#essays.

IF YOU LIKE JOHN GREEN, IT’S FOR ONE OF TWO REASONS. ONE, YOU ARE A HIGH SCHOOLER WHO’S JUST LEARNED WHAT DEATH IS. TWO, YOU THINK THAT BECAUSE HIS PROTAGONIST IS A HIGH SCHOOLER, HE IS ADEPTLY CAPTURING WHAT BEING A TEEN IS LIKE. WHO AMONG US DIDN’T WRITE A FEW TOO MANY POEMS, BACK THEN? WHO AMONG US WASN’T SHOVED IN A LOCKER, METAPHORICALLY, BY THE FORCE OF OUR AFFECTIONS? (AND THEN LITERALLY, BY THE OBJECT OF OUR AFFECTIONS?)

IF YOU’RE A SHITTY CHILD, AND YOU’RE LUCKY/UNLUCKY ENOUGH, YOU’LL EVENTUALLY GROW AND BECOME A SHITTY ADULT. YOUR OPINIONS CAN STILL BE SAVED. OPTION ONE IS THE ENEMY OF TIME, NOT ME.

OPTION TWO FUCKING KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT. IF THIS IS WHAT YOU THINK A TEENAGER’S BRAIN IS LIKE, I CAN ONLY HOPE YOU DON’T KNOW ANY TEENAGERS, BECAUSE THEY’D HATE YOU. NOTHING IS MORE INFURIATING TO THEM THAN FLACCID ATTEMPTS AT BEING “UNDERSTOOD.”

I TRIED TO READ THE FAULT IN OUR STARS ONCE AND GOT TO PAGE EIGHT. I WAS THE FUCKING TARGET DEMO FOR THAT BOOK AT THE TIME, TOO. A HEARTSICK LONER STARING DOWN THE BARREL OF OBLIVION, KNOWING LIFE HAD NO POINT, BUT CURSED TO LIVE REGARDLESS. SOME REAL MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE SKULLDUGGERY. THIS BOOK FAILED TO RESONATE WITH ME BECAUSE IT WAS FUCKING SMUG, OKAY?

HERE.

“I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you.”

AAAAAUUUUUGH!!! WHY! WHY. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS. WHY IN THE WHOLE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME PERSONALLY. WHAT DO YOU GAIN FROM MOCKING A VERSION OF ME THAT I HATED AT THE TIME, AND HATE MORE WITH EVERY PASSING YEAR? THIS TWERP SOUNDS LIKE A NETI POT READ A THESAURUS.

THIS IS THE CHEESIEST, LAZIEST, MOST POINTLESS, MOST FACILE DECLARATION SINCE KANYE THREATENED TO LEAVE TWITTER. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.

I CAN HEAR THIS IRRADIATED WASTELAND OF A TEENAGE BOY FELLATING HIMSELF AS HE TALKS.

GOD, I DIDN’T ACTUALLY EXPECT TO GET THIS ANGRY.

THIS NOVEL IS FOR PEOPLE WHO DON’T EXPERIENCE SECOND-HAND EMBARRASSMENT AND HATE READING. MORE LIKE “THE FART IN OUR CARS,” SUBTITLE, “WITH ALL THE WINDOWS ROLLED UP.”

WE OPEN ON A FULL-SCREEN OF A BRICK WALL, WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS FOR, QUOTE, “SEVERAL MINUTES.” “THE END” POPS UP, AND GIVES EVERYONE IN THE AUDIENCE A SHOT OF HOPE DIRECTLY TO THE HEART, LIKE THE RESUSCITATION SCENE IN PULP FICTION. BUT IT’S NOT THE END. IT’S NOT EVEN CLOSE.

SWEET BRO

You know what we need, Jeffryey?

HELLA JEFF

I don’t like when you call me that.

SWEET BRO

I SAID.

You know what we NEED

ASSMUNCH?

THIS, ON PAGE ONE, IS THE FIRST SIGN OF CONFLICT BETWEEN OUR PROTAGONISTS. I’M BEING MOTHER THERESA LEVELS OF GENEROUS BY USING ANY OF THOSE TERMS, USUALLY RESERVED FOR WORKS OF FICTION INSTEAD OF THIS SANDPAPERY BOWEL MOVEMENT. ANYWAY, IT’S NEVER REFERENCED AGAIN. IT’S A CHEKOV’S GUN THAT SITS ON THE TABLE, FOREVER, INERT AND UNKNOWING. WHAT I WOULDN’T GIVE TO BE THE SAME: AN EYELESS, EARLESS, INANIMATE OBJECT, WHO COULDN’T POSSIBLY READ THIS YEAST INFECTION ON PAPER.

WE MOVE SEAMLESSLY FROM LOCATION TO LOCATION, BUT ONLY BECAUSE VOMIT DOESN’T HAVE SEAMS. FROM THE NACHO STORE OF ACT ONE, WE APPEAR IN WHAT I THINK IS A SUPERMARKET? IT ISN’T SPECIFIED. A PLACE WHERE BELL PEPPERS ARE.

MORE CONFLICT.

