Okay, I’m so tempted to do something terrible and actually read That Fucking Book – you know? The one that everyone’s talking about? The one that’s all swoon, smarm, CRACK WHORE, spank spank spank, fuck fuck fuck, tampon, ew, fuck fuck fuckety fuck.
I’m not very good at blogging bad books – some people will remember how I attempted to work my way through The Fountainhead. I lasted until about chapter four. I seriously couldn’t take any more after that. It was like listening to an idiot screaming at the top of her lungs about SHIT I DON’T LIKE I DON’T LIKE THAT SOCIALISM IS AWFUL I LIKE HOWARD ROARK HOWARD ROARK IS GREAT LET ME TELL YOU MORE ABOUT HOWARD ROARK AND HOW HE IS GREAT AND HOT AND A MOTHERFUCKING RAPIST AND THAT’S GREAT TOO
It was quite bad.
Obviously you’ll talk me out of this whim, won’t you? (You won’t. Oh shit.)