#44 - "Fat Vampire" by Adam Rex

There Can Be Only Two

(5/10)

by Beau Dashington

(book submitted by Peartree)

Editor's Note: I wonder if fat vampires have to pay for blood just as fat chicks have to pay for sex...

Did you know that there are two books called Fat Vampire? I mean, what are the odds? When Peartree told me I was going to have to review Fat Vampire for my next book, I was flabbergasted, flustered and flummoxed.  Firstly, there’s a book by Adam Rex which is about a vampire who is fat. Secondly, there is a series of books by Johnny B. Truant which are about a fat person who is a vampire. It's very confusing, and it's impossible to tell the two apart. For starters, both are about the obese undead, and both authors have names which are suspiciously fake.

It’s interesting to note that both books start with roughly the same premise; the main character is fat and a vampire, and therefore, gets picked on by other people, even though they’re a motherfucking child of the night. Its also interesting to note that both books seem have a plot based almost entirely on this picture

Both books are based on the simple premise: what would happen if a vampire was fat? Would they still be sexy? Would they be able to run and hunt people? Would they be able to get thin, if they exercized? And wouldn't it be a fun and original idea to find out the answers to all these questions? Just to summarize, the answer from both books for these questions is as follows: not much, no, sometimes, no, and no.

In both cases, the book is generally meant to slot into the vampire canon of literature alongside other greats, that asked questions like: what if an old man became a vampire? What if a baby became a vampire? What if a gangster became a vampire? What if the President of the United States was a vampire? No, wait, what if the President of the United states wasn't a vampire, but he liked to kill vampires?

Isn't this an interesting premise for a book? Also, this particular Fat Vampire seems to have been awarded the Order of Canada.

From the moment that I found out that there were two Fat Vampire books, I knew that I had to determine which was the real Fat Vampire book, and which was the imposter. My first stop was to go to GoodReads and find out which one is the original gangster. 

As you can see, it turns out that Johnny B. Truant's book is better rated, but Adam Rex did it first. I thought it would be interesting to read some of the reviews, to try and work out why Johnny Truant's book is more highly rated. And this is the first review of the Johnny B. Truant imposter Fat Vampire book:

They did, Joe. Adam thought of it first. My boy Adam had that idea fucking years ago while you were still chowing down on Lucky Charms before going to kindergarten. He's written more Fat Vampire books than you've had hot dinners. And he did it first. Who cares if someone else came along and got better ratings on GoodReads by stealing an idea and re-doing it? Stealing someone else's idea has never worked, except in the case of Alexander Graham Bell, Steve Jobs, Guglielmo Marconi, and the Prophet Mohammad as well as many of the most successful people in history. Just because Johnny B. Truant (if that is his real name) did it better doesn't mean shit to me, or my boy Adam. We're super tight now, I can tell.

Me and my boy Adam are going to go have some beers and forget about this whole mess because we don't care what you think. I'm sick of society judging me for being different (a horse), and Adam is too. He hasn't said that explicitly since I have never been in direct contact with him, but I can tell. Because we have a special connection, and no one can break that, not you, not Johnny Truant, and not even Barack Obama or the Devil or somebody (although they're probably all the same thing).

And that's all I have to say about that.

Oh wait, I almost forgot to review the book. It's a story about a kid called Doug, who is a chubby teenager. He gets turned into a vampire one night, and because of that, he is doomed to be fat forever since vampires don't age or change physically. He gets picked on and called 'Meatball' by his classmates, including the quarterback Victor, who is actually the vampire who turned Doug. Along the way, he hangs out with his bro Jay, as well as a new Indian exchange student called Sejal who was sent to America after "contracting the Google", an ailment whereby she couldn't stop googling herself. They end up looking for Doug's vampire ancestors, they kinda try to date a bit, and the ending is a bit violent.

Perhaps it's not a masterpiece, but it's not a Piece of Shit™ either. My one criticism would be that the book has trouble deciding if it is about teenage angst, or something else entirely, and as such, the tone feels a bit inconsistent. But, it has lots of popular culture jokes about Star Wars and stuff, and lots of good reviews on various websites. People who like vampires will find lots to like. So read it. Or don't. Whatever. 

