I don't know what the hell either of those guys are talking about, but I can say with some confidence that "CHOKE ON A BUCKET OF DICKS" would make a badass tattoo.

you know, the only thing more boring than literary criticism (and i've written a bit of it myself) is criticism of criticism. or, there are a lot of people (bloggers included, but not you my dear dana) who just need to GET A FUCKING LIFE. the way these cookie-cutter iowa workshoppers and so-called critics talk about books (and have the gall to WRITE them), you'd think they were actually important or something. you'd think that they were building the pyramids, not stacking nouns and verbs. i can't stomach the concept of criticism when there's a war on. it just seems meaningless in a world that slid into total absurdity (and has yet to recover) in the summer 1904.

yet, here i am, criticizing... when instead i should be gathering firewood, throwing eggs at the fucking target in my neighborhood, leaving bags of flaming shit on my neighbors' stoops, or planting a victory garden.

glorified typists, all of us, stupid writers.

speaking of VERY IMPORTANT, gawker's like five years behind #1hs on another burning topic...

reeves, how come you ain't got a site?
girl i know says you are not allowed to comment less you can show people just what kine of lunatic you are.

did i say badass?

i meant boss.

boss, for sure.

It's not the criticism of criticism. It's the criticism of criticism of criticism.

Or come to think of it, as a comment to a comment on a post on a commentary on responses to an article ``deconstructing'' a laudable critic of critics of criticism . . . forget it. This making my head hurt.