#34 - "If I Did It" by O.J. Simpson

Blood Orange

(0.1/10)

By Beau Dashington

(book chosen by Peartree)

Editor's Note: Hm.. I thought this was about Mr. Boddy and OJ's secrets to winning Clue.

The Piece of Shit Book Club™ is nothing if not topical. And what could be more topical in mid-2015 than a mildly interesting news item from almost twenty years ago? Nothing, that's what. The OJ Simpson trial is important, and we all care about it much more than Ebola in West Africa, conflict in Syria, or famine in Afghanistan. Why is it still relevant? Let’s find out.

I actually remember where I was when the OJ Simpson verdict was announced. It was 1995 and I was in English class. Some nerds came over the PA, and they mentioned that OJ was innocent, and everyone went crazy. The rest of the day was consumed by a variety of racial theories proffered by twelve year olds. Now, either these kids were precocious racists, or most racists have a child-like intellect. Because I have never seen any theories of race more developed than those that your typical pre-teen can offer.

Anyway, back to the story. Noted actor and part time football player Orange Juice (OJ) Simpson was suspected of foul play in the death of his wife and “her associate” (i.e. bang partner) Ron Goldman. Even though Orange Juice was found not guilty in 1995, he has been hounded by accusations ever since. In order to prove conclusively his innocence, OJ wrote this book describing in meticulous detail exactly how and why he murdered his wife.

The book is, as Juice tells us, a story of love. It details the moment he first met the love of his life and fell head-over-heels, right up to the point that he fatally stabbed her. It all begins with OJ married to a woman who is five months pregnant. He goes out for a beer, meets an 18 year old blonde waitress, and he liked what he saw. He leaves his stupid bitch wife and shacks up with the waitress, Nicole Brown. But things didn't go as well as he had hoped.

One of the main problems, OJ notes, is that Nicole got fat and bitchy while she was pregnant. OJ didn't like this at all. After the birth of their first child, Nicole wouldn't stop crying. OJ was confused; he didn't know if it was from being happy or terrified. He tried to console her and comfort her by telling her she had nothing to be afraid of. Except being murdered by her husband, of course. She had pretty legitimate fears about that, and even wrote about it in her diary. But OJ laughs that off, saying she just liked to write short stories. Turns out, she only had one story: being abused by her husband. But she kept writing it again and again. I guess she had writer's block.

He also details a number of times when the police came to his house after Nicole phoned them. OJ doesn't think it was fair that society accuses him of spousal abuse. He was shocked at the accusations. As he says: “Once. I hit her once… and ever since that day I've been known as a wife-beater.” 

Yes, OJ. That’s pretty much how it works.

Eventually Nicole left, and then she starts to fall apart; fighting with her friends, crying, getting knocked up by random dudes. You know, chick stuff. She also started hanging out with people that OJ says were pimps and drug dealers. And this whole time OJ wasn't being a dick, he was just trying to raise money for “children with birth defects”! What a guy. So anyway, one night OJ went round to Nicole’s house and saw she had a gentleman caller. They started to fight, so OJ grabbed a knife and killed his ex-wife and her lover.

So why is this book still relevant? Well, frankly, it isn't. Simpson clearly wrote the book to make some cash. Only he couldn't, since he still owed Nicole Brown’s family millions of dollars after being sued. So the family took legal ownership of the book and they are now claiming all profits. I am not sure what is worse here; the (alleged) murderer profiting from the crime, or the family of the victim doing the same? As tragic as the murder was, perhaps the family and friends should just let the dead rest in peace, rather than publishing their private diaries or a confession by the (alleged) killer.

Since he was African-American and his wife was Caucasian, the trial created a rift in the USA. But oddly enough, OJ never blames the trial on race. He doesn't even mention it, neither in this book nor in interviews. He claims he was accused because his ex-wife was a crazy bitch. Either way, the trial hit a cultural nerve. Many said OJ was arrested because of his race. Others have argued it was because he was a convicted wife-beater and serial criminal. But I guess the jury is still out on that one. Oh wait, no it isn't. He’s innocent. Except he’s in jail now for kidnapping and trying to kill someone else. Go figure.

At least, though, with this highly publicized trial, and a confessed (alleged) murderer walking away from the crime, race relations in the USA were finally solved forever.

Oh, what’s that? Baltimore is on fire because of allegations of racism in the USA? Oh…

Isn't Baltimore always on fire?

B. Dashington

 10-05-2015

#31 - "What if You Were a Horse in Human Form?" by Jason the Horse

If Wishes Were Horses

(7/10)

By Beau Dashington

(book chosen by Admiral Fartmore)

Editor's Note: What if all these bad books are great books in Piece-of-Shit form?

