Tag Archives: humor

Read it and Freak: Dollhouse, by the Kardashian Sisters, Part 1 of 2

WELCOME TO HELL, HELLBRARIAN!

Remember that deal I made with the Literary Devil? That if I died in the process of reviewing bad books, he’d have my soul? Yeah, that didn’t seem like a viable threat until now.

Fangzor: You sure about that? My grandpa tried to read a book about cheeseburgers because he was angry, then he got decapitated.

Jo: That was in the Mongoose Library of India.

Fangzor: Get out of my personal beeswax, you hot-diggety harlot!

Jo: But you told me. Five and a half times.

Fangzor: If you didn’t cut me off it would have been six, asshole!

GUYS. SHUT UP. We’ve got some serious shit to deal with today.

Jo: We do?

The Kardashian novel thingy. I’m about to read through excerpts and post my reactions, for the first part of this review. For the second part. I’ll do a formal review. If I don’t make it out alive — Jo, I give you the honor of carrying on my legacy.

Jo: So you’re passing on your eternal curse to–

You’ll like it, it’s fun. Anyway, I’ve invested in some armor and a sword to deal with this apeshiterectomy of a book.

We who are about to die salute NO ASPECT OF YOU whatsoever!

Fangzor: I’ll wait outside, out of some emotion other than cowardice.

Jo: Good luck, H. Because if I didn’t wish it on you I’d look like an accomplice. And that would mean no letter of rec.

Whatever, just get in the eternally-terribad book blast shelter. As for me, it’s go time.

“Chapter One: Kamille

Sitting in a café across the street from her family’s restaurant, Kamille Romero sipped her açai berry smothie and lifted her face to soak the sun. It was a deliciously warm day, not too humid for August in L.A. She had spent the afternoon in her favorite spa–not one of those New Age-y spas, but a serious, old-school spa run by a scary-efficient Romanian woman named bogdana. Kamille’s arms, legs, and bikini still stung from the honey-scented wax.”

“Luxuries, seriously? Ad far as Kamille was concerned, these were all necessities. Kat herself had taught Kamille and her sisters to take pride in their appearance and maintain a strict grooming ritual, including regular hair removal. Just because they were poor didn’t mean they had to be furry and ugly, did it?”

“But no, it was a superannoying text from her mother…”

“DOLL, WHERE R U?

Frowning, Kamille typed: MY SHIFT STARTS 430.

Kat replied: NO 4! GET YOUR BUTT IN HERE!”

“What? Kamille rolled her eyes. Her mom could be such a controlling bitch. Ever since she’d opened the restaurant four years ago, just after their father’s death, she’d put the girls to work. Which was not cool. At age twenty, Kamille was meant for something bigger and better than waitressing or busing tables. She just wasn’t exactly sure what that “something” might be. But her destiny was out there, waiting for her, as sparkly and spectacular as the Kodak Theatre on Oscar Night…”

“Kamille learned an important life lesson then: that money was power, and that no money meant no power.”

“(Kamille and Kass had a private joke that “PMS” stood for “Psychotic Mom Syndrome)”

“‘I think we should go with a risotto special,’ Kat was saying to Fernando. “Let’s do something with the new morel mushrooms we just got. How about some asparagus?’

‘A morel-and-asparagus risotto, sounds delish,’ Fernando agreed. ‘Let me just check in the kitchen and make sure we have enough stock. I need to get in there and start prepping, anyway.’

‘Ask Kass about the stock, she’s back there doing inventory. I think she made a huge batch last night with the leftover roast chicken?’

‘My goodness, is there anything that girl can’t do?'”

“Kamille knotted her fists, stifling several choice swearwords. She was sick-to-death-tired of constantly hearing what a saint Kass was. It had been going on for years, and seriously, who cared? So Kass had been valedictorian in high school. So she was at the top of her class at USC. So she worked long hours at the restaurant, doing everything from waiting tables to organizing the bills to whipping up gourmey fucking chicken stock like some Rachael Ray clone.

Kass was a saint because she had no life. She didn’t date; she claimed she was “too busy.” She hardly ever drank, which meant that she was superboring during girls’ nights out. All she ever did was work and study, study and work. If Kamille did that 24/7, she could be a perfect, overachieving geek, too.”

WILL THE HELLBRARIAN SURVIVE? WILL I STOP TYPING IN ALL CAPS? WILL X FIND Y AND Z’S BABY SURVIVE? FIND OUT IN DOLLHOUSE PART 2!

