In my two-decade quest to read 1001 books, I have happened upon the third in the collection (I know); Callirhoe. I've not started it yet, but here's the cover:
As you can see, it's full of dutty smut. Put your clothes on, please, I don't want to see your prominent assets. And the chap with the womanly hair has his tongue literally inside Busty's hair. Must I be continually reminded that nobody loves me? From book covers to actual real people, we're constantly force-shown images of people being happy in relationships. And for us, the people whose only opportunity to get chlamydia is having a koala wee in our faces, it's not fun; it's nice that people are happy (well...), but rubbing it in the marsupial urine-soaked faces of the unloved is rather inconsiderate.
I hope people in relationships all get syphilis.
Yours unlovedly,
M.
P.S. Forgot to mention the other day, but I saw a sign leading into a village in Cumbria. It said:
'PLEASE D I E CAREFULLY'
I laughed a lot. Humanity isn't ruined yet. What's that? One Direction?
It is.
No comments:
Post a Comment