ATTENTION: To ensure you are in tune with the metaphysical nature of this review, please be sure to play this shamanistic chant as you begin your spiritual journey.

There’s a lot about this world that we simply don’t understand. The moon goes round the sun, a baby is born as if by magic, tide goes in tide goes out… The list of things that science can’t explain is endless. And in spite of the godless atheists trying to convince us otherwise, the spiritual among us know that there is something more to this old world of ours. This book tackles these issues head-on, and poses a question that those of us stuck in the rat-race rarely have time to ask: what if you were a horse and you didn’t realize it?

What if You Are a Horse in Human Form? is written by Jason the Horse, a man who woke up one day and realized he was a horse trapped in a human body. All of Jason’s life, he felt an odd connection to horses, until one day the truth dawned on him that he really was a horse after all.  As such, Jason realized he was forced to “come out of the stall” and tell his family that trapped inside this normal boy was a horse trying to come out. And after finally admitting to himself he was a horse, he was hot to trot.

If you Google Image Search "coming out of the stall", this is the first image you get.

But, I hear you asking, how did he know he was a horse? What about us? How would we know if we were actually horses? Jason the Horse gives us a few indicators to look for, including the following:

1. An ineffable but powerful knowing that one is a horse
2. Having trouble using your thumbs
3. Walking continuously on all fours
4. “Having a strange combination of medical conditions that, taken together, point to one’s being a horse.”
5. The feeling of having a “phantom tail” that you can never see
6. Finding yourself trying to canter
7. Getting an eerie feeling every time you visit “horse country”
8. Being “propositioned” by stallions or mares

So basically, if you act like a horse, then you might be one. Also, if other horses think you’re hot and they want fuck you, that’s a good sign. Well, it’s a good sign if you want to be a horse. If not, this might cause you some problems. But Jason the Horse isn’t all about horse fucking. Rest assured; this is not one of those books where the author fucks a wild beast. Jason the Horse’s love for horses is purely platonic and legit. He isn't here to horse around.

To explore his horsehood, Jason began working with Deborah (a human horse-psychologist). Through using ancient shamanistic rituals, they discovered that there were actually horse-humans all over the place, and that they were sent there by the Horse Ancestors. And why were they sent? The answer is, of course, “horse espionage”, or as I prefer; horse-pionage. But this is a good kind of horse-pionage, so don't be scared. Its perfectly innocent. The horses just want to know what we’re up to.

This is the bad kind of horse-pionage

According to Jason and Deborah, this is what you need if you want to get in touch with the Horse Ancestors: Firstly, get a crystal. Purple crystals work the best, for some reason that Jason and Deborah forgot to mention. Second, put on a “cassette tape of shamanistic chants.” Use the one above if you find yourself in the twenty-first century and don’t know where to get cassettes. Jason advises that you should “keep the mind centered on horse-imagery, horse-ideas, [and] horse-emotions.” Heed the advice of the Horse Ancestors and do as they say; don’t look your gift horse in the mouth. Trust in them, and you will run free like the stallions of old.

Like Jason, I too feel the pains of being surrounded by people who don’t understand and being trapped in a labyrinthine society of indifference. The simple life of a country work horse seems appealing compared to this 9-to-5 rat race. Is time for me to “come out of the stall” like Jason suggested? I think the answer is clear: yes.

So I decided to talk the bold walk (or trot) out of the stall. My first step was to contact my family and tell them the news. I emailed my mother and father.

My mother was the first to respond.

My father was confused but supportive.

The second step was to tell my friends; to go public and let the world know that I was discovering my inner horse-human. They weren't as accepting as my family after I announced publicly that I was a horse.

Of course, not everyone is receptive to people who are different. The road that we horse-humans must trot is a difficult one, strewn with potholes of ignorance that can break your horse-shoes of virtue. Some people, especially these former “friends,” are simply uneducated and ignorant about equine ways. But don’t let these nay-sayers get you down; because in this world there are many true neigh-sayers like me and Jason to support you on your canter to spiritual release.

Jason’s last message in the book finalizes for the reader Jason’s quest. He reveals that he has lost much of his family, and that he is burdened by disability. Life sucks sometimes. Our bodies break and hold us back, those we care about disappoint or die, and the world itself seems callous and indifferent. And if, for Jason, deciding to be a horse every now and then makes the existential pain of life go away for a while, then who the fuck am I to say he is wrong?

As Jason says, “We horses have our work cut out for us, but we do not struggle alone, for the Horse Ancestors watch over us and guide us. “

Neigh-men, brother. Neigh-men.

