#15 - "My Immortal" by Tara Gilesbie

Wait, what just happened?
 (0.5/10)

by Captain Charisma

(book chosen by Admiral Fartmore)

Editors' note: Reading My Immortal has caused Captain Charisma to complain to the committee that since this is an unpublished book, it shouldn't be a valid choice. But we know that in reality, he's really just being a baby about reading such a shitty book. I'll try and respond by channelling the free-flowing, teenage-web-forum dialect My Immortal so vividly captures as best I can: U fukin joyned dis club 2 read shit bookz. Dnt b a fukn P0SER,

In this ‘epic’ fanfiction we see a new side of Hogwarts systematically neglected by J.K. Rowling; the widespread 'Goth' subculture. Clearly Rowling is just like everyone else in her blatant disregard for those not accepted by mainstream ‘preps’; lack of Goth inclusion extends beyond North American suburban high schools to those with magical powers and what are presumably other species, such as vampires, werewolves and demons. Shame on you, Rowling; you’re perpetuating the hardships faced by sad social-outcast teenagers. Either that or, as suggested by the inherent conflictual attitude of the author to anyone not a Goth (“if you don’t like this book then all you preps and posers can fuck off”), they’re doing it to themselves.

Harry has been replaced as the protagonist by a young Vampire named Ebony. Ebony is a sexy, horny, manipulative Vampire Goth who bases her identity on being sexy and loving all things relating to the high school teen Goth subculture. She sleeps in a coffin, slits her wrists regularly, is highly promiscuous, has an obsession with Marilyn Manson, Good Charlotte, and My Chemical Romance (particularly that sexy bastard Gerard), and most importantly, has an intense hatred for preps and posers. Her identity is based on pop-culture accepted by her subculture, such as Hot Topic, a Goth clothing store with a convenient location in Hogsmeade. Also thankfully, her favourite Goth bands seem to perform in Hogsmeade on a daily basis, especially that sexy bastard Gerard from ‘MCR’.

Ebony has a highly sexual relationship with Draco Malfoy, a sensitive, bisexual Goth who slits his wrists on a bi-weekly basis. She also finds Harry Potter very sexy, who’s been renamed Vampire (because he’s a Vampire). She also finds Tom Riddle sexy, which is confusing because in this Voldemort is a different character, who she also finds sexy, “in a evil way”. Ebony finds just about everyone sexy and her highest praise is: “almost as sexy as Gerard”. In fact, the only person not sexy in the book is that fucking prep Dumblydore (spelled this way throughout the book), who always attempts to stop their adolescent substance abuse and risky sexual behaviours. I would like to further point out that Ebony is described as doing everything “sexily”; walking, talking, looking, eating, touching, sleeping, smoking (including crack), drinking, dancing, etc. On one occasion she does something seductively, but then she reverts back to her sexy ways.

In regards to plot, I really didn’t pick up on anything. At one point Ebony has to go back in time and seduce Voldemort, which she of course does sexily. I presume this was a prevention measure to stop something terrible happening, but my graduate degree didn’t prepare me to understand the complexities of this writing. At one point a bunch of people, including Hagrid, film Ebony in the shower. On another occasion Ebony films a bunch of professors banging. Also, whole bunches of people go to Azerbaijan, which I’m assuming has replaced Azkaban as the horrible prison circled by Dementors. Fair enough, I always assumed that place must be a shithole.

To review this work as a literary piece is simply not valid. This is not a book; it’s a testament to the failure of our public school system. Firstly, I have no idea what just happened and what the book is actually about, aside from descriptions of high-school ‘Goths’. The identity of this subculture seems inextricably determined by aesthetics and specific popular culture knowledge/references. Secondly, anyone who has been to school should be able to use some rudimentary form of spelling and grammar. I was previously under the assumption that computers tend to do that for you.

To be fair, a lot of people that aren’t suppose to write books write books. I’m not suggesting the author is an idiot; rather, I’m hoping she have multiple other talents, or at least slightly more ability in every other aspect of her life. I also sincerely hope she has grown out of her casual references to people getting AIDS, slitting their wrists, and teenagers smoking crack.

In sum, the most interesting part of this book is knowledge gained regarding ‘Goth’ high-school subculture. Goth identity is as much about bizarre and small common fashion and music taste as it is about being a social outcast to everyone else.  Goths, like everyone else, have emotions, except it’s sexy when they’re sad. Goths seem to love that bizarre sexy Vampire thing that’s been going on for a few years now. Goths pride themselves on telling everyone else to fuck off.

