The Fault in Our Stars: A Takedown

Before I get started this week, I just want to know one thing. Who told the innumerable, fiery Shailene Woodley it was a good idea to wear a nose tube for a whole movie? It’s almost as bad as going full-retard. The boy-dyke cut was bad enough but the tube took the cake. She could have been something and she threw it all away for a schmaltzy, boring, pretentious, derivative cancer flick. Oh well, at least I saw her boobs in that Gregg Araki movie. I didn’t even watch the whole thing, I just wanted to perv on Woodley’s boobies. That part alone was better than the whole of The Fault in Our Stars.

This fucking book has a whopping 36,000 (or so) reviews on Amazon. Does any book have that many views? Let me check.

50 Shits of Grey? 33,000 reviews. Close but not close enough.

Hunger Games? 24,000. That’s respectable.

Harry Potter? Only 10,000 reviews.

Twilight? 7,000.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo? 5,000.

Let’s check a classic or two.

To Kill a Mockingbird? 7,600 reviews.

Great Gatsby? 5,000. We’re getting nowhere here.

Catcher in the Rye? 4,289.

Moby Dick? A paltry 1,100 reviews. There has to be something else…

Oh! The Bible. Let’s see…

Not one edition of the Bible has that many reviews.

So what, as they say, the fuck? Is it the wannabe poetic title? I like poetically titled books if they’re done well like A Hreatbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. That one pulled it off, this one didn’t. In fact, that book is everything this book wishes it was. So is it mass hysteria? Is it the mediocre film adaptation? Is it Woodley’s boobies? Is it John Green’s Youtube following? I’ll admit I learned a thing or two from his Crash Course series but not really because he’s so full of shit and wordy that anything you learn gets lost in his nasally Revenge of the Nerds voice and his terrible haircuts. There was one video about evolution that was making perfect sense until he said this animal lineage split into another species “somewhere” but then he kept talking and didn’t explain the split at all. Just a random split? Evolution is animals changing and ADAPTING to suit their surroundings, why would there be this convenient split “somewhere”? I’ll answer that with a quote I’ve heard recently and then get into this shitty novel.

Science: Give us one free miracle and we’ll explain the rest.

Or whatever. Every other line in this book ends in “or whatever”, because that’s how John Green relates to the teens or whatever. The big problem with this shitty novel permeates the whole fucking thing, no matter who is speaking or whatever. That big problem is John Green’s voice. I won’t give him any views by posting a link to his Youtube channel here but he uses seven words when five words will do. A lot. He has this lispy, condescending, hipster tone of voice. He uses big words and elaborate phrases when he talks. He says things out loud that you only write down. Nobody says that shit. And he’s smarmy. And you can hear his annoying, preachy voice all through this shitty novel. Quotes, shall we?

Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.

That line is almost true but reading it in John Green’s Voice ruins it. JOHN GREEN! Like Matt Damon in Team America. Or whatever. JOHN GREEN.

“I am,” he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”

Fucking NOBODY talks that way. Not even John Green. JOHN GREEN. His eyes crinkling? What a distraction. Amateurs think you have to describe body parts and movements in great detail to illicit some kind of response in their readers when all it does is get in the way. And the kind of girls I like would puke if I said something like all of that to them. I guess Woodley would puke too but that’s on account of the chemotherapy. Hey-ohhhhhh.

Sorry! That’s the only cancer joke I’ll make, promise. Or whatever. JOHN GREEN.

You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world…but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices.

Also read in John Green’s voice so even if that shitty line was any good, it would be ruined. JOHN GREEN. You don’t really have a say in who hurts you, that’s a lie. “I like my choices”. Christ, I hate this kid. This is the love interest (redundant spoiler alert: he dies) and from what I’ve read, he’s a cynical asshole. Nobody likes cynical assholes. You might even say they’re a cancer on society. That one doesn’t count.

I hate cancer, really I do. My brother and mother both had a tumor at the same time once and it was terrifying and sad. It’s always the wrong people who get cancer. I hate it so much and this shitty novel doesn’t help.

Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

You can just see John Green leaning back from his laptop and nodding in agreement with himself after typing that stupid line. Such wisdom and insight into the human condition. Or maybe he’s talking about the car? In that case, yes, John Green, some Infinities are bigger than other Infinities. And some trees are bigger than other trees. And some nose tubes are bigger than other nose tubes.

“There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There’s .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.

My God, somebody Elliott Smith me in the heart, that was bad.

There will come a time when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did and built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of this will have been for naught. Maybe that time is coming soon and maybe it is millions of years away, but even if we survive the collapse of our sun, we will not survive forever. There was time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after. And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that’s what everyone else does.

Once again, nobody talks like that. And nobody uses the word “naught” unless they’re being ironic or writing. Or both. Or whatever. Also, SHUT UP. God, John Green, you suck.

“May I see you again?” he asked. There was an endearing nervousness in his voice.

I smiled. “Sure.”

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

“Patience, grasshopper,” I counseled. “You don’t want to seem overeager.”

“Right, that’s why I said tomorrow,” he said. “I want to see you again tonight. But I’m willing to wait all night and much of tomorrow.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious,” he said.

“You don’t even know me,” I said. I grabbed the book from the center console. “How about I call you when I finish this?”

“But you don’t even have my phone number,” he said.

“I strongly suspect you wrote it in this book.”

He broke out into that goofy smile. “And you say we don’t know each other.”

That has to be the worst meet-cute I’ve ever experienced. It even has the girl self-awaringly telling the boy to not be so eager. She’s cynical too, just like any modern teen. Over 7,000 people liked that quote on Goodreads. That’s more likes than Twilight had reviews!

It’s a metaphor, see: You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don’t give it the power to do its killing.

I almost fell asleep just now. Can someone explain that metaphor? And not John Green. JOHN GREEN.

You are so busy being YOU that you have no idea how utterly unprecedented you are.