Beau the Horse

11-04-2015

#26 - "A Street Cat Named Bob: How One Man and His Cat Found Hope on The Streets" by James Bowen and Garry Jenkins

A Cash-grab Named Bob

(3/10)

By Admiral Fartmore

(book chosen by Beau Dashington)

Editor's Note: I can't think of a half-decent pun about the word 'pussy', so lets just pretend I did. Something along the lines of "that homeless guy sure has a nice pussy" or "maybe the author wouldn't be homeless if they sold their pussy" or something like that.

I cry very easily when it comes to sentimentalist bullshit. I don’t really know why, because I’m not especially teary at weddings or funerals or any other significantly emotion real-life event - but if you put on a Thai insurance commercial, I’ll be weeping in minutes.  I know better, but I can’t help myself: the cheaper the story is, the harder it gets me. And so when my eyes welled up about halfway through “A Street Cat named Bob,” I knew I had a real piece of shit on my hands.

A Street Cat Named Bob is the biographical story of former heroin addict James Bowen, who adopted a stray cat while going through a recovery program. The book begins with Bowen working as a busker and going through methadone treatment, when he finds a cat (Bob) outside of his apartment. From that point onward, Bowen’s life gradually improves as he completes the recovery program, learns responsibility through caring for Bob, reconnects with his family, and gets lots of attention for taking a cute cat on leash with him wherever he goes. During this period, the cat gains mild internet celebrity. As a result, Bowen is approached by a publisher who thinks that his story could sell very well. The end.

And sell very well it did.

I will start by saying that Bowen’s full recovery from his heroin addiction is admirable. I dunno if you’ve heard, but it is not an easy thing to do. He also seems like a fairly responsible pet owner. I respect him for that. I am glad he has found success.

But I have a hard time really having much respect for this book. It’s awkwardly-written, shallow, and far too long – even at 170 pages. Routine trips to the vet take up dozens of pages, as does Bowen’s constant speculation on “where Bob came from” or “what kind of life he had before we met” (which, by the way, all builds up to absolutely nothing. You never find out where Bob came from.) There is no real suspense, no challenges, and hardly any character growth or meaningful self-reflection. Bowen repeats himself a lot, mostly with mundane filler. If you were to cleave out about 80% of the book and have the remainder rewritten as a short story, this could probably be an interesting main piece in a magazine, but in its current form it just drags and drags and drags.

Bob, like other cats, is cute.

As for Bob himself, he’s a cat and cats are cute. I like cats, I’ve lived with literally dozens. I'm not some animal hater like Peartree. But I don’t think there’s anything particularly special about Bob. He’s very close with his owner, which is sweet, but it’s not like he went to space or something. But the love for this cat is crazy.

After reading this, I’m mostly frustrated with the publisher and co-author Garry Jenkins, who I’m willing to bet had most of the creative control over this project. The accounts of life on the streets are simplistic and censored, like a children’s version of Oliver Twist. Despite Bowen’s recovery from a heroin addiction ostensibly being one of the central story arcs, its use is hardly mentioned. The same goes for the methadone which he used while undergoing treatment. Bowen is a heavy smoker in real life, but the book doesn't make one reference to his smoking. Only bad guys swear, and the words are actually starred out (are you f****** kidding me?) Bowen's run-ins with the law are ambiguous and absolve his character of all guilt or wrongdoing. All in all, the whole thing just really feels like it’s pandering to an audience that wants a feel-good book with a cute cat in it.

What frustrates me most about this is how it seems to mirror one of the main challenges Bowen faced while living on the street: people were repulsed by his lifestyle, and most of the public preferred to pretend that he did not exist. It’s oddly fitting that in his account of those times, so much information is censored for the sake of making the story digestible for people that buy books at grocery stores. While professing to break down stigmas, the book helps reaffirm them by reminding us that we just shouldn't talk about some things. It’s a window into a heroin addict’s life, sure, but it’s been tinted rose so that you don’t hurt your eyes.

But this book is a beloved best seller, and I guess I’m in the minority for disliking it. So in the interest of providing a fair and balanced report, I've decided to also lend a voice to some people who really enjoyed the book. Here are some quotes from 5-star Amazon reviews:

“I purchased this book after seeing a short about Bob on Icanhazcheesburger.”

- Binkz85

 “Sometimes you get the feeling that you are going thru this life by yourself and no one gets it. Nice to know...Someone gets it. Kinda funny it's a Cat.“

- SD Gillespie

“A great light read. No sad part or ending. Distracting from the ills of the day.”

