Wednesday, October 15, 2014


Unless you’re immersed in the groundbreaking comedy that is this blog, reading can be a stone-cold drag. Just saying, the mind tends to drift when you’re forcing down something like The Corrections by that Snooze King Jonathan Franzen. It’s just droning on and on about some white dude in NYC who’s bored and has a shitty family. Everybody has a shitty family, man. Go hit some balls at Chelsea Piers then catch The Book of Mormon for chrissake. You’re in Manhattan. If you’re bored there, you suck. At least go chase down a good drunk over at McSorley’s. But it keeps droning on and on so you start thinking about awesome stuff, like finally getting bowling lessons or how fucked up zoos are. In fact, you’re probably thinking about something else right now while you’re reading this. I get it. No offense taken. I could say anything and it wouldn’t matter. You smell like my Uncle Pete’s gym socks. See, you have no clue how I just burned you two ways to Sunday. Nope, you’re too busy thinking about how cool it would be to have an invisibility cloak backstage at a strip club. In fact, I’m not even paying attention and I’m writing this shit. What was I talking about? Oh right, how boring reading is. So, you’re forcing The Corrections down like cold broccoli because you want your friends to think you’re smart and you start wondering if cavemen ever laughed at each other’s farts. I feel like it was such a common occurrence that it never fazed them. Plus, I bet dinosaur meat toots are so putrid they’re not even funny. Still, it’s great to think about them sitting around a cave chuckling over a few air biscuits. And then your realize you have no clue what that last six pages were about, so you have to pick right back up where the guy is complaining about not being able to write that novel that everyone’s going to forget. Goodness gracious, just walk out your door and get a sandwich in Soho or something. That area is sweet.

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