HELLA JEFF

Looks evil.

GREY MAN #1

The bell pepper? Bell peppers can’t be evil.

HELLA JEFF

Sounds like something,

an evil one would say.

HELLA JEFF IS MANY THINGS, INCLUDING AN IDIOT, BUT NOT RIGHT NOW, FOR SOME UNEXPLAINED REASON.

SWEET BRO AND HELLA JEFF PRESENT A UNITED FRONT AGAINST GREY MEN ONE AND TWO, THEIR EARLIER SQUABBLES FORGOTTEN. THE GREY MEN IMMEDIATELY FOLD, IN A SCENE WHICH I CAN ONLY IMAGINE MIRRORS WHAT THE PITCH MEETING FOR THIS FUCKING MOVIE WAS LIKE. THE “STAR POWER” OF THESE TWO CANKER SORES IS ENOUGH TO BULLDOZE ANY OPPOSITION. THIS IS GETTING AD HOMINEM, BUT FUCK IT, I’M WORKING HARDER ON THIS REVIEW THAN TUMBLR USER COMICSNAS WORKED ON THE SCREENPLAY.

INT. A PARK AT NIGHT. IT’S RAINING. GEROMY clips through the floor.

ONE: THAT’S NOT INTERIOR, THAT’S EXTERIOR. HOW CAN IT BE AN INTERIOR PARK, COMPLETE WITH RAIN? SURPRISE, IT CAN’T. TWO: WHO THE FUCK IS GEROMY? IN TWO HUNDRED FULL PAGES, HE IS NEVER MENTIONED, NOT ONCE. THREE: WHY THE SUDDEN VIDEOGAME REFERENCE? FOUR: SERIOUSLY WHO IS HE??? IS HE IMPORTANT? DO I NEED TO SEE THE TWO PREQUELS FOR CONTEXT? WHY WOULD YOU SEND ME A PROJECT THAT DOESN’T STAND ON ITS OWN???? DO YOU WANT ME TO LOSE MY MIND?

SWEET BRO

Imbecile*. You know nothing.

(*pronounced imbessool)

IF YOU WANT ME TO MCFREAKING LOSE IT, YOU ARE DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO SUCCEEDING.

THE RISING ACTION OF THE SCRIPT IS HIDDEN UNDER LAYERS OF POND SCUM AND MASTURBATORY, SELF-REFERENTIAL “””””HUMOR,””””” BUT APPARENTLY IT’S TO DO WITH THE ENVIRONMENT. THERE’S A THING WITH A GIRAFFE AND A MOTORCYCLE THAT’S TOO LONG FOR ME TO QUOTE DIRECTLY. THERE’S A SPECIFIC NOTE TO USE RED SPOONS AND CAKELIKE SYMBOLISM IN THE BACKGROUND OF THIS SCENE. THERE’S A LOT OF HORSESHIT SET DRESSING IN THE MARGINS OF THIS THING, BUT THIS STANDS OUT TO ME FOR TWO REASONS. ONE, PAID ADVERTISING FOR CORPORATIONS IS USUALLY WAY LESS SUBTLE THAN THAT. TWO, IT’S KIND OF IMPLIED THAT THE CEO OF THIS COMPANY IS AN ALIEN? THERE’S THIS WEIRD SCIENCE FICTIONY VIBE TO THE CLIMAX, AND IT’S ONE OF THE ONLY THINGS THAT IS FORESHADOWED AND ACTUALLY COMES TO FRUITION. EVERYTHING IN THIS MOVIE LIVES AND DIES WITHOUT PURPOSE, BUT THIS MESSAGE IS SUCCESSFULLY DELIVERED. NO CLUE WHAT IT MEANS, THOUGH.

WHILE THE WRITING IS AN INSCRUTABLE MESS THAT LIVES AND DIES WITHOUT PURPOSE, THE METATEXUAL LAYERS OF THIS STORY ARE JUST FUCKING DEPRESSING. THIS IS THE THIRD OF THESE MOVIES, IMPLYING THAT THERE IS A DEMAND FOR THE AUDIOVISUAL EQUIVALENT OF CATCHING YOUR PUBES IN YOUR ZIPPER. THE COMMITMENT TO PARATAXIS IS SO UNWAVERING THAT, IF THERE IS ONLY A POLYSYLLABIC WORD FOR WHAT HE WANTS, HE WILL FUCKING INVENT A SHORTER ONE TO SUIT HIS NEEDS. “LAUNDROMAT” BECOME “LAUNDO.” “TAQUERIA” BECAUSE “NANCH.” IT SERVES AS A STARK VISION OF AN IDIOCRACY-LIKE FUTURE, WHERE WORDS BAD AND NO THINK GREAT.

I FOUND THIS STORY MORALLY, EMOTIONALLY, GRAMMATICALLY, AND PERSONALLY OFFENSIVE. BECAUSE IT EXISTS, GOD CANNOT. WHEN WE DIE, THERE IS ONLY BLACKNESS. A FIXED SHOT OF BLACKNESS FOR SEVERAL MINUTES, UNTIL “THE END” POPS UP.