If you’re up for a challenge, I strongly suggest reading the author’s notes prior to the start of each chapter. Here, in text phrases I rarely understood, she tells all the posers and preps to fuck off, and that anyone who didn’t like her previous chapter is clearly a prep or a poser, clearly indicating they can also fuck right off. I leave you with these two beauties:

“stfu prepz git a lif!111111 U SUCK!11 oh and form now on il be in vocation in england until lik august so I wont be able 2 update 4 a while, lolz. fagz 2 evry1 hu revoiwed expect da prepz hu flamed FOK U!1 MCR RULEZ 666!111

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX666XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX” (p. 64)

“well I hav noffing 2 say but evrt1 stup glamming ok!!111 if any gofik ppl r reading dis den u rok!!!11 omg I stil kant wait 4 da movie!!!1 tom fleton is so hot lol I hop harry wil bekum gofik koz mi friend told me he iz rlly emo in dis book!!!!

1111 omfg im leeving dubya pretty soon kant wait!!! Diz wil prolly be da last chaptah until I kum bak.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX666XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX” (p. 73)

Fuck you for making me read that Admiral Fartmore, you fucking prep.


CC

28/11/2014

#14 - "Mating With the Raptor" by Christie Sims

Erotica Scaled Up
 (1/10)

by HotBot

(book chosen by group consensus)

Editors' note: After author Laura May requested us to write a review of her book, Pickles and Ponies, the Piece of Shit Book Club™ agreed to do so on condition that she write a review of a book of our choice. Last week, we wrote a review of her book, and now its her turn. And here is that book, the too-hot-for-John-Hammond dino-rotica classic Mating With the Raptor. So light some candles, put on that Barry White album, spread some rose petals on the bed, and get ready to uncover some dino bones. .

Warning 1: Don’t read this review if you plan on ever getting aroused again. Or if you plan on reading the book, because, you know, spoilers.

Warning 2, for the persistent few: The review has quotations.

Caveat to Warning 2: But none of the ones that made me dry heave. Consider yourselves lucky that I’m sheltering you from that.

Bestiality seems to be in at the moment, and I can’t understand why. There’s werewolf (and every other type of shape shifter) porn, where people are apparently down with getting naked with men. Who are wolves. Who sometimes turn into wolves mid-coitus. And proceed to enjoy some kind of body fluid bukkake party (I’m looking at you, Anita Blake).

This book is not shape-shifter erotica. ‘Raptor’ is not a pseudonym. This is the tale of a woman having sex with an actual live dinosaur. After the trauma of reading it, which involved both the aforementioned dry heaving and a significant amount of crying in horror, I’m here to review it for you with a stiff drink in hand. (Oh god. Oh god no. Too soon on the word ‘stiff’.)

I just looked up ‘velociraptor’ on Wikipedia and am crying again. That’s how horrifying this book is. I think I have PTSD. Anyway, apparently the authors didn’t do any research, as they would have realised that raptors were around thigh-height (or genital-height, if you’re talking about dinosaurs going down on you, which we are). As such I’m assuming they’re talking about raptors á la Jurassic Park, so kindly imagine the lead raptor from the film making sweet love to you. No wait—don’t do that.
In the name of journalistic (bloggeristic?) integrity, I’ve had a quick look at velociraptors’ bone structure, and I’m not altogether convinced that they’re capable of (a) picking someone up and carrying them away with them or (b) thrusting. And that is a plot point, people.

I’ve also conducted research into velociraptors’ sex lives, because again, integrity. Unfortunately, modern science does not seem to know the precise size nor shape of velociraptors’ ‘vagina miners’, and there’s nothing about how long they might have lasted in bed (though this article has some ideas). Luckily, Sims and Branwen are here to fill in the blanks.

The story starts out with Marga, some kind of priestess-cum-queen (sorry) of a village set in an indeterminate time period, when advanced humans and dinosaurs coexisted. She lives in a hut “draped with elk skins and gold medallion curtains”, and has recently attained her privileged role thanks to her mother’s retirement. Her main duties are supervising the protection of the village against ever-advancing dinosaur hordes, and producing an heir. Unfortunately, Marga isn’t attracted to any of her warriors. She had a hasty affair with one, but Marga “left with little sense of satisfaction”. There’s one man she’s almost resigned herself to settling down with, but despite the redeeming qualities of his “tan arms”, there’s just something missing. As it turns out, that ‘something’ is literal dinosaur dick.