Also, after I'd finished this review, I realized there's a third fat vampire book. And a fourth. For fuck's sake.

Beau Dashington

22/07/2015

#42 - "Jersey" by Steven Thomas Dykes

Not even Newark

(-3/10)

By Admiral Fartmore & Beau Dashington

(book submitted by a Reader)

Editor's Note: Beau Dashington and I, Admiral Fartmore, did it together. Err, I mean we wrote it together. We edited it together, too. This review, I mean. We also had sex.

When one engages in writing a shitty blog, there are few things as rewarding as when you get a message of support from one of the 3 or 4 people who actually read the shit you write. And so, it was with a great deal of excitement that we got an email from our new friend Diefenbaker [name changed to protect identity] suggesting we try reading a book called “Jersey”, by Steven Thomas Dykes. He warned us “this book will hurt you.” Sounds right up our alley. But what kind of book is this? Here is how the author describes it:

“Jersey” is the depth of the darkened heart, making their relationship told with the narration of Scott Trejo, along with the sprint to the border after complete oblivion the tale that told on the train that brought me to Mexico for my first day.

I have literally no idea what that means. This quote is from one of the two introductions written by the author which are not part of the actual story. Between them, we learn that the book is based on the author’s hometown of Topeka, Kansas. He considers the book to be the "Romeo and Juliet of the 21st Century." That’s quite a claim; to be the heir-apparent to perhaps the most celebrated tale of tragic romance ever produced by Western culture, and perhaps the most famous in the entire world until Titanic was released. Let's find out if he lives up to it.

The book is filled with characters with pretty implausible names like Pablo Adams and Terrence, as well as a dope-dealer called Samson. Yes, Samson - an apparently accidental reference to the evil drug dealer from Dave Chapelle's 1998 stoner classic, Half Baked. However, the two characters of concern are Scott (a teenage boy and a clear idealized author-insert or "Marty Stu") and Jersey (a teenage girl he falls in love with). The writing is... well… not very good. Here is a sample sentence:

"Damn…There is a plethora of honeys at this party,” Terrence said with a lustful tone.

A plethora of honeys.

But what about the romantic aspirations of the book? Does it move the heart and inspire the soul? The narrator is Scott, our Romeo, who at 13, heads to a party in a field. Enter Juliet, her first words in this play on star-crossed lovers: "Do you have a joint?" Romeo Scott responds in the negative, to which Juliet Jersey replies poetically, "Well…. Shit!"

After that brief philosophical exchange, Jersey's phone rings. Her father has had a heart attack. She asks Scott (who she just met, even though they are in all the same classes) to take her to hospital. For some reason the hospital is refusing to let any caretakers see their patients, which must be a violation of some kind of medical ethics. Jersey asks Scott to come to her house and hold her all night long. And so he does. And they do. But they don't pork each other. It is around this time that they inexplicably change in age from 14 to 17, even though after the age jump they have still only known each other for three months.

“I need my lawn mowed, at least half of it”, I spoke in code. The meaning was that I needed a half ounce of weed as soon as possible.

Not only is this code ridiculous, who the fuck would only ask for half their lawn to be mowed?

The narrator informs us that to understand Jersey, we must look into her past. And so he he tells us a horse-origins story about Jersey's pet stallion, Prince. Anyone who follows the Piece of Shit Book Club™ knows that we take horse matters very seriously. So this better be good. In the back-story, Prince kills a rider, but gets a second chance at life after it is adopted by Jersey. Interesting... but what could this horse have to do with the star-crossed lovers? Let's read on.

I looked back into her eyes, saying "Good... just enjoying another night out in the woods... drinking from kegs and getting high", I answered trying to keep my cool. "I know what you mean," she laughed.

Pictured: 13-year-olds "keeping their cool."

