Book Reviews Are For The Dick Dead
Longtime club members recall a popular feature of our monthly magazine was the Books Section Mostly it was about what the proverbial “Man About Town” was supposed to be reading and it included handy phrases a member could employ to give the impression he’d not only read the latest bestseller but had inspired the author to write it in the first place .
Articles were about this speed: 5 Amusing Things To Say About Hamlet; If She Brings Up Jane Austen–Flee (Seriously, Even If She Has Amazing Tits); All You Need To Know About Tolstoy’s “War And Peace” In 300 Words.
In that ancient era –we’re now talking pre-1995– saying something smart about books and writers (even poets !) was considered an important social asset. Skillfully applied it could get you laid in under an hour. Where now Starbuck’s and Gap stores line the streets there were not only bookstores but “specialty’ and even “independent” bookstores which were specific places to meet women. There were rules of conduct. And codes. When a woman said she liked the latest Cheever, for example, she meant to convey “I like to take it up the ass,” and so forth.
Trouble is, putting those columns on the website turned out to be this huge hassle. In fact, an entire wing of the clubhouse–which had been blocked off because it’s known to be haunted –was piled to the rafters with advice on how to come across as literate without ever reading a book. It was then—after hoisting a few, admittedly –that our Editor In Chief who wishes to remain anonymous ( Lamont Q. Cranston ) said something revolutionary: “ Social asset? Social cachet? Yes, obviously, for centuries the only reason a man ever read a book was sex. But what no one ever mentions — it never fucking worked !!
“Why? Look at what women wear on their feet! Seriously—how long do you think Darwin’s survival odds for a land animal that paid a grand plus for 6” heels to walk around in? Think about it. They are not bright. They were never bright. We didn’t know it back then because they were at least sharp enough to keep their traps shut. These days if you want to get laid you get an app. You don’t go to a fucking bookstore or pretend you’ve fucking read the fucking collected works of fucking Marcel fucking Proust or fucking worst of all: Maya fucking Angelou, for fuck’s sake.”
We had to admit he had a point. Therefore, in that spirit we’ve decided to start our new online Books section with a fresh slate: please peruse the timely review below by Eddie “Stink Finger” Spasky and the Ass Man on why you should carry around the “Huge Penis” reviewed elsewhere in this section