I could go on and on, there are over 70 pages of shitty, pseudo-poetic quotes on Goodreads for this shitty novel. Go read a true story about someone with cancer instead. Go talk to people at a treatment center. At least you’ll get a real, authentic voice telling you the truth without a bunch of internetic sarcastic ironic pretentious smarmy coy derivative bullshit all around it.

One more quote for the road!

Fuck this book.

Just kidding, let me find one.

There is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars.

I won’t make the obvious joke about no shortage of fault to be found amid this shitty novel. JOHN GREEN. JOHN GREEN’S VOICE. WOODLEY’S BOOBIES. OR WHATEVER.

That reminds me… I haven’t seen those in a while. BRB.


Scandal in the Pews



I’d like to preface this by disclaiming that I’ll be doing a lot of that for this review. And by review, I mean Re-PEW! PEW PEW PEW!!

That’s a laser noise if you’re never on the internet or if you’re black. They don’t get nerd slang until it’s too late and not cool anymore. Same thing as Myspace. And computers.



Let’s have a gander at the Amazon synopsis so you know what we’re in for here.

Scandal {skan-dl} an action or event regarded as morally or legally wrong causing general public outcry or outrage

There’s definitely some punctuation missing there, specifically at the end of the sentence, where there should be a period. PEWriod. PEW! PEW PEW PEW!! PEW PEW! Also, thanks for pronouncing ‘scandal’ for us. Your copy and paste skills are surely above those of your peers. PEWrs. PEW PEW PEW!

Enter the world of Bishop Gregory Fortune, a prominent Pentecostal preacher

I’m speaking from experience here, there’s no such thing as a black Pentecostal. I’ve been to one or two Pentecostal churches in my day and there wasn’t a black person to be found. Same thing as swimming or camping. They just don’t do it.

The old saying, ‘If the head isn’t right the body isn’t either,’ reigns true in this congregation.

That phrase makes no sense and nobody has ever said it ever. PEW PEW PEW!!


Ight den, on to the review.

A mans gifts maketh room for him, and bringeth him before Great Men Proverbs 18:16.

Bringeth him before Great Men Proverbs? What are Great Men Proverbs? That sentence, too, is missing a PEW PEW PEWriod. And this is just in the acknowledgements section. What does that verse have to do with acknowledgements? Let me read some more to see if the TWO authors of this work explain its use. They do! And bonus: I was hoping for the word ‘hater’ in this preview and I got it before the book even starts!

At a very young age I discovered something within myself.

A comma? HAHAHAHA yeah right.

Something that I long kept on a shelf until the seventh grade.

Hmm, what a very specific yet vague phrase. Someone has discovered Facebook…

I remember writing a story as we were assigned to write a myth. It took me just minutes to compile imaginative thoughts into a concise creative story about the beginnings of the sun and the moon.

Imaginative thoughts! Those are the best kind! Still no commas though. That would have been a better beginnings to write about.

But my gift was brought into question when my seventh grade teacher Ms. Glover, questioned how I could write such a story. She showed it to other teachers expecting them to agree that there was no way possible I could create something so great.

Yes! A comma! Too bad it’s in the WRONG PLACE. Someone is lying here, either the teachers or the author. Or both. This is not a writer. This is not a gift.

To her surprise they all agreed. Not only was it possible, I truly had a gift….But I ended the year with a C average, citing such things as spelling and grammar. According to her, for those reasons she deducted points. Can you say Hater!

Well, Tracey T, Cooper, spelling and GRAMMAR ARE IMPORTANT TO BEING A WRITER. Pretty good reason to get a C, if you ask me. See that? The comma? USE THEM.

One last thing before I get into the actual book and past this slang slinging wannabe trying to convince her poor readers how great she is. The word ‘hater.’ Sorry, ‘Hater.’ A hater is someone who dislikes you for no real reason. They want what you have or they want you to stay where you are and not rise to better things. So they say and do things to get to you. They’re just jealous, really. But ‘hater’ is another word that’s been taken and subjugated by crybabies for their cause. Same with trolls. Nobody really knows that a troll is anymore. If someone disagrees with you, they disagree with you, they’re not trolling or hating. Don’t get it twisted, fam. If your writing sucks, your writing sucks. I’m not hating on you, I’m not trolling you. You suck as a writer and probably also as a person. Okay maybe that last part was trolling.

I forgot something before we finally get to the actual book.


Okay, I’m done doing that now.

Oh good, after acknowledgements comes the prologue. PEWlogue. PEW PEW PEW PEW PEW!! PEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWWWWWW!

How the hell did I get here in 2004?

I just don’t know what to do with that. It’s the title of the prologue. STOP WRITING PROLOGUES. JUST STOP. This is making me weary. I’m going to take a breather and finish this one later…

So what is this “book” about? If the title and cover weren’t indications, it’s about religious people having sex. Or black people having sex. Both of those possibilities are gross in their own ways. Remember on Flavor Flav’s show when he would make out with girls in the hot tub or the cheese factory or whatever? It was gross, don’t lie.

What’s my racism level at right now? Who cares, PEW PEW PEW! SKAN-DL! PEW. Besides, I’m not racist. My neighbors are black and so is my coworker. And I like Kanye West.

This “book” is about a black woman named Nadira. She tells us this by referring to herself in the third person in the very first line. She’s at church and she doesn’t know how the hell she did get there in 2004. Then she goes on to explain how the hell she did get there. Her friends were raised by “holy rollers” so they dragged her “black ass” there. HA! Now who’s racist? She called herself black!

“Thanks,” I said, offering her a little stank eye.

Okay, you’re going to have to give me a second to compose myself here and tell some jokes. I don’t get the word ‘offering’ in this context. To offer something is a casual, meek way of presenting something. I don’t know about you guys, but when I throw around my stank eye, it’s not a casual offering. That shit is raw. STANK EYE. STANK EYE IN THE PEW. PEW PEW PEW!!