We hear a lot about Marga as a person, and despite myself, I started enjoying the book. I do love dinosaurs, after all, and the writing isn’t appalling. I’m even starting to emote with the character. Surely, surely there’s not actually going to be any raptor-on-woman action coming up? (Coming. Up.) We hear about her bow—“When she was given her mother’s protection bow, it all began to make sense. The way her hand fit into the grip made her feel as though she was holding the hands of all of her female ancestors at once, and her shots became increasingly steady.” She cares for her mother, asking a friend to make sure that “you get more gumroot from town and plenty of mineral water [to give to mommy dear, who is presumably not into cretaceous cock].” This woman is written like an actual person, which serves to make what transpires all the more horrifying.

Marga goes to inspect an outpost, thinking about a raptor, “its big claws erect”. Then—what do you know—raptors attack! Our heroine takes a moment, “hopeful that the raptors weren’t hunting for food, but rather sensing a mate… Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing where the desired female might be.” I think we have some idea about that last part (insert dramatic foreshadowing here).

Things go awry shortly after this: there’s a detailed battle scene, warriors are killed, and Marga is carried off by a raptor, cradled in its scaly arms. Definitely not ‘cuddled’ though. There’s none of that soft stuff in this book.

Marga wakes up in a nest, the raptor grunting at her. It comes to investigate, whereupon Marga “looked down, and noticed the heavy green pouch hanging between the raptor’s legs… Her mouth gaped when she saw a pink mass emerge from it.” (At this point in reading I was somewhere between denial and fear.) Suddenly, the raptor “began to move his hips towards her, punching the air with his swollen member that glistened in the light of the cave. In that instant, Marga understood, though the reality was hard to grasp… The thought disgusted and terrified her” (Sounds like Marga was going through pretty much the same things I was.)

I am not going to make you live through what follows, though I don’t think I’ll ever be able to erase the images from my mind—or watch Jurassic Park again. But I do need to share this sentence with you. This horrible, horrible sentence: “[it was] filling the space between her legs with a fullness she’d never experienced before.”

After disengaging then a solid licking out by the raptor, Marga starts to enjoy herself. She felt “instant bliss as the firmness worked across her”. Then “Wetness fanned out from her womanhood” (this is a sentence that should never be used under any circumstances, let alone with regard to dino-rotica). A couple of sessions of dry heaving later, I moved past ‘horror’ to full-blown hysteria, and was amazed to find that the raptor’s prehistoric penis was perfectly shaped to stimulate this woman’s g-spot. So what men of her own species weren't able to do, this raptor was delivering on. Tempted, anybody?

At this point I should probably mention that at no point can you forget that this woman is having sex with a dinosaur. Every sentence not describing the effects of the sauropod’s sausage was detailing its scales, its arms, its claws as they grasped her leather bodice. There’s no forgetting. There’s no escape!

Marga has a couple of orgasms, then as the raptor gets closer, he “becomes animalistic.” Because being an actual animal was apparently not animalistic enough.

I’m giving this book a 1/10: the part before the scaly sex wasn’t awful. The horror of what followed, though. The horror. *Shudder*

Before I start running head-first at walls to try and give myself retrograde amnesia, I’ll leave you with one last quote: “[Marga] wondered what this might mean about her. Would any normal woman enjoy a raptor filling her like that?”

Well, Marga, wonder no more—the answer is a resounding fucking “NO."

I will never describe myself as ‘loving dinosaurs’ ever, ever again.

- HotBot

25/11/2014

#13 - "Pickles and Ponies" by Laura May

Horse-Cocks and Seal-Fucking: A Hardcore Fairy Tale for Sexual Deviants
 (4.9/10)

by Beau Dashington, Admiral Fartmore and Peartree

(book submitted by Laura May)

Editors' note: This review represents the first time the Piece of Shit Book Club™ has been requested to review a book by the author. It must because of our stinging yet positive literary critiques. That, and the boner gags. And here is that book, written by our very own HotBot, an Australian type person who according to our friend SaltySankhala, may just be an internet bot. Stay tuned for the next review in the Piece of Shit Book Club™, when it will be HotBot’s turn to write as she reviews a book assigned to her by the boys. And that book is going to be a genuine, bona fide Piece of Shit™.

The first rule of fairy tales is that you do not talk about fairy tales.

The second rule about fairy tales is that, as the author tells us, the characters live happily ever after.

Pickles and Ponies is, ostensibly, a fairy tale written by an Australian robot cum author, Laura May (try not to get a mental image of the phrase “cum author”). But as the pages pass, it becomes pretty clear pretty quickly that the story is just a cover for the author’s own sexual fantasies.

