101 Reykjavik

I've just read this extremely funny book by Icelandic author Halgrímur Helgason called 101 Reykjavik. It's rare that I've laughed out loud so much while reading a book, the only competition I can think of is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Which it also kind of remind me of.
It's about this man in his thirties who live in Reykjavik with his mother, he's a bit of a loser and somewhat crazy. It's written in a sort of stream of consciesness where he just rambles on and on in extremely funny internal dialogue. The keywords are sex, drugs, pregnancies and death. I'll give you a little preview:

"I suddenly realize I've had the Pope's dick on my brain all day. Can't shake it off. Wojtyla, the holy pole submerged in white angel hair. How does he handle his hard-ons? No. He'd never come. Otherwise he wouldn't be Pope. He's never lost a seed. That's what makes him holy. They gave him a thorough check-up to make sure he was absolutely holy. And found seventy-year old yellowed seed from his childhood days in Poland, the first batch of seeds still intact. Took good care of his, the little blond Karol did, while I was spraying mine over cats and dogs. Nah. Besides, it's a steady production. All stocked up. He's full of seventy-year-old seed. The Pope. A holy sperm keg full to the brim. Sperm. Always reminded me of shampoo. Cleanses the soul, as long as you don't spill it. Ejaculation. A tinge of death in that. The human body: 90 percent water. The Pope is 90 percent sperm. That's why he's so beautiful, with that soft white skin."