Nadiria meets the bishop of her imaginary black Pentecostal church and lusts after him immediately. He isn’t described physically until they bang each other later in the preview so there’s no real reason for her lust other than her being a slut. Yes, kids, this is erotica. I really didn’t think it was this time but it is. It’s pretty bad erotica too but I don’t think there’s such a thing as good erotica.

Anysin, Nidaria meets with the bishop because she’s now a member of his church and she’s working there too. All in one page, pretty impressive, huh? The bishop wants to know what area of ministry she wants to work in so Nadira drops her elevator pitch that’s too long for an elevator pitch.

What I can offer you is that I have created BOLD Brand; a brand that is everything from apparel, image consultants, a council of doctors, lawyers, funeral homes, educators, and even politicians that have one goal in mind. And that is kingdom advancement. You already have many of these people in your church. Why not utilize them to their maximum potential while helping to increase their earning and gain profit and revenue for yourself as well your ministry?

I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no, this is not a pyramid scheme. And what bishop of a church that has that kind of flock would meet with a skeezy skank like Nadira? He has people for that. SKANK IN THE PEW! PEW PEW PEW!!

After that part is a section where Nadira explains her ponzi scheme aka BOLD Brand to members of the church. I didn’t read that part but there are a few really long paragraphs in it. And just trust that there are a lot of typos and grammatical errors. You hater! HATER IN THE PEW! PEW PEW PEW!!

Now we get to the sex. Highlights? Sure!

The smell of black ice air freshener filled my BMX 750 Li, reminding me of the scent of a man that I currently lacked in my life.

By the way, this bitch does a lot of name-dropping. Like a lot. There was White Diamonds perfume earlier in the preview. And Burberry. And now black ice air freshener, which apparently smells like a man. Again, gross. Enough with the smells.

“I think I’ll call you Gees.”


“You’re coming in, I hope,” I said.

“I am close your door, though.”


“I want you!” I whispered

Lose the exclamation point. Otherwise it’s not a whisper.

The slickness forming in my panties felt like an eruption of hot lava.


The moment his mouth met my wet opening, I burst on impact.


“You taste even better than I imagined,” he said between licks.


My legs began shaking uncontrollably.

Uh oh, uncontrollable shaking legs. You know what that sounds like a case of?



“Sheesh!” he grunted as he sprayed his love onto my stomach.

Okay, that one made me laugh out loud. I always sheesh when I spray my love.

Annnnnddd…..I’m done. Sheesh!



Katrina’s Secrets: Storms After The Storm

Katrina’s Secrets: Storms After The Storm

This fuckin’ guy, here. You know it’s bad when a public figure has to self-publish a book. You can just see it on Nagin’s stupid mug though. I never trusted him. I remember when Katrina went down and his face was everywhere. He just looked dumb. He still looks dumb.

Now he gets to sit in prison, right? He’s in trouble for some typical shady-politician stuff but I won’t get into that. He looks about ready for some good old fashioned New Orleans butt-rape though. Fitting for someone who helped butt-rape such a great city.

I’ll skip the stupid and overwritten introduction and get right into chapter one: Landfall Blues. This fuckin’ guy, here.

Her Wonder Woman like strength destroyed everything in her path…

I don’t understand the reference. Wonder Woman isn’t a destructive force. Maybe he wrote this when Beyonce was in talks to play her in a movie? That might explain it.

Like a well-devised secret battle plan…

Now we’re getting to the truth. He’s anthropomorphizing this chaotic act of nature in an attempt to downplay it to fall under his ineptitude. He simply can’t wrap his brain around something this big. Here’s the worst bit of chapter one:

The winds were screaming around city hall and the Hyatt hotel louder and crazier than a wild banshee roaring down the streets. It made a hollow and constant drone like sci-fi possessed gods chanting ominous incantations. The raindrops were so large that they sounded like gunshots as they hit buildings, cars and the ground.

Okay, where do I start with this? I’ll go with the banshee. There’s a difference between screaming and roaring, first of all. So did the fucking banshee scream or roar? Then in the very next sentence, it’s not a roar or a scream (or a yodel), but it’s a drone. And not just any drone, no. This is Ray Nagin. This is a drone like sci-fi possessed gods chanting ominous incantations. What the fuck is a sci-fi possessed god?? And those weren’t incantations, those were people outside crying for help as they died. And those “gunshots” weren’t raindrops, THEY WERE ACTUAL GUNSHOTS.

Let’s forget about the rest of over-long chapter one, which contains lines such as:

…shattering glass windows like packs of Mardi Gras beads or painted Zulu coconuts tossed into a sea of people, many who get hit in the face as penalty for not anticipating where these pieces were really going.

She [Katrina, a HURRICANE] had never been to Bourbon Street but heard we served an alcoholic drink called the “Hurricane” and she wanted one for the road.

She [Katrina, a HURRICANE] was now sprinting to get some Bourbon Street libations.

Here are some more of the chapter titles:

Helicopter Tears

John Wayne Dude

Radio Cuss Out

This is a very long Amazon Preview, you’ll have to excuse me. Hey, it’s very long, much like the relief effort and government response and the time it took to get some fucking functioning trailers to these now destitute people who no doubt had to dodge Zulu coconuts and Wonder Woman’s invisible plane. This fuckin’ guy, here. It’s easy to blame Ragin’ Nagin, I guess. And that’s what I’ll do, since this blog is about him. Wait, wait… RAYgin Nagin. Because his name is Ray…NEXT.

Next he spends too much time describing himself getting ready to ride in a helicopter (once again taking too long, I should say) and proceeds to bash the New Orleans Saints a little bit (WHO DAT, asshole) while flying away from the Superdome. He notices that the elevated interstate highways were filling with people. Were. WERE. This was well after the flood, they’d been up on those fuckin’ freeways and starving long before Nagin strapped himself into that helicopter. There’s no “were”, it had already happened. Things from Nagin’s chopper looked like spilled black coffee or like frosted flakes. He could see the stress on people’s faces. From a helicopter. In the wind. Okay then. NEXT.

