Our McCarthy, Who Aren't In Heaven, Hallow Be Thy Name

Loves,


Look at all those followers. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. That's a lot. Especially when I count each one individually. Mainly, I can thank the Follow Friday tradition for introducing my to all you cool cats, because it doubled my numbers. Unfortunately, I found out about it in a time of Plasma and not Plath, so sorry about dragging you all over here to read about books and finding money making schemes instead. Although understand this: you need money to buy books. And time to read them. Job = money and no time. No job, but finding dough in sketchy, relatively quick places = less money, but time. You can only follow this logic if you are a broke college kid. If you have an illegitimate child or have a nasty coke addiction, you should probably get a job. I don't recommend KFC.


So you wanna know about plasma? I'll tell ya about plasma. Me and a friend (one of the girls) hauled over to an inner city center and boy were our suburban boots shaking.


"I don't like the looks of that man wearing the doo wop," she said.
I agreed, but only said this: "That's a do-rag."


Anyway, we were in the wrong line and some guy in a Simpson's Spider-pig shirt directed us over to the check-in desk where a female dog (actually was not a canine, but I'm trying not to offend the petunia planters too much) eyeballed us up and down then ruffled her lips in some kind of horse laugh.


"No. No more new donors today. Too late," she said.


Well. Their website said the process takes 2-3 hours and we got there at 11:30ish and they close shop at 3:30. So how about you pay for my gas you bifocal buffoon. You know, she was wearing a lab coat too. She liked to pretend she was a doctor. I don't think she really is, but who knows. 


So now we have to go back during the week and I'm just so sick of plasma that I don't even want to keep you updated, but I will because I love all one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven. twelve. thirteen. fourteen. of you.


Something else traumatic happened to me. I watched The Notebook. Let me clear up something first. I LOATHE Nicholas Sparks. He is a narcissistic trout. I once read an interview where he had the gall to sniff his nose at Cormac McCarthy.


Reader warning: Okay, so I'm about to rant like no other. Watch out.


HOLD UP. Cormac McCarthy is better than you. Not Just Nicholas Sparks, but you. My loves, Cormac is better than you. He is better than me. He is better than pretty much anyone reading this blog. Who knows, maybe The Pope likes planting petunias and somehow wandered on over. You know what? Cormac's better than The Pope.


Cormac McCarthy and Nicholas Sparks are not even in the same profession. McCarthy writes Pulitzer Prize winning fiction and Sparks writes "books" that might be a prize at the local church carnival.


Anyway here's a quote from him on McCarthy taken from an interview with USA Today: "Horrible," he [Sparks] says, looking at Blood Meridian. "This is probably the most pulpy, overwrought, melodramatic cowboy vs. Indians story ever written." 


He was asked about it later on movieline.com and said this: "That was a small snippet of a very long conversation. I was actually surprised he put that in. What would be your question? Look — The Crossing Guard? His early work? Very strong." 


What. What. What. The head bitch of melodrama wants to try and talk about Blood Meridian, one of the most crucial books of our time? He goes on to say he (Sparks) writes work akin to Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms. 


Guess what? I bet Nicholas Sparks said "I'm currently writing a novel" a lot when he was drafting The Notebook, because he is a grade A douche-bag. I bet he says "alas" a lot too.


Also, McCarthy never even wrote a book called The Crossing Guard. The Crossing, yes, and it came out years after Blood Meridian.


I'm so angry I don't even know what I was talking about.


Oh yeah. I watched The Notebook. I liked one part. When he dangled from the Ferris Wheel and she pulled down his pants. I thought she was going to give him a blowjob. Then she didn't. So I didn't even like that part, just what was in my head.


I'm leaving you with a picture of Cormac McCarthy that you may feel free to print and use in your soon to be built McCarthy shrine. If you never read him I suggest The Road or No Country for Old Men to start off. I suggest you get a copy of any of Sparks books and use it as kindle (for a fire, not the robot thing taking over the publishing industry).

Thanks for reading, sorry for ranting,
Nick