In fair Topeka, Kansas, where we lay our scene, Jersey gets hooked on pot, and ends up crashing her car a couple of times. This happens in literally two chapters in a row: she gets stoned, she crashes, she calls Scott for help. For some inexplicable reason, she starts dating Jason, some random guy, even though she and Scott are in love. Jason gets her hooked on coke, and she goes into rehab. When Scott visits, she tells him, “They are putting me on so much medication for bi-polar disorder that this is the first time I have felt any emotion.” I can tell you, in case you aren't already aware, that this is not how it works. We're talking about a severe mental illness, not a case of the Mondays. And lithium doesn't give you extra emotions. It just doesn't.

I can only close my eyes and imagine the day Jersey and I were the thickness of glue and cohesive enough to be permanent……

We get it, the guy spilled a lot of glue thinking about this girl.

As it turns out, Jersey's addiction to pot is all Jason's fault, so Jersey and Scott decide to kill him. They lure him to a barn, where Jersey shoots him in both kneecaps and in the back of the head with a shotgun. I don't want to be too graphic, but this is what happens when you shoot a watermelon with a shotgun. [WARNING: one watermelon was harmed in the making of this video]. Now, clearly, the author isn't really aware of what a shotgun actually does to a human body, because even though Jason has been decapitated and lost both legs, he is still speaking. So Scott cuts off his eyelids. The torture continues, as the author draws generously from all his favourite movies. Jason has his ear cut off, and Scott speaks into it (à la Reservoir Dogs). He then ties Jason to a chair, and hits his toes with a hammer (à la Payback). A few of the other torture techniques are reminiscent of Saw and Hostel and others.

Realizing they are now going to be wanted for a completely unnecessary kidnap, murder, theft, extortion, and torture, Jersey and Scott decide to part ways, and they never see each other again. And that's it. The absurd violence comes out of absolutely no where, and then boom, story's over. Except for the 2-page epilogue, which states that Scott died in Mexico 53 years later of cancer.

"Thanks," I told him, hanging up the phone while turning up the radio. 'Shorty Wanna Be A Thug', by Tupac Shakur played as we cruised to our spot we called "Viet Nam."

"You got blunts?" she asked me.

"Yep." I nodded with a grin, for our ganja ravings were met with the richest of palates.

An actual picture of "Viet Nam." Jesus Christ, Kansas just makes fun of itself.

Shakespeare, this book is not. It's not even bunk-speare. If Shakespeare were New York, this book wouldn't even be Newark. It'd be somewhere worse, like the shitty part of Mogadishu, or Kansas. If Jersey has any use, it's as a reminder that yes, literally everyone was a loser in highschool, and no, that first love of yours isn't worth writing about. Steven; we feel your pain. To love and lose is one of life's great tragedies, like dropping your last blunt-paper into a puddle. But teenage crushes are best left in high school where they belong.

But not everyone would agree with us, especially not the sole reviewer this book has on Amazon.

If only her horse had written the fucking book, then.



18/07/2015

Admiral Fartmore & Beau Dashington

#39 - "Regarding Ducks and Universes" by Neve Maslakovic

Duck-stractingly Sexy. (7/10)

By Beau Dashington

(Book chosen by HotBot)

Editor's Note: This was my first time assigning a book as part of the Piece of Shit™ Book Club, and apparently I'm bad at it.  It must be because I'm a woman.

What with all the hubbub and uproar lately over the involvement of ladies in science, I was quite surprised to be assigned Regarding Ducks and Universes to read this week, since it was written by someone who claims to be both a woman  and a scientist.  I know, I know.  It sounds insane.  Women and knowledge are clearly a volatile mix.  But bear with me while we get to the bottom of this.

This science fiction book, it turns out, is not a Piece of Shit™ at all.  It’s basically well-written, and the plot is compelling enough.  However, and I’m no scientician, but I’m not too convinced by this so-called expert’s “opinions” and “science facts”.  As such, this entire review is going to be an ad hominem (or should that be ad feminem?).  As we all know, a direct personal attack is the most effective form of argument known to man (but not woman).  What with the liberal media's clear bias in favor of women, it’s clearly time for me to bring back the Penis Perspective.