Expert Interlude: Can Conservatives Write (Intentionally) Funny Stuff?

Let’s be honest: as unbiased as I try to be, the truth is that I, the Hellbrarian, prefer Democrats.

Jo: Preach, sister!

Fangzor: Which is short for Demolitions-Crat, and his political philosophy involves destroying things. It’s my political philosophy too. Which is why I’m totes getting a monster truck for my birthday.

Jo: Quiet, you bigoted breeder.

Fangzor: Jo, if I were breeding, perhaps I wouldn’t have such a plate of pissant problems.

Anyway, there is a reason behind my love of Democrats, and it’s not based on politics at all. It’s based on the abusive relationship that books have with me, where I wear a leash and am expected to lick what they spit off the floor. What I’ve noticed is that, when hardcore Democrats write humor, it’s funny. When hardcore Republicans write humor, it’s more often than not bitter and generalizing, and jokes come across more as strawman arguments. Granted, this is nothing against the Republican party in general – many Republicans have done great things. And among those great things, being funny is absent. Take these two political cartoons, for instance. I know I’m all about books, but this is shorter.

Exhibit A: Democratic political cartoon. Action, clever concept, and good execution. Generates a good chuckle unless you're offended.

Exhibit B: Republican political cartoon. Words rather than actions, whiny, and unrealistic. Makes Republicans nod in agreement - not laugh.

Fangzor: Are you kidding me? They’re both hilarious. Donkeys and elephants don’t talk!

Yeah, but you’re a talking snake.

Fangzor: Cripe, now I have to go re-imagine what humor is. I’ll need a pint of sulfuric acid and six thumbtacks.

How about no.

Fangzor: You’re not my mother!

So anyway, who better to give advice to GOP supporters on how to write comedy than a radio pundit? Please welcome Rush Limbaugh to the blog!

Jo: Yeah, I was meaning to tell you about that… I didn’t want to touch Limbaugh with a 100-yard dildo on a 900-yard stick, so I didn’t get him. But I got someone else. He’s the Indian version of Rush Limbaugh, different nationality and political party but same belligerent chutzpah.

Oh, whatever. Please welcome the, uh, Rush Limbaugh of India, Chakradev Kapur!

Kapur: Good evening to you, Hell-berry.

How was the trip to Literary Hell, Mr. Kapur?

Kapur: It is very fun to get through the flaming caves of death, assumedly. It was not for me, considering that I took the bus.

Fangzor: You do realize that the bus is actually a hungry dragon with mouths on the sides of his neck?

Kapur: NOBODY TELLS ME THESE THINGS!

Fortunately for the modern attention span of today’s Internetgoers, I have only one question for you, Mr. Kapur, and it is as follows:

How can supporters of the GOP write things that are intentionally funny?

Kapur: Oh, that is easy. For starters, I should let you know that my political party is the least popular in India.

Jo: And that is…

Kapur: The Touchable Advancement Movement, in your language. You may be aware that my country used to have a very prevalent population of Dalits, or “untouchables,” those whose families were said to have been disgraced by the Gods. But we believe that Dalits are not only good people, but that they are holy and must be groped, caressed, prodded, poked, and manhandled by the hands of strangers on sight.

Jo: You sexist pig.

Kapur: Fear not, it applies to men and women.

Jo: Well, if it’s equal opportunity molestation… how do I sign up?

ANYWAY, the Touchable Advancement Movement might be unpopular, but I understand that you are the most widely broadcasted radio pundit in India, renowned for your humor, correct?

Kapur: Yes. And what the GOP can learn from me is that I know I am capable of wrongdoing. I’ve said some things that I know politicians have laughed at me over. And what do I do? Embrace it. When I slip up or act out of line, I turn it into a running gag. Nobody is perfect, and the more you acknowledge your own imperfections, the more valid, and funny, you will be.

Jo: What about the Republicans who apologize to cover up the crap they say?

Kapur: That, I am afraid, is just so that they can return to thinking they are perfect. But the more they acknowledge that they are unintentionally funny – the more that they can do so intentionally. The same applies to democrats, but let us face it, Jon Stewart does not claim to be a man who can do no wrong. Self-deprecation can help any sense of humor. That is why my books have sold millions of copies worldwide, especially “I am a Creepy Old Fart Who Likes to Touch People: a Memoir.”

Inspired commentary from an inspired pundit. Thank you, Mr. Kapur.

Kapur: Anytime. Now, as per my custom as a TAM Dalit, you are hereby required to shove your fists into my armpits.