Next he bashes Michael Brown, head of FEMA, for a few paragraphs, calling into play his inexperience and ineffectiveness in dealing with the storm. That’s a case of the black guy calling the kettle black, Mr. Nagin. NEXT.

Next he claims to barely sleep on wet, sweaty sheets and pretends to feel bad for the people down below, still waiting on buses to get them the fuck away from him. NEXT.

Next he claims to help search a wrecked hotel for a place to sleep. I’m sure he did. NEXT.

Next, what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger and he should be Hercules after the morning he’s had. Aw, poor baby. Try spending a month locked up in a detention facility with no paperwork and no real charges and no real food and no contact with the outside world because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time or because you went out to your car to get some food you’d left and you got nabbed for “looting”, you fuck. NEXT.

Next he bitches about the president and the governor. There are valid complaints about them as well, but Mr. Nagin is one of the Three Amigos here. Don’t get it twisted.

No more NEXTs.

This is an incredibly self-absorbed and narcissistic take on the Katrina tragedy, written by a man who still can’t see outside of his barely throbbing and rarely functioning frontal lobe. It’s his version of OJ Simpson’s “I didn’t do it but if I did, this is how I’d do it” book. He fucked up just as much as the next guy but you wouldn’t guess it here. He was one of them, if one was to believe Mr. Nagin. He had to wade past purple and bloated corpses, right? He had to fall asleep listening to dogs yowling and dying of starvation all night, right? He had to watch family members die while waiting in line for the buses, didn’t he? He got infections and illnesses from stagnant water turned toxic, didn’t he? He slept on the freeway, huh? He dodged roving bands of armed looters, I’m sure. This fuckin’ guy, here.

And now another hurricane is rolling by. Only this time it’s Hurricane Karma. And the only banshee Ray Nagin can hear is his own screaming as he gets butt-raped in a federal-pound-you-in-the-ass prison.




Shortlist (Part 8 of the Shortlist Series)

Some Amazon Previews are simply too short to write up a proper shitty review. That’s where this series comes in. And I hate it when people self publish a book and claim it’s part of a series before other books are even written. Get a life.


Abby Normal Has A Bad Day: The Misadventures of Abby Normal

Look closely at that cover. Like really closely. See her mouth? See the herp sore? Why would you put that on the cover of your YA/kids novel? Teenage boys read too (I did) so why would they want to stare at a cold sore? Why would anyone want to stare at one? I know this is a young cover model and you don’t exactly need her in a bikini, but still…PHOTOSHOP ABRASIONS AND LESIONS. Maybe she gets a cold sore in the book and it ruins her prom night or whatever it is young girls do these days. Her twerk party. Nobody wants a herp twerking on him.

Get it? Her name? Abby Normal AKA abnormal. The prologue (motherFUCKER) tells us that her middle moniker is Noughton. Abby Noughton Normal. Not unnormal. Are you following this? She’s not unnormal so she’s normal. Abnormally not unnormal. That’s SO Abby. LOL she has a cold sore. AnySTD, if this book really is for kids, that prologue has got to go. It. Is. So. Boring.

Until she was eight, Abby spent some part of every day with her grandparents[Nan and Papa]…Because both of Abby’s parents work, her mom in a law firm and her dad a chef. [BOOORRRRIIIIINNNNGGG] Then Nan and Papa moved away. Papa got a new job with a school for Marine Engineers [sic] (men who worked on ships) and he and Nan lived at that school. [WHO CAAAAAAARES. BOOOOORRRRIIIIING. AND WHAT IS THAT ON YOUR LIP? ARE YOU SICK?]

No kid will read that. Not even the author’s kid.

I heard the front door open and immediately put down my I-pod.

Nobody uses Ipods anymore. And it’s Ipod, not I-pod.

I eased myself out of the red Barcalounger…

No kid knows what a Barcalounger is. I don’t even really know what a Barcalounger is.

“What is this?” My grandmother held up an almost empty can of Campbell’s tomato soup.

The directions on a can of Campbell’s tomato soup say that it’s one can of soup and one can of water. Why would there still be soup in the fucking can? Unless it was one of those big cans, in which case Grandma AKA Nan should hit Abby over the head with it a few times, the wasteful little piggy shit. No wonder she has sores on her mouth.


The Dream Life Formula: Live, Work and Play Successfully

Isn’t that what we all want?

Yes, of course, white guy pressing his boner against a woman on a rock. That’s what we all want. And how do you “play successfully”?? If you fail at playing, just off yourself. But what, pray tell, is the Dream Life Formula?? Allow me to unpack.

This book is apparently taught in sentences.

One sentence at a time.

One after the other, no paragraphs.

Maybe they’re supposed to be inspirational or quotable?

Some of the sentences are randomly bold and centered.

Some of the sentences are randomly bold but not centered.

Examples? Sure.

No longer does he have to suffer the humiliation of asking for time off from work…

That’s humiliating? Because I do it all the time.

We wrote this book for YOU to be able to change the status quo and Live Your Best Life by following the path we had to walk in great pain till [sic – a till is the part of the cash register that encases the money, you might have meant “’til” or even just using “until” would have worked] our souls bled and our self-respect stopped existing.

So you want the reader to follow the same pain-filled, soul-bloodletting, self-respect-killing path that you followed? I hope it’s off the beaten path! I’ll walk it proudly then. And sadly.

That’s WHY we wrote this book…

Really?? Is that why the title of that section was Why Did We Write This Book? I was hoping for a section with holistic recipes, myself.