I suppose that it is mandatory for every review to contain some description of the book itself.  So here’s the obligatory plot summary.  Someone experimenting with universes accidentally created a link between our universe and a parallel one.  This is more science fact than science fiction, since scientists are too often trying to play god, and are always interfering with the laws of nature.  Anyway, some mundane and casual event caused the two universes to split.  Since our main character, Felix, was born before the split, he has a counterpart in the other universe.  Worried that his alter is writing the same mystery novel as him, Felix crosses universes to investigate.  Along the way, he and a group of scientists (playing God, as usual) try to establish what small event it was that caused the two universes to diverge. And it all comes down to a rubber duck. 

That's the book, which for this review, is beside the point.  Let’s get back to the main issue, namely: ladies interfering in science.  Now, everyone knows that I’m no misogynist.  I’m all down for women having rights, and being allowed to drive to the grocery store.  And they should be allowed to buy feminine hygiene products, provided they're kept at the back of the store where I don't have to see them.  And they should feel perfectly comfortable to breastfeed their infants in shame at home, preferably in the basement or an outdoor storage facility.  But have you seen the news lately?  These so-called women scientists are purposely posting sexy pics of themselves doing science, just to upset their hard-working male counterparts by being “#DistractinglySexy”.

Satire aside, I find this woman to be exceptionally attractive.

This is nonsense!  With this going on, how are men scientists supposed to work, and solve the world's real problems, like male pattern baldness?  Would Oppenheimer have invented the a-bomb, or would Nobel have discovered dynamite, with all these hot broads flaunting their sensual selves in the workplace?  Probably not.  And without nuclear weapons and dynamite, clearly the world would be a much worse place.  For starters, it would probably be gay and communist.

Let’s take a closer look at the author, the so-called Neve Maslakovic.  It’s actually a beautiful name.  You can picture the author sitting in a summer field, wearing a gingham dress, pulling petals off a flower, attempting in a pseudo-scientific way to ascertain if one of her male colleagues loves her (or loves her not).  The truth is much worse.  In reality, she is one of those bi-coastal academic elites you hear about on Fox News.

Let’s start with her scientific credentials, which I put absolutely no faith in.  And I say that as a trained scientist.  I have a Bachelor’s degree in Political Science.  It’s a science, people.  It says so in the name.  Plus, I read Hawking’s The Theory of Everything, and I even understood some of it.

Ms Maslakovic claims to have a doctorate in electrical engineering.  Now personally, I’ve never heard of this poxy little community college called Stanford where she claims to have done her PhD.  I mean, come on.  Stanford?  Never heard of it.  More like Sanford, as in Sanford and Son, the 1970s show about men selling garbage.  Basically I’m saying that Stanford is a pile of garbage.  You follow me?

Maybe Sanford and Son will buy your junk Stanford degree, but I'm having none of it.

Before I go on, I should acknowledge even though I keep calling her Ms. Maslakovic, the author probably doesn’t call herself that since she has a PhD from Stanford.  But I refuse to call her Dr. because I doubt her medical credentials.  I’m also not too convinced that a woman should be running around the science lab getting up to no good and whatnot.  She’s probably only spends half her time working, and the other half of her time crying and falling in love with people. 

Now, Ms. Maslakovic, if that is indeed your real name (which we have already established it isn't),  I have a few questions for you.  I know that I should be careful addressing you directly, as you might fall in love with me in the process.  What I want to know is, just what gives you the right to go around being a scientist and writing science books like a normal person (i.e. a man)? 

Personally, I’ve had enough of these women running around doing science and writing books I don’t understand. What, you think you can have a better job than me at a prestigious university just because you’re better educated and smarter than me?  I don’t think so, missus.  The real question is: are you trying to be a man, or are you just trying to be duck-stractingly sexy?

Clearly, the pendulum has swung too far, and it’s gotta swing back.  Because at the end of the day, we know this all about sex.  I know, because a real scientist (i.e. a man) said so.  A long time ago, Alfred Kinsey demonstrated conclusively that 90% of everything is explained by sex.  And he didn’t have to cry or fall in love with anyone to prove it.  And that’s the way science should be, just a bunch of old white dudes in lab-coats smoking cigars and pretending to work while talking about tits for science reasons.

