Fifty Shades Of SHITEY DROSS

 

Lottie had a copy of this SHITE in her bag. I nicked it when she went to the loo, not to READ it (you can all shoot me if I ever get THAT desperate), I wanted to take the piss out of it. But I can’t take the piss out of it, it’s too SHITEY. It’s TOO BAD TO MOCK. The horrendous writing makes me SHRIVEL IN DISMAY.

This is the first sentence —

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror.”

 

This is the last sentence —

I curl up, desperately clutching the flat foil balloon and Taylor’s handkerchief, and surrender myself to my grief.”

 

This is the first paragraph I saw when I opened the book randomly —

“”I want to bite this lip,” he murmurs against my mouth, and carefully he tugs at it with his teeth. I moan, he smiles.”

How does he smile with her lip in his teeth? And how does she see him smile? Is she bog-eyed?

 

Oh go on then, heres another random sentence —

I wake early to a gray Sunday morning after a surprisingly refreshing night’s sleep and lie awake staring at my crates.”

I’ve never heard them called that before.

 

That’s it, I’ve had enough.

IT’S SHITE.

 

A Very, Very Short Post That Isn’t Really A Post

 

I’m not doing a post today. I’m reading a book — for the first time in fuck knows how long I can concentrate on reading something longer than a blog post because this morning Kumblant brought me some squishy workman’s earplugs that block out all outside noises and leave me with just the noises in my head to listen to – oh, and my heart beat has moved up to my brain, bdum, bdum, bdum, so at least I know I’m not dead. 

The book’s called ‘The Wilding’ and it’s by Maria McCann and it was longlisted for the Orange Prize and it was the top book on one of the stacks in my collection of books to read because I stack them as I get them so the most recent acquisition goes on top. Up to now it’s fair to middling and I haven’t thrown it out of the window in disgust although in my opinion the MC sounds just the slightest bit too girly for a 26 year old man (I thought he WAS a girl in the first few sentences of the book) although he isn’t girly, but he isn’t exactly a stud either. Normally something like that would bother me enough for me not to continue (so many books, so little time) but it’s not a heavy read by any stretch so I’m just enjoying it for what it is (good story, nice suspense build up, gentle humour etc etc).

So, sorry and all that, but no post today – unless I get sick of the tinnitus and being reminded I’m alive by the bdum.

 

 

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