actually glad I did, but only because of the final story, which is a short continuation of American Gods (a work I greatly enjoyed) and I feel there was actual effort that went into this story (even if it wasn't perfect). Read only the last story, "The Monarch of the Glen," and only if you liked American Gods.