What the fuck? Can someone please tell me how to share the Blu hoo? There are plenty of lame excuses for writing out there on the WWW over which folks are just laughing their asses off. And freaking BOOKS too. But the only thing remotely funny about much of the shit is that dumbass people paid for it. Like, real money. Case in point: Aisha Tyler's Swerve: Reckless Observations of a Postmodern Girl. Who the hell gave that woman a book contract? You know what her painfully unfunny writing reminds me of besides the fact that I am a dumbass for buying it? This can of soft drink sitting right here, spent, on the table next to me. ZERO. That's right Coke Zero ®. There is zero anything funny in the whole goddamned 247 pages. I want my money back. For the book. Not the Coke®. Damn. Focus here.
You know, fucktard book publishers, not everyflippingbody who has a career in front of the cameras is an AUTHOR. Oh, my God, a penny can be made! Hurry, write a book! Oh. Oh. Here's another GREAT example, which I know is going to piss off lots of folks, but only the lemming-kind who believe that just because someone else says so-and-so is hilarious that it must be so: Chelsea Handler's Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang. Plug me in both eyes point blank right now with a combination of hollow-point bullets and buck shot. I felt my brain atrophy when I read that stupid shit. I had a "I smell som'um" look on my face for the entire experience, and it took days before people stopped sniffing their armpits and cupping their breath around me. Look. Chelsea may be funny on television, but being able to nimbly riff off some hapless dork of a Mexican dude-- whose real name, by the way, is Jesus for Christ's sake, NOT Chuy--does not a brilliantly funny author make. Just because Ellen and Tina can do it--and GOD knows they CAN DO IT-- does not mean everyone can do it. Stop it, stupid Mindy Kaling from The Office. Not only is it impossible to read your crap, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (Yes. Yes they are.), without hearing your whiny, vocal-fry voice, but the prose is like something out of a junior high bathroom stall. In fact, the pages of the book should be in a junior high bathroom stall for wiping purposes.
You know, fucktard book publishers, not everyflippingbody who has a career in front of the cameras is an AUTHOR. Oh, my God, a penny can be made! Hurry, write a book! Oh. Oh. Here's another GREAT example, which I know is going to piss off lots of folks, but only the lemming-kind who believe that just because someone else says so-and-so is hilarious that it must be so: Chelsea Handler's Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang. Plug me in both eyes point blank right now with a combination of hollow-point bullets and buck shot. I felt my brain atrophy when I read that stupid shit. I had a "I smell som'um" look on my face for the entire experience, and it took days before people stopped sniffing their armpits and cupping their breath around me. Look. Chelsea may be funny on television, but being able to nimbly riff off some hapless dork of a Mexican dude-- whose real name, by the way, is Jesus for Christ's sake, NOT Chuy--does not a brilliantly funny author make. Just because Ellen and Tina can do it--and GOD knows they CAN DO IT-- does not mean everyone can do it. Stop it, stupid Mindy Kaling from The Office. Not only is it impossible to read your crap, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (Yes. Yes they are.), without hearing your whiny, vocal-fry voice, but the prose is like something out of a junior high bathroom stall. In fact, the pages of the book should be in a junior high bathroom stall for wiping purposes.
WHY are these women making good, solid spending money for churning out banal pukisms and Blu hoo has 22 followers? (And NOT that I don't LOVE and ADORE and appreciate my 22 followers, whose devotion I will mention in print if I ever get there.) Where is the outrage? Where is the justice? Bloggurl would like to share her sludge-of-the-sewer-laced-rantings with the universe. Any suggestions?