The disclaimer section (fuck you!) follows and tells us that it’s a little too risky to start a business (which is what I assume this book is about) and that it’s not the author’s fault if you fuck it up and that we, the readers, must assume that any products mentioned are affiliated with the author. I smell “Shark-Tank-Laugh-Off” here. Do you ever watch that show? You should.

I’m assuming this isn’t the actual content of the book because there’s nothing very practical in the preview chapters. It’s things like:

Like the caterpillar you will become the butterfly!

You will not be exposed to information overload…

Live, Work, and Play…You have to create a balance between them…

Design your own business…

No more brain fog, no more indecision, only clear living…

The quest to live your dream is not static…

Designing your dream life and an online business is not living it…

You will be equipped to build a 5-6 or 7 figure per year business…

All I read though was





This is a book version of those spam emails you get all the time.

The preview marketably ends with

What prevents me from living my dream lifestyle right now?

Uh…Reading shit like this definitely doesn’t help. Go read The 4 Hour Workweek by Tim Ferriss instead.


Shunned: An Amish Awakening, Book 1

There is no shortage of Amish literature among the self-published. The main character is always a Rebecca or Hannah and there’s always something about sexual desire or being illegitimately pregnant. Because I guess having sex is the only sin that Amish women commit? What about their fashion sense? Sin-FUL. Anyway, it’s misogynistic and backwards and insulting to women. Wait, isn’t misogynism pretty much insulting to women? Anyslapthatho, most of these terrible Amish books are written by women, if not all of them. It’s gross, especially the erotic ones, like this book. I don’t believe in living and fucking your darkest desires vicariously through characters in your books. It’s dangerous and sickening and a threat to literature and a threat to women. Cut it out.

This “book” is part of a short-novel series about a girl who accidentally looks at “the largest penis she’d ever seen” and falls bonnet over heels into a sexual underground she never knew existed. There’s like 17 books in this series or something, I didn’t check. But keep your desperation and innately depraved sexual desires to yourself please. Or go take them out on some actual Amish people. Cut the shit.


Life After: The Cemetery Plot (Short Stories Book 1)

Here’s the problem I have with this writing. It’s not that it sucks (and it does), it’s how the action is described. Looky here:

…Holt Prendergrast shatters a mournful tranquility by clearing his throat with enough force to make the room cringe. Thawed by the broken silence, his wife Judy mechanically lurches forward, grabbing a tissue and ineffectually dabbing at her dry eyes. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Holt clears his throat again and cracks his knuckles. Judy looks over, her lips parting as if to speak. Snapping them shut, Judy faces forward…

First of all, try and snap your lips shut. Go ahead, try. That’s right, YOU CAN’T. And even if you could, you’d just look like a ridiculous caricature of yourself. Secondly, what a name. Holt Prendergrast. Just say it to yourself a few times. Regal. Legal. Elegant. Holt Prendergrast. Thirdly, he “shattered” a silence. Do you know what shattered means? A throat clearing would hardly shatter anything. Fourth of all, his wife was “thawed” by it. Um, thawing is a slow and gradual process, not exactly something that can be shattered. Fifthly, she “mechanically lurches forward.” Huh? Do you know what a lurch is? You pretty much can’t do it mechanically, it’s abrupt. Finally, Holt cleared his throat again. Why? Judy had already mechanically lurched. She was paying attention. That passage is so boring and tedious, the author had to add in all of these colorful and SNAPPY words to make up for it. I can only assume the rest of the story is written that way. No snapping thanks.

Search Term Bonus Blog

Because of some of the categories and tags I’ve used, very interesting search terms have come up. Let this list remind you that the internet is a terrible place filled with deviant perverts and mentally-deficient Chatroulette-dwellers.

Satanism/Jodi Arias – Brought on by this blog:

  • satanic cults in utah
  • satanic bare fucking
  • does satan know something about my identity that i don’t
  • satanic alter sacrifices
  • satanic jerk off blogs
  • are freckled eyes a satanic symbol
  • jodi arias evil spirit
  • jodi satan
  • jodi arias is the devil
  • jodi arias in a satanic cult
  • jodi arias is ugly bitch
  • jodi arias mind control

Cockblocking Ugly Fat Girls Doing Coke/Teenage Sluts/50 Shades of Grey – Brought on by this blog:

  • cocaine party
  • cockblocking fat friend
  • how to know if youre a teenage slut
  • teen sluts you know
  • written on teen sluts
  • fuck your fat friends ass
  • sex fiction stories of underage sluts that fuck
  • teens remove the shit from her belly
  • geeked out sluts getting fucked for drugs
  • why do fat women like 50 shades of grey about
  • author of fifty shades is fat ugly
  • what some chicks do for coke
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  • do girls get fat when they stop doing cocaine
  • cock block teen
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  • sex+with+dumb+and+duff+girls
  • cherry cola without bra and sex

Cunt Bullying – Brought on by this blog:

  • cunt pounding
  • melissa douthit cunt
  • amazon cunt
  • cunt fantasy
  • cunt pinging
  • pounding clit to get off
  • melissa douthit bully
  • bullying worldbuilding


  • teenag sex
  • ripoff porn
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Puke Porn and Other Random Creepy Filth:

  • porn lil twatz
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  • preview of sixty year old ladies fucking
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  • a pussy which has already being fucked with more than two dicks at once it size

There you have it, I get a lot of views from people looking for porn and not for the integrity of my writing.

Other Interesting Facts:

  • The most commonly searched blogs were my Judy Byington blog and my Joel Elrichson blog. Likely because both were featured on television.
  • Joel’s shitty book was my most viewed blog after Home Page/Archives.
  • Judy’s shitty book was the second most viewed blog.
  • Joel’s shitty book had double the views that Jody’s shitty book had.
  • Third most viewed was Year of the Cat.
  • Most views have come from English-speaking countries, obviously. USA, Canada, UK, Australia.
  • The most non-English-speaking views came from Germany, India, and The Netherlands, respectively.
  • Places like Jordan, Serbia, Guyana, Palestine, Vietnam, and Qatar only brought one view a piece.
  • The most clicked links were each authors’ links to Amazon. You’re welcome, Amazon.
  • The second most clicked link was a fake link,
  • The most active time of day is 11pm.
  • The most linked views came from Google, Twitter, Litreactor, and Wattpad.

