Love to have my stalking symposium in my mountain lair.

Men only want one thing,

A Squidcel. You hate to see it.

Wow. Sounds like someone need to take a break from his big city cynicism—maybe some time spent in the small town where you grew up will help? And if you happen to reconnect with an old flame while there?? Well let’s just say sometimes the best gifts aren’t found under trees,

The subject I think also confirms something for me: I don’t ever want to read another man’s love letters. None of the dirty Joyce letters, none of these by McCarthy…I don’t want to see it. I’ll read the art, but don’t care to trace every bit of it to its antecedents in real life.

It is the least self-aware piece of writing I’ve seen in a long time. The distance between who the writer thinks he is and who we’re all reading in that piece is so far apart it boggles the mind.

I feel like I’ve seen an even split on pointing out its moral and literary badness. It’s awful in every direction, but the style is at least bad and unselfconscious enough to be pretty funny by the end of the essay.

Considering doing a second Post, to move things along.

deadlifting up next