Incidentally, as we all know from the recent 2015 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Neve Maslkovic isn’t the only one who is duck-stractingly sexy.  Just check out the Anaheim Ducks’ center and captain Ryan Getzlaf.  And you can't get sexier than this guy, even though he has a receding hairline...

Maybe we don't need to spend billions curing male baldness after all.

Satire aside, I find this man to be exceptionally attractive. He's also damn good at hockey.

B. Dashington

15-06-2015

#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

#27 - "Poosy Paradise" by Roosh V

No Means Yes (or, the Zeta Male)

(0/10)

By Beau Dashington

(book chosen by PearTree)

Editor's Note: This round each boy will have to read a sequel or follow-up book. Not because we felt there was more to gleam from such esteemed writers, but because we are vengeful, contemptible souls marked by short-sighted narrow minds of the lowest common denominator who like to laugh at each others misfortunes even if in doing so we bring about our own vexation. All I can say is -- Worth it.

This isn’t the first time our group has encountered Roosh V. And I have a worrying feeling that it won’t be the last. As first in line for reading a sequel, I knew I would be getting a Roosh V book. His books are just so shitty, and there are so many of them, that I was bound to be forced to read one eventually.

For those unfamiliar with this guy, he writes books on the subject of pulling women. In this book, he is looking for Poosy Paradise in Romania, however, he fails to have sex with very many women and thus gets stuck in “Pussy Purgatory” (see what he did there?). That’s basically the entire book. There is no plot, and it is exceptionally badly written. I would also say that it is badly edited, only it is perfectly clear from reading it that it never went anywhere near an editor.

There is no story, just a bunch of lame descriptions of some really depressing sounding dates and a fair amount of jerking off. For example, “That night I masturbated but my heart wasn’t into it. My boner was physically present but I was just going for the orgasm, which was weak even though I had resumed weight-lifting.”  The few sexual encounters aren’t much better; “I boned her for about six minutes before I came.”

There are only two tips in the book as far as could tell. The first is Roosh’s magic sex potion, made up of vodka mixed with fruit from the “Four corners of the world”, the four corners being “Europe, Asia, Africa and the Americas.” I don’t know what kind of fucked up map he has been looking at where these five continents represent a square. 

In terms of the latter tip, he refers to it as “The Move” because it is “the best move I have.” Here is his description of said move: “I grabbed her hand and placed it on my penis.” That’s it. You force a chick to touch your penis when she isn't expecting it.

But here we enter discussion of the more worrying parts of this book. Most of the strategies verge precariously close to sexual assault For those in the pityingly named “manosphere” (the online community of people like Roosh), you might think I am saying that sleeping with women then not calling them is a form of rape. It isn’t.

But forcing them to touch your genitals, or tricking them into letting you touch theirs? That is sexual assault. One part of the book involves him, aged 33, trying to sleep with a 16 year old. His thoughts on the appropriateness of such behaviour? “Images of my dick violating her pussy were still fresh on my mind.” His handling of rejection all follows the same pattern; “I wanted to slap the shit out of her, but I suppose that would have made me look bitter.”

His general tactic is to prey on women when they are drinking; “I can go to a club and lurk in a corner until I see a girl I like.” Once in the club, he then tries to encourage women to drink as much as they can. “I thought that she’d probably let me put it in raw since she was drinking, but no. She actually would get her hands and cover her pussy when I tried, one of the biggest turn-offs a girl can do.” And here, it becomes clear that to Roosh V, the word ‘no’ really doesn’t mean no. It means yes; “She resisted slightly at first... I tried to press my boner into her body.”

That’s sexual assault, plain and simple. And if she doesn’t respond well to you when you make her touch your penis?“If she doesn’t want to put hand inside pants (sic) to directly feel the cock, take a 10 minute break.”

Back to my original question. Is he a rapist, or a loser? Or both? During the book, he frequently notes that he has no friends, and that the women that he eventually tricks into sleeping with him don’t come back. Either way, he is almost certainly a Zeta Male, rather than the Alpha he claims to be. For the record; I realize that the last letter of the Greek alphabet is actually Omega, but if I referred to him as an Omega Man then people might confuse him with Charlton Heston. And if Charlton Heston were a woman, then I am sure we all know that there is one thing that he would say to Roosh V on behalf of every other woman in the world.

