AosHQ on Christopher Buckley’s Symphonic Maestrosity

AosHQ recommends this old post ripping Christopher Buckley as one of 2010’s better ones, and I must agree it is highly amusing as it keeps mercilessly mocking the music metaphor.

Cussing warning, but here’s some excerpts with * inserts into the cussing by me:

Oh, you’d be surprised, Chris.

But a lot of things surprise you, don’t they?

That’s the advantage of being a f*cking retard. The constant surprise and amazement at the unexpected glory of life.

Wet Work really sucked. I need you to understand this. At no point was I entertained, nor did I believe the book at all. It was about some kind of rich fat f*ck (that part I believed: Write what you know) going all Rambo and sh*t on some drug smugglers or some other trite villain.

When I say I put it down like six times before powering through this slight, annoying, noxious little fart of a book, I need you to understand: I finished American Psycho after putting it down only four times.

Just saying.

Just saying, Gee, it’s not like he got his book deal based on his connection to his father or anything.

It’s just he’s a real fucking talent and sh*t.

How, Rara Avis, do you do it? You’re like playing four-dimensional chess with the written word. You’re like playing chess like… well, like it’s a f*cking symphony, and you’re a maestro, except not a real maestro, but a maestro who moves chess pieces in between writing crappy lurid wannabe potboilers…

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