Review of classic books

By classic I mean those books we read in grade through high school, some you were forced to read, others you chose. And because my head is still full of snot and phlegm and mucous and detached membranous shit these reviews will reflect that. The operative word today is "shit."

Silas Marner-George Eliot
You're kidding, right? I remember reading it and then when trying to reread it recently I thought "Why?" and then it came back to me that teachers had to forge within us the ability to discover and describe symbolism and themes and shit where none existed or mattered, before we got onto fun books like Gone with the Wind.

The Great Gatsby-F. Scott F.
Proto-screenplay written by the Jay Mcinerney of his day. Pass me the debauchery and go play with your friend's girlfriend.

Tess of the D'Urbervilles-Thomas Hardy
Cover my face in chloroform and kill me now. Or hit me with a brick to keep me awake. Go read the toilet paper roll; it's funner.

War and Peace-Tolstoy
Who knows; I never finished it and never will.

Moby Dick-Melville
Rinse and repeat from above.

The Pellucidar Series-Edgar Rice Burroughs
Awesome! Stupid and simplistic and fantastically fabulous! Better than Tarzan. Holy shit.

The Barsoom Series-Burroughs
I haven't gotten to it yet, but I keep hearing "The Bazooms Series" in my head.

Last Exit to Brooklyn-Hubert Selby, Jr
I had to google his name since I'd blessedly put it out of my head. I tried to reread it a couple of years ago. Originally read it in high school or early college or some such time and thought how existentially enlightened and thrilled I was to be reading a book about a bunch of...scum-ridden junkies. And how I got to get a peak into their nihilistic world view and bleak lives. Then I screamed, got a glass of wine and thought, "Shit. I can look at the upstairs bedrooms and reminisce about the kids' high school days and how I would forage for scary objects that used to be food or something and look into the bathrooms and projectile vomit at the quagmires, so why would I read an entire book bringing that all back?" (Minus the actual junkie part)

Orwell
Anything. What a little pissant.

Camus
Anything. What a little frog pissant. Fou et plein de merde. And boring. Jeez, if you're going to be fou and plein de merde, don't be boring.

That's enough for now. I need to play Words with Friends. Now THAT'S literachuh.

Slightly disgusting

So I've had a cold for a week and a half. Everybody has had a cold for a week and a half. Not allergies, because it involves that sore throat, weird smell you get in your head that signifies"cold" and you're knocked for a loop for a bit.

Smartly, I've been lying low. But, unsmartly, just a few moments ago I decided to give myself a facial with my generic drugstore facial goop. The mint-julep, cool, sweet smelling goop. Which is lovely when applied correctly.

I slapped it on my face and during the slapping shoved a big wad up my left nostril, which is the one nostril that has been the exit point for all my cold business. For some reason, the left nostril is the go-to nostril. Which is fine.

Unless it's filled with green facial goop. Let me tell you about drill-baby-drill.