Seriously though, Roosh; fuck off, and stop writing your shitty books. Not only because you're a borderline rapist, but because if you keep writing them, then I'm going to have to keep reading them for the Piece of Shit Book Club™.

Please, stop.

Please.

#20 - "Maybe He's Just an Asshole" by Halle Kaye & Sophie Stone

The Penis Perspective (2.173/10)

By  Beau Dashington

(chosen by HotBot)

Editor's Note: About a month and a half back, we reviewed an author-submitted book, Pickles and Ponies by Laura May. In return, we asked her to read and review some dinosaur erotica. The thing is, her book was actually pretty good, and anachronistic dinophilia isn't, so we gave her the chance to get some revenge on us. She chose this book, and chose Beau Dashington to read it since she sensed he needs to learn more about women. Also, Beau Dashington is a fucking asshole who won't answer my texts. 

You might think that if a guy wants to meet a girl, it might be helpful to read a book about pulling women. But instead I’ve been assigned a book for women on the subject of how to find Mr. Perfect. The simple lesson of the book is as follows: don’t date assholes. In addition, we’re going to get lots of tips on everything from sexting, to anal sex, to sexting.

Before I go on, I want to make a few things clear. Firstly, I’m not some sort of Neolithic knuckle-dragger that thinks women should be confined to the bedroom and the kitchen. I’m totally down with women voting and driving cars and whatnot, and I'm against people calling women things like “Jugs” and “Sugar-Tits.” However, a man commenting on a book like Maybe He’s Just an Asshole  would likely be, for the authors, part of the problem.  They note that most of the rules of romance are written “from the perspective of the penis.” I have to say that the Penis Perspective sounds like a great name for a noise rock band (a really shitty one), or some sort of undergraduate art major's sophomoric attempts at creating art.

To challenge the Penis Perspective, the book contains a list of different types of men (or "Assholes") alongside an "Asshole Rating" which also has an explanation IN A LARGER FONT, CAPS LOCK AND BOLD TO MAKE SURE THAT YOU CAN SEE IT. Here's an example:

One of our first in the parade of assholes is the guy who is slow at sending texts, who gets a rating of 7. Sounds pretty harmless, really. A more worrying example is the guy who drinks too much. The alcoholic gets an asshole rating of 6. The authors suggest you kick this guy to the curb since “this sauce-soaked asshole will be fine. After all, he’s got Johnny Walker and Jim Beam to commiserate with.” Talk about tough love.  Just in case you didn’t catch that; the guy who is an alcoholic is preferable to the guy who is bad at texting.

In addition, the authors warn religiously against sticking by someone going through a rough patch. The man who is having a tough time and is depressed gets an Asshole Rating of 7. The authors advise: “Don’t get sucked into the vortex of someone else’s misery.” This is a strange suggestion from two women offering advice on finding a long-lasting and sustainable emotional relationship.

Chapter Five deals with “The Guy who isn’t trustworthy.” A man who chats openly with other women and is generally social gets an asshole rating of 8. Just as a reminder; that’s two worse than the alcoholic.

Now, I know what your tiny female brain is thinking: all of these numbers are confusing. These ratings are fine and dandy, but how is a girl to know what to do? When is enough enough? Well, for the girl on the go who doesn’t have time to sit around and think about simple things like “Should I break up with the alcoholic who doesn’t text me?” the authors have a simple 'Five Strikes and You’re Out’ rule. Five strikes. Five. I don’t want to rely on age old stereotypes about women knowing nothing about sports, but come on. Five strikes? FIVE!?!?

Moving on, the guy who cheats on you (including with your friends) gets an asshole rating of 9. Bet you are wondering what gets a 10, aren’t you? Well, it’s the guy who is jealous. He might be faithful, he might not be fucking your friends in front of you, but if he gets jealous when you get your flirt on with other dudes? That’s a dealbreaker, ladies.

