It's been known for some time that Jersey Shore's "Snooki", aka Nicole Polizzi, has been hard at work penning a novel. It's not uncommon for celebrities, particularly those who possess a GED-level understanding of the English language, to hire a ghost writer to assist them in putting words to paper. While it's no surprise that Snooki followed suit, what IS unusual is who she selected to help her write her novel: one of the torchbearers of modern American literature, Cormac McCarthy. What follows is a brief excerpt from All The Pretty Bennies, sure to enter the pantheon of modern fiction.
Gia spoke in an english learned largely from schoolbooks and he tested each phrase for the meanings he wished to hear, repeating them silently to himself and then questioning them anew. She said she was glad he had come. He had an ok body. Not fat at all. And naturally toned abs. She could pour a shot of tequila down his belly and slurp it out of his navel without getting splashed in the face.
I told you I would.
They turned, the trumpet rapped.
Did you not think I would? Any juicehead will get some nut shrinkage. And bacne. They fly into a 'roid rage, it is a 'road' 'roid rage.
She tossed back her head and looked at him, smiling, her eyes aglint. Al contrario, she said. I knew you would come. I love food. I love drinking, boys, dancing until my feet swell. I love my family, my friends, my job, my boss. And I love my body, especially the badonk.
At the band's intermission they made their way to the refreshment stand and he bought two lemonades in paper cones and they went out and walked in the night air. They walked along the road and there were other couples in the road and they passed and wished them a good evening. The air was cool and it smelled of earth and perfume and horses. Gia danced around a little, shaking her peaches for show. She shook it hard. Too hard. In the middle of a shimmy, her stomach cramped. A fart slipped out. A loud one. And stinky.
The film version of All The Pretty Bennies, written, directed by, and starring James Franco (and featuring "Snooki" as "Gia"), will be released in December 2011, in IMAX 3D. Portions of this work previously appeared in the New York Post.
"Hold your ground, hold your ground! Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of woes and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you STAND, Men of the West!" - Aragorn, The Return of The King
Hi all. I was on vacation last week and have been trying to get caught up with a bunch of bloggy stuff this week, so I've asked the Dark Man himself, Randall Flagg (aka The Walkin' Dude, Legion, M-O-O-N that spells Antichrist), to do a guest post. Naturally, he's been following this whole Swine Flu thing closely, and offers some insight.
Hi! I laughed when my good friend Jason asked me to do a guest post; he and I go way back and we share the same sense of humor, especially when it comes to the Christians. I like the Christians. They're always surprised when they find out that Hell is cold, but I suspect that they know this, which is why so many of them live in the South. Do you know, reader, that I can smell them on the wind, I can smell their special fears like one might smell ribs cooking on the barbecue? And those fears smell like the Disco Duck, baby. Crispy and deeeeeeeelicious!
So I was on Twitter (@howsyourpork) and I found this picture:
She'll be dead within the week, as will so many, many others. The funeral pyres will been visible from Jupiter. And it'll be my time, the Magic Man will be back, and he'll be leading a dark, dark parade...HA! Got ya! See, I know a thing or two about plagues. If you think that the Swine Flu Panic is scary, you really should take a gander at this informative video. Love the sideburns.
Betty kinda reminds me of Nadine Cross, but without the white hair. Also, if you cue up that Underwood song "Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?" (I know, I can't stand that shit either, but you have to admit that he sounds a hell of a lot like Justin Timberlake. Eerie!) and press play on both the YouTube vid and your iTunes, it synchs up perfectly, like Dark Side and The Wizard of Oz.
My point, and I do have one, is this: I get it. I do. Fear. It's something I know all about. It's the echoing sound of bootheels on a dark desert highway. It's a crow on the fence, looking at you for maybe a bit longer than seems right, eyes seeing through you like you're already a ghost. It's your Boogie Man, doin' what it can. You guys have been shovel-fed fear for going on 9 years now, and you're like the smack addict after "cleaning up"; it's there inside you, a phantom limb, and that itch you feel is that fear, spiking your blood like cheap hootch in your prom punch, causing that blood to simmer and push against your veins. You've reached a saturation point, and you thought that you'd be purged, free and clear, with a new guy in the White House running things. Well, meet the news boss. It's the same as the old boss, and it's Fear.