What did you expect? Here I am again breaking every rule of blogdom by writing yet another micro-ode to the depressing inevitability of universal entropy and posting it into the horrendous, gaping maw of not-so-public opinion. (“Not-so-public” because no one reads these things. OK, maybe one or two of you do.
But it’s your fault, so stop complaining. You there, watching your Jersey Sh
ore , Made In Chelsea, The Only Way Is Essex and the, soon to be released, Made in The Burning Pit of Asmodeus’s Post Pizza Night Gut of Chronic Reflux. But it’s simply no good, no matter how much you try to emulate your spray-tan-gods, we are all only one waxing away from total oblivion. And just to remind you of the pointlessness of existence, here are some books that are, contradictorily, simultaneously both extremely entertaining and depressing. So why don’t you wait for the big one in style and read one or all of my top literary choices for misanthropes of taste-
Post Office by Charles Bukowski – OK so this is a none-nerd genre tome, but one with so much entertainment value that I had to include it. When I was a kid, this book was very popular with my dad and his fellow constitutionally angry colleagues in the Royal Mail. If you ever wondered why postmen sometimes pick up something from the gun store, why you never get your mail or why life sucks then this is the book for you. At worse, you can use the hardback edition to bludgeon that boring twit sitting on the beach reading Fifty Shades of Grey.
A Scanner Darkly by Philip K. Dick – This SciFi novel made me cry. It’s really that good. The Keanu movie version of the book didn’t do a bad job, but this is one of those novels that is almost impossible to do justice to on film. So you might as well read the book. It is, despite the grim topic of serious, life-threatening drug addiction, well able to tweak your funny bone and your tear ducts. Go out and find this immediately.
Wuthering Heights by Charlottle Bronte – Sorry, again not science fiction, but instead a 19th century Gothic romance. No, I do not mean heavy eye-makeup and a bit of angst, I mean abuse, death, madness and more death. Actually, of the three, this is probably the most harrowing to read. Save this for last or use it to brandish menacingly at Jane Austen fans. (Jane Austen? Pah!)
Strangely, writing this has been a cathartic experience for me, possibly (and vampire-like) at your expense, but my karma’s feeling nicely rebalanced.