Also a 10 is the guy who takes cheap shots during fights. One of the authors speaks from experience:

“[H]e said that I don’t understand logic and called me a stupid idiot who can’t even spell (I’m dyslexic). In other fights, he’s said that I come from trash, that I suck in bed, that I’m fat.”

I don’t want to pick on the author, but let’s look a little more closely at that statement. Contained within it are the premises that the author (1) is illogical; (2) lacks intelligence; (3) has a learning disability; (4) comes from low quality stock; (5) is bad in bed; and (6) is obese. If even 50% of those accusations hit the mark, then I feel that it explains a lot about why the author struggles so much both with men and with writing.

The last chapter is on the guy with an unhealthy view of sex. The guy who “won’t stop when it hurts” gets an 8. The same rating goes to the guy who wants anal, won’t take no for an answer, and slips in it anyway then claims it was an accident . It’s pretty much impossible for me to talk about this chapter without sounding misogynistic, so I’m not going to. It sounds mostly legit. Except, I would say that the guy who jams it up your tailpipe even when you ask him not to probably deserves a worse score than an 8, which is the same rating given to the guy who chats to women in a social way at parties. There is a clear lack of thought in the rating system. Take the following ratings from the book:

Asshole Rating of 5 – The guy who is too Christian
Asshole Rating of 6 – The alcoholic
Asshole Rating of 7 – The slow texter
Asshole Rating of 8 – The guy who calls you fat
Asshole Rating of 9 – The guy who bangs your friends
Asshole Rating of 10 – The guy who calls you stupid

Germaine Greer once said “"Until women themselves reject stigma and refuse to feel shame for the way others treat them, they have no hope of achieving full human stature.” I think maybe she is right. While this book claims to be about strengthening women, and stresses not defining femininity based on male reactions to women, all this book does is to focus on ways not to feel fat and stupid while suggesting that the true sign of a good mate is someone who pays the tab after lunch.

If you really do date people who insult you to your face, or cheat on you openly, then you have very real problems that this book isn’t going to solve. And if you are the kind of person that thinks a relationship should be over because you didn’t receive a response to your text for a couple hours, then you probably should just chill the fuck out and phone the person instead of texting them.

On a side note, I paid $3 for this book, representing the first time a member of the PSBC has had to pay for the book they read. And I’m not happy about it. I could have bought chicken fingers for that. Not the good kind, obviously, but maybe the budget brand ones. Not cool.

Beau Dashington

26/12/2014

#18 - "Star Trek Voyager: Shadow of Heaven - (Dark Matters: Book Three of Three)" by Christie Golden

It Helps to Read the First Two Books

(4.8/10)

By Beau Dashington

(book chosen by PearTree)

Editor's Note: I used to watch Star Trek with my father every Wednesday night through TNG, DSN, and Voyager. It was a time of bonding with my father and with the characters. It was my intention for Beau to get a more in depth, personal connection with the universe and a better understanding of where I came from. I guess starting him off on book three of a trilogy was a little misguided though... oh well.

I was quite surprised when I was assigned to read Star Trek Voyager: Shadow of Heaven – Dark Matters (Book Three of Three).   I got super excited and hoped it would be a fan fiction book with bizarre space sex trysts, like Chakotay nailing Janeway. Or B’Ellana and Seven-of-Nine getting involved in some hot space scissor sisters action. At the very least, I was hoping Nelix and Tom Paris would play fiddlesticks. Normally I’m not into that kind of thing. But, you know… space makes a man lonely.

But alas; I realized this isn’t fan fiction. It is in fact a sanctioned piece of Star Trek literature. So no space sex, presumably. Full disclosure; I’m not a Trekkie (Trekker?). For me Star Trek has always been like those pornos where a she-male bangs an actual woman. I watch it sometimes when no one’s around, but I try not to make a habit of it because it makes me feel funny. Unless the tranny is really hot and doesn't have gigantic hands. Then it’s totally normal. Because, you know… space.

So I’m not here to just pick on the Star Trek, but hey, this is the Piece of Shit Book Club™, and everyone is fair game for a bit of fun-poking.