In summary, you people are sick.




Hockey Romance Books: Between the Pipes

Buy it here!

Hockey Romance Books: Between the Pipes

Recommended reading whether you love hockey, romance or both.

LOL That’s a real quote from a reviewer. What if you love neither though?? I swear, there’s a genre for everything. There’s also Amish Lit. For real, look it up. And there are a lot of books on it. The Amish. Maybe I’ll find one for a review soon. I hope there’s Amish sex in them. But for now… Hockey!

Between the Pipes. I hope the pipes are a woman’s thighs. SCORE! I pucked her good. Right between the pucking pipes.

Guess what? This puckin’ book starts with a foreword. A book about hockey players sticking pucks and sticks in each other does not need a foreword. You know what needs forewords? Pucking reference books. The bible. Memoirs. Stop putting forewords and prefaces and prologues and introductions in your books, self-publishers. It’s becoming the brand of mediocrity. That said, allow me to unpack this foreword.

There’s three long and pointless rambling paragraphs about how writing is this woman’s passion and she dreams of cotton candy clouds instead of funnel cake storms or something like that. She probably eats a lot, i.e. she’s fat. Eh, sorry. I’ve made it a point in my new beginning as a blogger/reviewer to not make these things personal. I made it three blogs before I did though. That’s good, right? Anyfat, what the hell does a girl know about hockey? Unless you’re Kevin Smith’s wife or a big ol’ bull-dyke, probably nothing.

So this chick focuses on the positive and not the negative because the “negative will eat you up”. Oh, more eating references. She’s not fat, no. Guys, I’m still in the foreword. This is what she’s talking about and it has nothing to do with hockey or getting pucked in the ass. I think she needs a good puck.

Anyfuck, after all of that blathering, prescription-induced rambling (what mother of SIX kids isn’t on meds?), we now have our synopsis. YES. Now we’ll hear the ins and outs of hockey, right? Right…

Between the Pipes is more than just a hockey romance novel.

HAHAHAHAHahahaha I’m sorry. I never thought I’d hear that sentence. Just read it out loud and you’ll see what I mean.

What is love?

Then the author tells us what love is. It’s more than great sex, compatibility, enjoying weekend getaways, apparently. Bullshit, love isn’t anything more than that. It’s definitely not more than just a hockey romance novel.

True love is so far beyond this you can’t even begin to comprehend unless you are one of the few who have or have had true love.

The only thing I’m having trouble comprehending is that sentence. Puck me, that was bad. I think it needs a comma or two? I’m a bleak person, my writing has often been described as bleak and “French Existentialist”, but there’s been more than a few people who’ve had or have had true love. This lady has to be a chunker. Or a hockey goalie. Oh! Hockey. That’s what this book is about, remember? Where?? Where the puck is the hockey??

Two more giant paragraphs about love later, and we’re finally at the actual synopsis. This book is about a striking farm girl who’s loveable and innocent and flirty, AKA a slut. FINALLY. This girl plays hockey apparently. But…

Little did she know that her passion for hockey will threaten to steer her away from her course toward becoming a spectacular goalie and extinguish her glimmer of hope in finding absolute love.

What the puck does that sentence say?? And I knew she was a goalie, AKA fat, AKA a big ol’ bull-dyke. And how could her passion for hockey steer her away from becoming a great hockey player?? Think about that for a second. But wait, there’s more!

Next, there’s Hank, a black kid in an all white neighborhood. Man, he must really have it tough. Those all white neighborhoods are scary places, you racist. But for some reason, this black kid has a “language barrier”. What, ebonics? You racist. Holy puck, we’re not even to chapter one yet. What the puck am I doing with my life??

Chapter one starts in the present. It says so at the beginning. Then the second part is also in the present. Except the first of the chapter is a diary entry about how daddy never knocked any pucks between her pipes or something, I don’t know. Then “everybody knows Katie”. She’s a farmer’s daughter and totally not a slut. But she’s 18 now, which means the author can write all of the sex scenes she wants, the fat pervert.

Just like other parts of the preview, we’re given three long and boring paragraphs describing how quirky and unique Katie is. She was addicted to egg whites and oranges straight from the tree and she ate bugs or something gay like that. OMG so pucking quirky.

This was uniquely positive and free-spirited Katie.

OKAY. Jesus pucking Christ, you just told us that using three pucking paragraphs. We didn’t need that stupid as puck sentence too.

Then BAM, we’re “5 years prior” and Katie likes a boy. Is it Hank? Puck no, he’s black. She likes Mat With One T Hayes, who of course is a careless douche.

He led her too [sic] believe he was really into her,but [sic] she found out later he had a girlfriend and was only using Katie for her sea-doo [sic, that’s a brand name, it should be capitalized] boat.

They’re prom king and queen three years in a row. They broke up and got back together three times in five years. BO-RING. I broke up with my girlfriend and got back together three times in the FIRST year. Still no pucking mention of hockey. Or the black kid. Just a bunch of angsty preteen girl bullshit. I thought this bitch was 18?

Then the book jumps back into the past because those “5 years prior” have passed by now. Right? Puck me, this is hard to follow for a book about hockey. FINALLY! No, not hockey. Sex. Some good old fashioned teenage pucking. Katie is ready to give her virginity away to Mat With One T because she’s tired of losing sleep over it. I feel like the author is living vicariously through Katie, don’t you? It’s kind of disgusting.

Mat (With One T) attempted to chuckle but it sounded more like a cat getting stepped on.

