timhau
NWO Litter Technician
The 44-year-old forum poster glanced at his perfectly ordinary wristwatch, which had not been chosen to imbue him with some resemblance of personality.
My God!
He realized that he had just wasted countless hours reading Dan Brown’s new book, The Lost Symbol. He lifted his untoned six-foot-three physique from the recliner and stared at the 666-page (+ epilogue) pocketbook in his hand. Why had I kept reading this garbage, even though I was sick and tired of it by page 35? It was a mystery. He felt like eons had passed since he was at page 35 … so it was clearly an ancient mystery. His pedigreed tomcat sat on the mahogany coffee table with an austere look in his ungentle yellow eyes.
He wouldn’t have kept on reading. He knows when to let go and take a nap.
My cat is smarter than me.
With this realization, the 44-year-old closed his eyes and contemplated his reading experience. He could not remember how many times the book had simply forced him to stop reading in pure amazement. He could scarcely believe what he had just read. The text had shaken him to the bone.
Clichés. I didn’t know you could put so many in one book.
The parade of clichés had been followed by woo … lots of it … ranging from mysticism and pseudoscience to New Age spiritualist nonsense. Normally, he would not have cared. The blond-haired man was actually a big fan of Stephen King’s early works, which were firmly rooted in the supernatural … but they were acknowledged to be pure fiction. In the foreword to The Lost Symbol, the 46-year-old author had promised that all the rituals, monuments, and science in the book were real … and they were presented accordingly in the book.
My God!
The six-foot-three forum poster could perhaps have forgiven all that, if the book had been an engaging read otherwise … but it was not. The sandy-haired author’s previous works had at least been gripping reads in the beginning, even though the 44-year-old had realized early on that while reading those books, he was wading knee-deep in bull
. This time, the viscose brown substance was deeper … so deep, in fact, that a shorter man might have drowned. It pained him to think that this book was destined to be another bestseller.
It is a testament to mankind’s unlimited capacity to lameness.
Lame. That was the one word that best described this book, the forum poster thought. The storyline was lame. The grand mysteries, both ancient and modern, were lame beyond belief. The characters were also lame. The forum poster had realized early on that he didn’t give a damn about them. The only reason to keep reading was to find out whether the 46-year-old author could find new, previously unreached levels of lameness. And in the search for the ultimate lameness, there was yet another surprise.
What in the world … ?
What storyline there was, built up to a confrontation with the villain which happened some 100 pages before the end. After the highly disappointing climax, the book just kept on continuing. It was as if the New England-based author was paid by the word. It was as if he had a predetermined number of pages to fill, thought the forum poster.
Number of pages to fill?
The realization hit him with a force that almost made him alter his regular breathing patterns. He didn’t hear the blood rushing in his veins, but subconsciously he knew it was doing that as before, as evidenced by the lack of a dizzying feeling. It had been so obvious all along. It had been staring him right in the face. Yet he had seen nothing until this moment of inspiration.
The book had 666 pages.
666! The fabled number of the beast!
The author had tried to warn him. If he had only acquired the habit of looking at the final pages of a book before reading it, he would have known. The message was simple, yet powerful. It was masterfully hidden in complex arcane symbolism that most 11-year-olds would have found impenetrable, but the 44-year-old now had a view through the veil of secrecy right into the austere essence of the book. 666 pages. It’s tedious crap from Hell.
The six-foot-three forum poster opened his eyes and looked at the book again.
Maybe it’s not all bad.
At least the villain wasn’t a cripple this time.
My God!
He realized that he had just wasted countless hours reading Dan Brown’s new book, The Lost Symbol. He lifted his untoned six-foot-three physique from the recliner and stared at the 666-page (+ epilogue) pocketbook in his hand. Why had I kept reading this garbage, even though I was sick and tired of it by page 35? It was a mystery. He felt like eons had passed since he was at page 35 … so it was clearly an ancient mystery. His pedigreed tomcat sat on the mahogany coffee table with an austere look in his ungentle yellow eyes.
He wouldn’t have kept on reading. He knows when to let go and take a nap.
My cat is smarter than me.
With this realization, the 44-year-old closed his eyes and contemplated his reading experience. He could not remember how many times the book had simply forced him to stop reading in pure amazement. He could scarcely believe what he had just read. The text had shaken him to the bone.
Clichés. I didn’t know you could put so many in one book.
The parade of clichés had been followed by woo … lots of it … ranging from mysticism and pseudoscience to New Age spiritualist nonsense. Normally, he would not have cared. The blond-haired man was actually a big fan of Stephen King’s early works, which were firmly rooted in the supernatural … but they were acknowledged to be pure fiction. In the foreword to The Lost Symbol, the 46-year-old author had promised that all the rituals, monuments, and science in the book were real … and they were presented accordingly in the book.
My God!
The six-foot-three forum poster could perhaps have forgiven all that, if the book had been an engaging read otherwise … but it was not. The sandy-haired author’s previous works had at least been gripping reads in the beginning, even though the 44-year-old had realized early on that while reading those books, he was wading knee-deep in bull
. This time, the viscose brown substance was deeper … so deep, in fact, that a shorter man might have drowned. It pained him to think that this book was destined to be another bestseller.It is a testament to mankind’s unlimited capacity to lameness.
Lame. That was the one word that best described this book, the forum poster thought. The storyline was lame. The grand mysteries, both ancient and modern, were lame beyond belief. The characters were also lame. The forum poster had realized early on that he didn’t give a damn about them. The only reason to keep reading was to find out whether the 46-year-old author could find new, previously unreached levels of lameness. And in the search for the ultimate lameness, there was yet another surprise.
What in the world … ?
What storyline there was, built up to a confrontation with the villain which happened some 100 pages before the end. After the highly disappointing climax, the book just kept on continuing. It was as if the New England-based author was paid by the word. It was as if he had a predetermined number of pages to fill, thought the forum poster.
Number of pages to fill?
The realization hit him with a force that almost made him alter his regular breathing patterns. He didn’t hear the blood rushing in his veins, but subconsciously he knew it was doing that as before, as evidenced by the lack of a dizzying feeling. It had been so obvious all along. It had been staring him right in the face. Yet he had seen nothing until this moment of inspiration.
The book had 666 pages.
666! The fabled number of the beast!
The author had tried to warn him. If he had only acquired the habit of looking at the final pages of a book before reading it, he would have known. The message was simple, yet powerful. It was masterfully hidden in complex arcane symbolism that most 11-year-olds would have found impenetrable, but the 44-year-old now had a view through the veil of secrecy right into the austere essence of the book. 666 pages. It’s tedious crap from Hell.
The six-foot-three forum poster opened his eyes and looked at the book again.
Maybe it’s not all bad.
At least the villain wasn’t a cripple this time.
.
