Stephen King can suck my schlong
Mar 15, 2008 20:54:41 GMT -5
Post by Loki on Mar 15, 2008 20:54:41 GMT -5
Screw Stephen King. Thanks to him I know now that people from Maine are degenerate and depraved sexual psychopaths with towering egos and fetishes that you normally only find on the internet, or they're monsters in human form who exist to kill/maim/enslave/torture everyday people.
I just finished reading the entire Dark Tower series, and let’s just say that I’m extremely disappointed. By the way: spoilers abound, so if you haven’t read it but are getting moist just thinking about wasting a month or two of your life reading it, go no further. I’d advise you to save your time and read something more satisfying, like Cat In The Hat. But that’s just me.
I started reading the Dark Tower series sometime in the late 90s. Like most every other person who was a teen in the 90s, I read some of King’s books because he was the bad ass author of the time. Eventually, though, I realized that long winded introductions that last 100 pages or more, three page descriptions of masturbation, bizarre oratories that have nothing to do with anything and orgies with teenagers were just not my cup of tea.
Still, though, there were a handful of books that I liked. Eyes of the Dragon was good in that it was almost an anti-King book. I liked The Stand for reasons that I can’t remember. In that same vein, The Gunslinger (Dark Tower I) and The Drawing of the Three (Dark Tower II) were good because they told a good story while keeping the seeming requisite King depravity to a minimum. I eagerly read The Wastelands (DT III). This was yet another kick-ass entry in the Dark Tower series. When I read Wizard and Glass (DT IV) I thought it was a let down from the previous three books. Still, I went to the library to find book V. And found it wasn’t done yet. So I waited. And waited. And waited some more.
Years later, when King finally came out with the remaining books in the series I had moved on to better authors that didn’t feel the need to write about, as an example, a man being ass raped by a demon with three penises whose purple throbbing heads were each in the shape of the man’s mother’s face, with the man feeling himself growing hard at the thought of being violated by a family member and feeling exquisite pleasure even as his anal muscles split and blood gushed, only to have the red flow be eagerly licked by the replicas of his mother’s face.
But when I saw my folks at Christmas time my old man had The Gunslinger lying around. I remembered liking what I had read of the series years ago, remembered that King had finally finished the series, thought what the hell, and started reading.
Books I through III? Still great. Book IV? Still not as good as the previous three, but good enough. Book V was better than IV, at least until the very end. Book IV sucked balls, and Book VII was an unsatisfying end.
You know what pissed me off the most? Well, besides the fact that the entire series was a waste of time since the character just winds up back at the beginning of the first book, but with some stupid horn (presumably to do it all over again – what next? “Dark Tower VIII, We’ve Been Here Before”?). The worst thing was King inserting himself as a character. Not just A character, but a Minor Deity type character who he dedicates at least five hundred pages to.
Because, ladies and gentlemen, the Dark Tower Saga would not have been possible without Stephen King, so he feels the need to remind us of it again. And again. And again. Wow. What type of ego does it take to maker yourself a godling?
Want to know all about his fabled car accident? Sure, he spends plenty of time on it. Because – gasp! – if King dies, so dies the Dark Tower! And you, dear reader, MUST be made aware of that fact!
Look, if I want to read about how great Stephen King is, I’ll go to one of his fan websites. But inserting yourself into the story for the seeming express purpose of bragging about how this is all your baby – well, forget it. You can get enough ego coddling from reading your press reviews. Inserting yourself into a book just so you can show everyone how important you think you are is the worst type of self-promoting literary masturbation I’ve seen in a long time.
Way to ruin what had been a pretty good series, asshole. Fuck you and the tower you rode in on.
I just finished reading the entire Dark Tower series, and let’s just say that I’m extremely disappointed. By the way: spoilers abound, so if you haven’t read it but are getting moist just thinking about wasting a month or two of your life reading it, go no further. I’d advise you to save your time and read something more satisfying, like Cat In The Hat. But that’s just me.
I started reading the Dark Tower series sometime in the late 90s. Like most every other person who was a teen in the 90s, I read some of King’s books because he was the bad ass author of the time. Eventually, though, I realized that long winded introductions that last 100 pages or more, three page descriptions of masturbation, bizarre oratories that have nothing to do with anything and orgies with teenagers were just not my cup of tea.
Still, though, there were a handful of books that I liked. Eyes of the Dragon was good in that it was almost an anti-King book. I liked The Stand for reasons that I can’t remember. In that same vein, The Gunslinger (Dark Tower I) and The Drawing of the Three (Dark Tower II) were good because they told a good story while keeping the seeming requisite King depravity to a minimum. I eagerly read The Wastelands (DT III). This was yet another kick-ass entry in the Dark Tower series. When I read Wizard and Glass (DT IV) I thought it was a let down from the previous three books. Still, I went to the library to find book V. And found it wasn’t done yet. So I waited. And waited. And waited some more.
Years later, when King finally came out with the remaining books in the series I had moved on to better authors that didn’t feel the need to write about, as an example, a man being ass raped by a demon with three penises whose purple throbbing heads were each in the shape of the man’s mother’s face, with the man feeling himself growing hard at the thought of being violated by a family member and feeling exquisite pleasure even as his anal muscles split and blood gushed, only to have the red flow be eagerly licked by the replicas of his mother’s face.
But when I saw my folks at Christmas time my old man had The Gunslinger lying around. I remembered liking what I had read of the series years ago, remembered that King had finally finished the series, thought what the hell, and started reading.
Books I through III? Still great. Book IV? Still not as good as the previous three, but good enough. Book V was better than IV, at least until the very end. Book IV sucked balls, and Book VII was an unsatisfying end.
You know what pissed me off the most? Well, besides the fact that the entire series was a waste of time since the character just winds up back at the beginning of the first book, but with some stupid horn (presumably to do it all over again – what next? “Dark Tower VIII, We’ve Been Here Before”?). The worst thing was King inserting himself as a character. Not just A character, but a Minor Deity type character who he dedicates at least five hundred pages to.
Because, ladies and gentlemen, the Dark Tower Saga would not have been possible without Stephen King, so he feels the need to remind us of it again. And again. And again. Wow. What type of ego does it take to maker yourself a godling?
Want to know all about his fabled car accident? Sure, he spends plenty of time on it. Because – gasp! – if King dies, so dies the Dark Tower! And you, dear reader, MUST be made aware of that fact!
Look, if I want to read about how great Stephen King is, I’ll go to one of his fan websites. But inserting yourself into the story for the seeming express purpose of bragging about how this is all your baby – well, forget it. You can get enough ego coddling from reading your press reviews. Inserting yourself into a book just so you can show everyone how important you think you are is the worst type of self-promoting literary masturbation I’ve seen in a long time.
Way to ruin what had been a pretty good series, asshole. Fuck you and the tower you rode in on.
[My5:]