I’m sorry, what?? A cat getting stepped on? THAT IS NOT A CHUCKLE. He’s about to ram his stick between Katie’s quivering teenage pipes, maybe it was an orgasm? Good God, this is bad.

He pulled her close and kissed her. He pressed his hardness against her. At least that’s working, he thought to himself. Funny thing was, it was her exact thought too. A testament to their two-year-old connection.

Holy puck that was creepy. The Amazon preview ends mercifully there before things really get rough. They’re teenagers when this is happening by the way. Underage pucking is fine though, right? Nobody is going to read this shit anyway.

Tomorrow Once More

I have bad news, everyone. The future is really really boring and things don’t change much. Are there what looks like (a joke you’ll get later) robots? Doesn’t look like it. Are there what looks like androids? Not yet. Are there what looks like meals in pill form? Nope. But basically think of every other trope about the future and you have what looks like Tomorrow Once More, a time-travel novel that starts off in the year 2234. You read that right. That’s 200 or so years into the future. But that’s not good enough for our story, no. It goes from there to 3853. Think about that for a second. Think about how far humanity has come in, say….2500 years. Pretty far, am I right? Things are much much different, we’ve evolved as a people, as a society. Technology has come so so far. We’re maybe a hundred years from flying cars, I’m convinced.

But in the year 3853? According to Dennis Butler, here are some features of our world in 1800 or so years:

  • Paperwork dated from the years 2281 and 2283. Ah, the future 80s. Good times, good times. I assume they’ll be.
  • Chair cushions that can last 1600 years and still be cushy.
  • Bismarck. Fuck yeah, Bismarck survived.
  • Flying cars. Now we’re getting somewhere.
  • Cows. No shit. Cows.
  • A guy entering data into a computer system. No robots for that?
  • A whistle that tells prisoners it’s time to eat.

Alright, I’m good. That’s enough stuff to explain how fucking boring the future is, right? Some tings never change, said Jackie Chan once. Onto the meat of the novel. Because, no joke, the start of this book takes place in a corporate prison that doubles as a livestock farm. Almost 2000 years into the future, corporations still run everything. And we’re their slaves. And we still farm cows. I could maybe buy all of this if the novel was set in 2234 instead. But it’s not, it’s set in


And then the dude, his name is Mane Lason. Or Laser Man. Something like that. Anyname, Lane Mason goes even further into the future. Good God, I hope that part is not in the preview. Actually, I hope it is.

So of course, there’s a preface and it explains a little too quickly how time travel works in that universe. In 2234. If you travel at the speed of light but there’s no mass or gravity around you, everything near you slows down but the rest of the world speeds up. Got it? First they tested it on bugs and plants and it worked BUT HOW DO THEY KNOW IT WORKED IF THEY SENT THEM TO THE FUTURE. FUCK IT, LET’S SEND IN 22 YEAR OLD LANE MASON, A TEST PILOT. A HUMAN. HE CAN TELL US IF IT WORKS OR NOT FROM 25525223 YEARS INTO THE FUTURE BECAUSE WE CAN ONLY SEND PEOPLE INTO THE FUTURE, WHERE HOPEFULLY TIME TRAVEL HAS REALLY BEEN INVENTED AND THEN HE CAN HOP A TIME MACHINE AND COME BACK. SO IF HE’S NOT IN OUR TIME MACHINE, THAT MEANS IT WORKED AND WE DIDN’T VAPORIZE LANE MASON, 22 YEAR OLD TEST PILOT. HUMAN.

So Lane wasn’t very handsome or tall but women still liked him. What in the?? Handsome and tall guys are the only ones who get the girl. This is the future, remember. Lane was able to stay calm under pressure because he retreated into himself and thought about women. That’s the secret! All along! Let’s time travel! The scientists launch this pod thing with Lane in it and then they blindly speculate and assume (that’s SO science) that the experiment worked because when the pod reached the end of the light beam (don’t ask), the hatch was opened and Lane was gone.

We the readers know it worked though because then comes chapter 1. Lane exits the pod with some food and works a 1600 year old lift with some lube (don’t ask) and goes to the surface. This is all thanks to the same geniuses who developed everything else “flawlessly”. It’s 1231241234 years later but everything still works. One thing still works (I don’t remember what it was) because it moved the whole time Lane was gone. 09346u80896 years later and it still moves! What looks like flawlessness! Then he does this:

We know Lane is in the future because everything looks like something from Lane’s former life. Such as:

What looked like a livestock farm.

What looked like chicken houses.

What looked like a small city.

What could only be a prison.

What looked like a movie playing.

These police-types took Lane to what looked like a federal pound me in the ass future prison but it’s actually Kobe-Striploin, a corporation that enslaves people to butcher cows and literature. Kobe-Striploin, you read that right. There’s also Legumes Industries. I’m not making that up. And Bean Sprouts LLC. I’m making that one up. Apparently in the future, we’re enslaved by corporations but it’s only for two years because after that, we’re “retired” AKA killed. WHO ARE WE CULLING ALL OF THIS BEEF FOR THEN?? CEOS??

He grabbed my two hands and secured them…

But at least we still have two hands! I’ll end it with this:

This man actually believed I was mentally handicapped because I had no idea how the world worked. Well that was certainly true.


Truer words have yet to be spoken.






Thugs Cry 2

Da Seequel.

This book got some great reviews. 118 out of 136 were five star reviews. Highlights? Sure:



beijing48 AKA GREYEYEZ

I can’t believe my boy gone. This book had my mouth open the entire time and CJ shocked the hell out if me with the things he did off impulse.



After Part 1 and than finished 2 and was able to converse with him how emotional attAched both books had, This brother is The Truth, I pray the day he can attend the HBF, they may be my first visit too the City!! Cash is all that I love his writings, I am not a girly book lady, I am a lady so to give too me the Real and the Raw!!! Mind stimulations, I love his readings I cAme from what he writes so me relating is what gives me the drive, and he gives it too me Good… Thanks Big homey ! U had at TNM with YOUNG BLOOD..and now Iam hooked, with TG 1&2 Thank. You my Brother!!! This is what I’m talking about!!! I can get enough, and willing to go the lenghts magnficento!!!