Our story opens in the land of Raduga, a fairy tale world populated only by princes, princesses, and their bizarre sexual slaves. The story opens with a meeting between Prince Randolph and Princess Christine, as he tries to “steal her cherry”... I don't want to say what we thought that meant at first because it might be offensive. Lets just assume its an actual cherry and move on.

In the opening of the story, we learn that adulthood is a sickness, caught from “gu-fairies.” Yup. In Raduga there is a bizarre race of creatures called the “gu-fairies”, whose name is certainly synonymous with jizm (this analogy was clearly intended by our author, as she seems to employ an infuriating amount of puns even Piers Anthony would sneer at). The jizz-fairies assault the children, which turns them into adults. After the assault, people wrap themselves up in a little cocoon for a week and then emerge as an adult. The jizz fairies probably represent someone’s first time masturbating, but it isn’t exactly clear. Though I do know that after I first figured out how to help my Lyndon B. run for office, I probably didn’t leave my bedroom for solid  week. The adulthood part is still a question mark. Either way, the jizz-fairies justify what they are doing by saying they didn’t really mean to hurt the kids, and they only did it because they love the children so much.

Indeed. I feel like I’ve heard that excuse before.

We also learn that the special move that Princess Christine uses is “the poke.” I wonder what that means. Here’s a quote; “Randolph had witnessed the power of the Poke many times growing up with Christine, and was committed to making sure his son was an expert in all aspects of poking.”

Indeed. I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere before.

The poke, which it's hard not to assume refers to banging, functions as a cure-all response to pretty much any obstacle the characters of Raduga face. If there’s a tree in your way, just bang it into sawdust. If a plank of wood is too short, just bang it until it extends to your desired length. If your daughter is depressed, just hire Raduga's Ron Jeremy to come in and sort her out. While fucking a tree may seem a bit far fetched, keep in mind that in Raduga almost everything from a ship to the ocean itself has some anthropomorphic qualities. Nothing is safe from the poke.

After a bunch of magic, cherry-stealing, and the poking of innocents (mostly, it seems, children) we eventually learn of our main characters. One is Vanya, the Prince of Quite Large and Really Rather Big Fish (if you imagine our author as a female Douglas Adams playing on the floor with My Little Pony dolls, a lot of the themes in this book start to gain some perspective). Due to a curse, he has no emotion. He has assigned to him a horse, named Horse, who is able to talk, and explains Vanya’s emotions to him.

Vanya’s female counterpart is the Princess Melodia of Rather Fish-Like Things. After reading too many fairy tales, she decides to exile herself to a deserted island while awaiting her prince to come rescue her. For some reason, Vanya’s parents decide that if he were to rescue Princess Melodia, he might get his emotions back.

Along the way, he must complete a number of tasks. One involves a witch, from whom Vanya frees a new sidekick named Theo. Another task involves Vanya, Horse and Theo assailing a giant cliff. They receive assistance from Hammy the Hamster. I assume the author got copyright clearance for that one.

Melodia, meanwhile, gets bored and is manipulated into banging a dude every day for the promise of new clothes. Once he starts to find their relationship dull he threatens to start banging new island floozies unless she starts doing it a “new way” by insinuating she is stuck up and not “willing to explore a bit” (italicization is the author’s). Of course the author means anal. This all by a guy who is half-man half-seal, known as a selkie. Whereas I thought this was made up, I found out later that it is actually a real thing. There are actually references in Gaelic mythology to people fucking seals. What. The. Fuck.

If you were hoping for our protagonists to stop fucking seals and horses and whatnot, you will end up disappointed. As Vanya’s quest to save the Princess Melodia continues, he ends up deciding to join a circus for seven years. He abandons his Horse, who starts fucking a sea-horse... who knocks him up. True story.

In spite of all the build up, which seems to be bringing Vanya and Melodia together, this does not come to pass. Instead, Melodia starts banging Theo, and the book ends tragically; the mentally handicapped Vanya left by the wayside while the emotionally stable ride off into the sunset. Vanya gets his heart restored just in time to get dumped, breaking rule number 2: characters live happily ever after.

Although well-written and not a Piece Of Shit™ by our normal standards, it’s hard not to wonder if the author just needed a cheap cover to write a story about sex with seals and horses and getting covered in goo by jizz-fairies. That’s certainly the impression up-front. But past these curtains of spunk sits a window overlooking some interesting themes; feminism, a woman’s role in the world, expectations and fantasy versus reality, isolation and friendship, horses, etc., are all examined from an innocent and very literal perspective, akin to South Park’s social commentary. They are well placed and fitting.

