Saturday, April 9, 2011

On the definition of Misery...

"I have learned now that while those who speak about one's miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more." ~C.S. Lewis
Hey Louie, shut the hell up.

1.) This is coming from the person who had the very creative idea of having a central figure in his story die for the mistakes of others. Gee, that's creative. Good thing I don't live in a Christianized culture or else  I would know you're a plagiarist, you plagiarist.

2.) I bet not a lot of people know what you look like, but you're bald, and I know, and now everyone reading this knows.

3.) Let's talk about your story "Till We Have Faces." You got a character line up of Cupid, Pysche, all her sisters....wow, this is starting to sound like a tale we heard some 1700 hundred years before your bald ass came along, called Cupid and Psyche written down in Apuleius' "The Golden Ass." Did i mention you're a filthy plagiarist?

4.) You're middle name is Staples. Staples is a mediocre office supplies store with more credentials than you.

5.) Way to convert to Anglicanism. The religion you feel so strongly about was founded by a guy who kept cutting his wives' heads off. Yes, make your noble stand here, Louie, and write more seven crappy books about it.

6.) We covered the part where you keep plagiarizing your work right? Okay good.

7.) Your struggle as an author is enduring. Who would have known that an British-Irish man of high blood with all the connections one needs to the prestigious Oxford University would have become as respected and well read as you? Next to you, W.E.B. Du Bois looks a trust fund baby.

8.) You're bald. Get over it.

9.) The British Army discharged you because of homesickness. Not a lot more needs to be said about that.

10.) Isn't it just convenient that you died on the same day as John F. Kennedy? No one expects the dead.

Conclusion: I hate academic authors that write mediocre stories that get humped to death by professors and idiots. C.S. Lewis, I'll give you this, you knew how to sell it, but you won't catch me reading part seven of Narnia, even if LeVar Burton thinks I should.

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