Enter the Snake, then a photographic review of The Shack by Wm. Paul Young

You’re probably wondering how I do these book reviews so quickly. Well, truth is, I don’t. Some of these books are things I’ve read already. So, in order to read more horrendous literature, I’m going on a thousand-year hiatus. So, it’s been fun, but–

Jo: H? We got company.

Good for us. Tell ’em to fuck off.

Jo: Said company’s a talking snake, named Fangzor. He’s pretty insistent, and angry.

Talking snake? Anything’s possible here, I guess. Whatever, send him in.

Fangzor: Blow it out your ass. I’m looking for a job. Hire me.

All right, first off, if you’re looking for a job, even in the LoA, “blow it out your ass” is really not how you address me. Second–

Fangzor: Better idea, I’ll do the book review for ya.

Give me back my keyb–

HEY DOUCHE-A-LOSERS. IT’S FANGZOR. I’M THE GUY THAT RAN OVER YOUR LAWN ORNAMENTS ON MY TRICYCLE, AND NOW I’M TAKING OVER THIS BLOG. DEAL WITH IT.

HERE IS MY ENTRY REGARDING THE QURAN AND HOW MUCH IT’S A PIECE OF CROSBY STILLS AND NASH HIPPIE QUASI-BUDDHIST GARBAGE. FIRST OFF, ALLAH. WHAT THE FUCK’S HIS DEAL? SECOND OFF, MOHAMMED. WHAT THE FUCK’S HIS DEAL? THIRD OFF, THE ANGEL TALKING TO MOHAMMED. WHAT THE FUCK’S HIS DEAL? FOURTH OFF–

NO. WE ARE NOT GETTING SUED. FUCK OFF, SNAKE.

Fangzor: Dude, that hurts. Why you gotta tie me in a knot, bro?

Because you’re a god-awful, sociopathic, green length of vermin sent by the Literary Devil to piss me off, and by God, it’s working!

Fangzor: Tell you what: if you untie me from this knot, I’ll tell you how to review books quicker.

Jo: Don’t trust him, H!

Fangzor: She’s right, it’s probably a dumb idea to trust me. But you’ll do it anyway because if stupid things came from potatoes, you’d be Idaho.

Jo: Oh, he’d never do that!

All right, I’ll take you up on this offer.

Jo: Oh dingofuck!

Fangzor: All you gotta do is this… skim a crappy a book, and make notes and reaction pictures as you’re reading it!

That’s a GREAT idea! I’ll call it a Read-it-and-Freak post. Thanks, Fangzor.

Jo: But I thought he couldn’t trust you.

Fangzor: Still true. I took his wallet.

All right, everyone, here’s our first Read-it-and-Freak. Without any further ado, let’s open up… THE SHACK!

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Apparently I published this little ahead of schedule, so… bear with me. This iPad that Jo gave me is going a little haywire.

Jo: That’s because it’s on fire, you silly antelope.

Fangzor: What the fuck kinda lamesalsa insult is that?

You learn to live with ’em at this point, Fangzor.

Foreword:

Who wouldn’t be skeptical when a man claims to have spent an entire weekend with God, in a shack no less?

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A couple of final disclaimers: Mack would like you to know that if you happen upon this story and hate it, he says, “Sorry… but it wasn’t primarily written for you.”

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Chapter one: A Confluence of Paths

March unleashed a torrent of rainfall after an abnormally dry winter. A cold front out of Canada then descended and was held in place by a swirling wind that roared down the Gorge from eastern Oregon. Although spring was surely just around the corner…

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Mack stiffened as a wave of nausea rolled over him and then just as quickly mutated into anger. He purposely thought about the shack as little as possible and even when he did his thoughts were neither kind nor good. IF this was someone’s idea of a bad joke they had truly outdone themselves. And to sign it “Papa” just made it all the more horrifying

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Chapter four: the Great Sadness

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His gaze went to the ground. He again felt a million years old, almost wishing he could somehow turn himself into a big unfeeling rock.

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“But God doesn’t do stuff like that.”

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Chapter 8: A Breakfast of Champions

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Jo: H! Calm down! We don’t eat the books. That’s against the terms of the agreement.

Fangzor?

Fangzor: Yeah?

This was a downright terrible idea for a way to review a book. I didn’t get the gist of it at all.

Fangzor: Good, it’s overemotional tripe about God and stuff.

Well, I know you don’t like gods that much, at least not the Islamic–

Fangzor: Hey, my grandma’s a Muslim. I just like pissing her off. And trust me, if you read this book all the way to the end, you’d regret it, deeply.

I believe you… from what little I’ve seen, it’s pretty bad. Still, since it’s Christian fiction, I don’t want to touch it too much, otherwise the Bible Belt’s gonna be on me like a sexually frustrated dachshund.

Next week: harlequin romance, for realz.

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