However, at times it feels like the fairy-tale is a vehicle that perhaps hinders the author as much as it aids her, insofar as while it grants the author plenty of maneuverability, it also means that we the readers have a tougher time connecting with characters or empathizing with their jizz-coated tribulations. It IS satire, of course, but she who fights fairies should be careful lest she herself become a jizz-fairy. And so in the end, we’d recommend for May to light some candles, put on some Lionel Ritchie, wrap up in a seal-pelt, and get acquainted with her own gu-fairies. ‘Cause fairy tales are for perfect princesses, and judging by the undercurrents of sexual depravity in her first book, a perfect princess she ain’t.

If you haven't already caught on, Laura May has a wicked sense of humor - not just by the fact that she submitted her book so we could take the piss out of it.  Grab her book here.

Beau Dashington, Admiral Fartmore, and Peartree

14/11/2014

#12 - "Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man" by Steve Harvey

How I Learned to Think Like a Man 
(3.4/10)

by The WildCard

(book selected by CaptainCharisma)

Imagine a scenario where you are forced to rank the hosts of the long running American game show, Family Feud, in order of likability. At the top would be the irrepressibly charming Richard Dawson, likely followed by the tragic Ray Combs. The middle spots would naturally be occupied by the unmemorable tenure of Richard Karn and John O’Hurley. Many would argue then, that shameful title of least-likeable host ought to be bestowed on Caucasian fatso Louie Anderson. His whiny delivery and hacky material would certainly make him a solid candidate.  Before reading Steve Harvey’s “Act like a man, think like a lady”, I may have even been inclined to agree.  However, much like 9/11, this book changes everything. 

Most people like me (editor’s note: white liberals) view Harvey as a harmless, folksy gentleman.  Although his Black effect seems slightly forced, and his performances are oddly reminiscent of an old-timey minstrel show, he comes off as largely genuine and warm.  However, the views he expresses in Act Like a Man are much more insidious, perpetuating tired and outdated gender norms and racial stereotypes.  His central thesis is that men are inherently simple and unable to properly care for a woman until the man has adequately addressed who he is, what he does, and how much he makes. 

The book is chocked full of irritating macho platitudes.  A true man needs to be “number one”, and “we have to be able to flaunt it”.  Men are responsible for providing monetarily for a women’s needs, because after all, “this is man business baby.  It’s how we do”.  Harvey advocates for men to be domineering in relationships, because “there is not a real man living who will not protect what is his.  It’s about respect”.  He illustrates this with an amusing anecdote about threatening to kill everyone aboard a chartered boat if anything were to happen to his wife during a SCUBA dive.  When it comes to connecting with a partner, “the emotional stuff - the talking, the cuddling, the holding hands, and bonding, that’s y’alls thing”.  Cheating is to be expected, because “you can’t be a man of power and not step outside your house”. 

 But wait a second; maybe Harvey has it (mostly) right.  Maybe he’s the last real man, unafraid to stand up to the constant erosion of gender norms by America’s pussy-assed relativist progressives.  There are certainly areas where Harvey and I agree.  A man can love his partner and still get some on the side without a second thought.  Harvey correctly argues that men generally approach women with the express intention of sleeping with them.  His homespun wisdom that “men cannot stand women who are not clean” also rings true.  I can’t completely agree that “being a girl is a lost art form”, but I appreciate where Harvey’s coming from. 

Harvey’s credibility takes a savage beating though in Chapter 11: The Ninety-Day Rule.  Is Harvey playing with a full deck?  Maybe not, but it doesn’t matter because his deck is different than any you’ve ever played with.  You start to realize that his perspective is completely alien to your own and most other people you associate with socially.  As you may have guessed, the ninety-day rule refers to the suggested waiting period before engaging in intercourse.  Won’t any reasonable man bail long before his 3 month sentence is served?  Not so, as long as you follow Harvey’s list of suggested date ideas:

• Go to church together
• Spend an evening playing arcade games
• Volunteer together
• Play a board game
• Do something silly, like build a sandcastle at the beach

Three months of sandcastle building with nothing to show for it sounds like some sort of horrible purgatory.  Harvey is either being disingenuous or foolish, as I cannot imagine he has ever waited the prescribed waiting period in any of his relationships. 

In the end, it might be a bit much to expect solid relationship counseling from a man on his third marriage.   That the book’s target demographic (black women) is fairly far removed from my own background also makes it difficult to be overly critical.  Still, the book ranks among Day Bang as an overtly offensive attempt at relationship advice.  Steve Harvey truly is the least likable Family Feud host.  

Wildcard

11/11/2014