- Curtis Ewing

“I checked this book out at our library when I saw the picture of the cat on the cover”

- Letta Meinen

“Unputdownable”

- Muse of Time and Science

So there you are. If you frequent "icanhazcheesburger" and are looking for an unputdownable light read with no sad parts and a picture of a cat on the cover, "A Street Cat Named Bob" is for you. And if you are curious about what part of the book made me cry, it was the part where Bowen reconnects with his mother and she breaks down and says everything was her fault. The maternal love and self-sacrifice just got to me. The fact that she was willing to take all the blame despite not writing one word of this Piece of Shit - it was moving. Incredible.

#25. "The Dog Who Couldn't Stop Loving: How Dogs Have Captured Our Hearts For Thousands Of Years" by Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson

Anthropomorphic Conceit -- Or, All Dogs Are Retards.

(2.23/10)

By Peartree

(book chosen by Beau Dashington)

Editor's Note:  When dogs get boners the dink looks all pink and weird. If you poke it with a stick it will shrivel back into the body.

"If you believe as I do—that Benji represents a certain kind of mutation, and that he is pure love—then this is merely one more expression of that most delightful of genetic mishaps: a creature entirely benign and wishing only to express the immense love he feels inside."

Imagine, if you will, a race of super intelligent extraterrestrials. They come to earth and realise we could be useful to them in some way, some menial task they could do themselves but are lazy. We fight their oppression for a while so instead they just kidnap thousands of our infant children and take them back to their home world.

They raise the humans to be obedient and find that their own alien children are rather fond of these dumb wild beasts. So they start selective breeding. At first simply making us more docile. But over generations they realise they like the features of one such human more than another so start focusing in on more and more birth defects they find endearing. Fast forward 40,000 years and the humans on that planet are no closer to us than the aliens themselves. They've been bred by specific characteristics which make us unsuitable for our original purpose but are now 'adorable' in their eyes. Extreme achondroplasia, hydrocephalus/microcephaly, brachycephaly, hypertrichosis, achromia, progeria, or maybe they've even been able to keep anencephalic humans alive, or any number of defects, but most importantly neoteny has been taken to the extreme and they are unable to develop the mental capacities past that of a seven year old. All of the cognitive abilities which give us our spirit to do more is lost. They are content, and as such cannot fathom any world beyond the one they've grown into. They love their masters unconditionally.

And over the course of that 40,000 years the aliens themselves have unexpectedly evolved with their human pets. By just being around the human spirit, no matter how stunted, they have evolved to be more loving, more hopeful, more empathetic. The aliens never knew of love before. Had never experienced a companionship unbridled with a pure sense of adoration. Never felt an intimacy and devotion void of conditions and stipulations. 

'But Peartree', you object, 'humans are monsters. They are the only species in existence known for atrocities such as war and genocide'. Yes, this is true I admit. But no 'retarded' person ever wanted a war (with the possible exception of Feodor I of Russia in the Russo-Swedish War of 1590-95) and that's what these neo-human-pets have invariably come to be, 'retards'. The aliens now see these poor, broken humans as creatures who only love because they are too stupid to comprehend their own lamentable existence.

This is what Masson is asserting in his book. That dogs, once domesticated, domesticated us and gave us the ability to feel empathy for all other species and beings -- "Without the wolf, would we have become a different species? I think it is very likely". That we never felt these emotions, truly, before dogs entered our lives. Because sure, it's not like dogs were ever seen as unclean and rejected from any society.... He even states "I would go so far as to suggest that we are no longer two entirely separate species. There is a sense in which we have merged."

Almost all of his ideas are represented by personal accounts of his own dog Benjy, who couldn't stop loving obviously. The flowery, nauseating prose ("the only thing dogs steal is our hearts") he uses to describe his own love of dogs is cut short before, what I can only surmise would be to follow, his interspecies boudoir episodes. But the amount of times the term 'dog love' is used in this book makes me doubt his abstention in confusing lust and love -- "Dog love is unlike that of any other species—even that of humans."

But I suppose Masson would be OK in my imagined scenario though, because he certainly finds the best in situations -- "many people misunderstand neoteny, even animal behavior specialists." True. Animal behavior specialists are fucking stupid yo. I mean who spends years getting a degree in animal behavior? Masson certainly didn't. And neither did I. But I didn't write a book about it. I had the decency to just write a shitty review on a blog which isn't charging anyone to read my nonsense. So quit having sexual relations with animals and show some decorum to your readers Masson, start spouting off your codswallop for free.

- Peartee

PS. There seems to be a pattern in which I write reviews about books based on dogs while drunk so I come off a bit more irritable. I do like dogs... but the way these people write about them is fucking asinine.