The book opens with the first sentence informing us that “the entity was pleased with itself.” I have no idea who or what this entity is, but it does sound like a great nickname for somebody’s wang. Personally, I have always nicknamed by penis Dr. Ted Nelson. If you get that reference, then we really should be friends.

Anyway, the entity is just chilling in space. Meanwhile, Tom Paris is stranded in prison on some sort of planet. We don’t know why.  Also, there are some important sounding and very powerful aliens called the Shepherds who are up to something or nothing. Chakotay is here but he’s unconscious, and once again, we don’t know why.

We learn that sometime in Book #2, a bunch of aliens forced Chakotay and Paris into “the Pit” to make them experience “the Ordeal”. We don’t know what that is, so let’s just assume that it’s sex-wrestling. Tom hangs out with Trima, who is a Culil. He is trying to the murder of Matroci, who was a Culil before Trima. I want to state for the record that I have literally no idea what the fuck I am talking about.

Oh wait, Chakotay isn’t here anymore. He’s gone. And Tom isn’t in a prison he’s in some village. Meanwhile, Captain Kathryn Janeway most certainly is in jail. Tuvok is hanging out with some Romulan guy called Telek. They have a mind meld so that Telek can prove he is telling the truth about something. In a sudden and unexplained twist, while Tuvok is trying to get Janeway out of prison. Telek is executed for being a traitor or something, so I guess he wasn’t that important.

Also, everyone is starting to express a serious concern about dark matter. Telek inexplicably reappears, and informs Tuvok that the Shepherds are the ones that manipulate the dark matter, and some of them may be trying to destroy the universe. Which sounds bad.

Meanwhile, Harry Kim (Voyager’s token Asian) is trying to nail some sexy alien called Khala, while Seven of Nine (who, for the uninitiated, is a sexy robot) is trying to develop a sense of humour.

Chakotay goes to see some local alien doctor on the alien planet that he is on, who tells him that “his DNA is backwards.” Also, Chakotay’s cells start to disappear. Which also sounds bad. They tell him that… he is not from this universe (dramatic sound) and that his body is returning to its home universe one cell at a time. He figures it’s got to be that dark matter fucking shit up again. Typical.

Back on Voyager, the Doctor is telling Wang Harry Kim that if he nails that sexy alien named Khala his DNA will go all fucking backwards, and he’ll start to disappear one cell at time too. He explains it’s because there’s two universes, and maybe they shouldn't have tried to cross universes. Shit just got real. In true Star Trek tradition , Harry Kim decides he doesn't give a fuck about backwards DNA and decides to fuck the sexy alien anyway. So we actually do get some space sex, though its light on detail.

The Romulans are about to attack Earth, so Tuvok calls a red alert. There’s a battle, but Voyager kicks ass and wins. And somebody – probably Tuvok – works out that Voyager is twenty years in the future, and that many of the gang are multiple versions of themselves in different universes. So they stop using the mutated dark matter, the Entity and the Shepherds fuck off, and Voyager continues on its journey home. The End. Oh, also the Entity was the ghost of someone called Kes. 

After finishing the book, I do a little research, and find out that in the first couple books the Romulans were engaging in experiments to jump universes, and encountered Voyager at different times. So in this book there were actually multiple timelines and multiple universes. Which provides a lot of explanation as to why I had literally no fucking idea what was going on in this book.

So I have absolutely no idea if this book is any good or not, because it went completely over my head. Which is not what I thought would happen when I read a Star Trek book.

One last thing; while writing this post I found myself constantly Googling thinks like “Star Trek porn art” and “Voyager space sex” and I have to say that I am very disappointed in the Trekker community. Whereas there are a great deal of porno spoofs, including a pretty decent TOS cast and even one of TNG, there are shockingly few examples of Star Trek Voyager fan art where the Doctorfucks Nelix.  

Come on people. Whatever happened to Rule 34? If any true Trekker out there can produce such a picture, then post it here, and bring peace to this weary space voyageur.

One to beam up.

Beau Dashington

04/12/2014