Apparently, there’s a nutbar trying to off writers in Turkey. He killed Armenian journalist Hrant Dink and threatened Orhan Pamuk in a courtroom. Perhaps the only way to calm this guy is to get him a blog so he can type out his snarky aggressions like the rest of us.
You know, I’ve been text-messaging “That’s totally book!” well ahead of the hipsters, which is to say as of fifteen minutes ago. I’m just too lazy to hit the number keys one additional time for C and L.
The Brits, it seems, are prevaricators when it comes to literature. 40% of Brits lie about reading classics. 10% of men fibbed to their dates about reading a heavyweight novel. Even more criminally, The Da Vinci Code is the book that these folks are lying about reading. If you’re going to lie about literature, the least you could do is up the auctorial standard. I’m happy to tell you in all candor that I’ve never read Dan Brown, have no intention of reading Dan Brown, and would sooner be stabbed in the chest with a sharp icepick than read Dan Brown. (That last sentence alone should demonstrate that one can find a conversational starter within truth.) (RELATED:Maxine has uncoveredthe full list.)
“Neck and shoulder massage!” Really, there’s no need for delicacy on this point. We’re all adults here. Should I now refer to other activities as “horizontal biological engineering tests?” Orwell would have had a field day with these euphemisms.
Why, oh why books like this? What next? A sex manual penned by Ron Howard? A new Showtime television series called Joanie REALLY Loves Chachi, featuring a bukkake-flecked Erin Moran satisfying everyone at the Leopard Lodge? (via Rarely Likable)