SHIT’S RAW!! Which means it’s poorly edited and written completely in street-speak. That’s right, the whole book is written in nearly indecipherable slang. I wonder how a thug would pronounce ‘indecipherable’? INDECISIVABUB!

I often marvel at how prolific bad writers are. This guy, Ca$h is his name, has eight novels under his gun belt. Eight novels. Eight bullets. One gun. One man. Who will do whatever it takes. Thugs cry too. Anygun, these novels have titles like “Trust No Bitch” and “Trust No Bitch 2” or “Thugs 2 Death Row Row Row Your Whip It Good 3”. And these covers, man. Deez coverz.

Instead of mixtapes at gas stations, they should put out books like these. Imagine what the literary world would look like then?!? In fact, I think I’m going to listen to hip hop while I finish this review. Oh! The review, sorry. Here it is…

Tamika, answer your muhfuckin’ phone ma!Fa real baby girl, I hope you’re not on no grimy shit!

That’s how the book starts. This is after, uh…what’s his name? CJ? That’s what it says before the book starts so that’s what I’m going with. Gangsta-ass CJ. Right. This is after CJ lef’ dat triflin’ ass skeezuh tree fone messages.

Something didn’t feel right. ¢J had a mad crazy ass feeling all up in the pit of his stomach, yo. He dun cheated on Paprika in da past so she dun smashed a homie in da interumm.

Thugs cry…too.

Anycry, CJ cruised around in his Maybach and peeped his trap and didn’t worry that the police was down the block becuz he done paid dem hos off too. Niggaz couldn’t fuck wit CJ’s hustle.

I’m not making this up, it’s really in the book. He even spelled niggaz with a Z.

Thugs cry…too.

So where was I? Bitchez (he didn’t spell that with a Z, I did) was sprung on CJ’s dick because of his turnt up perpetual scowl or his waning swag or some other stupid slang bullshit. So he does what any real playa’ does. He calles Mashika a FOURTH time. You can be all hard and gangsta and chillsville, population: ME all you want but you lose it all when you act like a girl when dealing with a girl. I’ve seen it time and time again. It doesn’t matter how hard you flex, nigga. Z. In the words of the Geto Boys in their hit hip hop song, Damn It Feels Good To Be a Gangsta:

Real gangsta-ass niggas don’t flex much

Cuz real gangsta-ass niggas know they got ’em.

Maybe Ca$ha should listen to that song a few times, it’ll learn him some. He ign’ant.

Let’s skip ahead in the text a little bit more, shall we?

I fell up in The Atmosphere with my goons to reclaim my bitch straight G-Style.

I’m making an ass out of you and me and assuming The Atmosphere is a shittily-named club because C@sh doesn’t tell us. That’s so Cazh! It the space of a short paragraph, CJ gets his bitch back after a minute or two of it being tense in da club (Worldstar!!). That was easy. But oh shit! Caprica was bunned up wit’ dat young boy’s seed. Dat young boy is Nard, the nigga she cheated on  CJ wit’. That’s really his name. Nard. Avoid the Nard. You followin’? Damn, so much drama in the AMZ. That means Amazon…I just…Moving on…

Thugs cry…too.

Then everything turns italic and CJ takes his bitch to the abortion clinic to rid her gut of dat seed and wants to snap her neck becuz she wants to have da Bebe’s Kid and give it to Nard.

Fuck me, this is bad. It’s all happening so fast. This is still page one. Or two, I don’t know. I’m still not making this up. He made his bitch abort the baby and then asked her if she regretted it when they got home. I can’t go on any longer but I browsed the rest of the preview. His bitch gets killed (what a wasted abortion, $350 down the drain, just like the fetus) and so does her family and we can’t forget…

Thugs cry…too.

Next we switch to Raheem. Do you want to find out what happens to Raheem??

Me neither.


Go read “Pimp” by Iceberg Slim instead.


  • UPDATE 5/20/2014

I feel like it would be remiss of me to not review the rest of the preview. It’s awfully half-assed of me and not reviewing it would make me just as bad as the dingleberries I’m reviewing. Also, I read it and it’s really good, guys. Like really good. Here go Raheem.

R&B singer Sparkle has died. It said it in the headline, except they called her a songstress. It said so on BET too. Good ol’ BET, simultaneously celebrating black culture while pushing it back thirty years. Poor Raheem. Guess how he deals with Sparkle’s death? Like this:

Just kidding, not like that.

Thugs cry…too.

Let’s count how many different ways that Raheem cries:

I sucked in air to help calm the emotions…
I bowed my head, fighting back tears.
A single tear broke from the dam that was holding them back.
I sniffled back more tears…
…burying my face in my hands.
My mood matched the dreary weather.
My knees buckled…
There was a pang in my heart…

Get the point? Nigga’z sad. Sparkle used to be a crack ho (those are the best kind of hos) but Raheem dun brought her up outta it, fam. He called her ten times after she suicided. Yeah, she topped herself but probably not, because this is Thugs Cry 2 and she probably got murdahed. What is with thugs and phones?? Stop calling people, stop Instagramming. Is that how you spell Instagramming? Who the fuck cares, stop doing it. The internet is full of gangstas, innit?

Thugs cry…2.

Raheem calls CJ (remember him) and tells him to get strapped, FAM. Or something stupid like that. Then it’s onto CJ again, who’s hanging out around the morgue with Cujo and Star and Nee Nee and Snoop (for real, I wish I was joking) and Ms. Jerkins was dead! Who the fuck is Ms. Jerkins?? Why is there always a Snoop?? The only Snoop who really matters is Snoop from The Wire. Dat bitch cold.