You call this book garbage? You must be a creature of another world.
Today in Amazon review comment threads
Oh, and also, we have a customizable UI that not only gives error messages in phrases you like, but it lets you turn political enemies into unpersons.
To make it seem authentic, you’d want to ape Penn’s long-standing affection for combining demographic salami-slicing with cutesy-naming (this is the man who foisted “Soccer Moms” upon our weary lexicon), making each short chapter an exposition of ever-more absurd groups – think “Archery Moms,” “Old New Dads,” and “Ardent Amazons.”
No one knows why in 1138 he caused the moon to disappear from the sky and made it travel through all the lakes and rivers of England.
Eventually, the Applicant reached a point where he fully understood the effect, and where he was able to induce it very reliably and smoothly. He could not gain further insight with further experiments. At this point, the need arose to verify the effect in a second person as a final experiment. Upon careful consideration and discussion, the Applicant’s wife, Elizabeth, volunteered to be the subject of this final experiment.
Basically, you may as well juice or purée literally any kind of grass to obtain the same benefit.
The protagonist is named Lord George Hell. A worldly man, he is a dandy, fond of gambling, drinking, womanizing, and the like.
Sidonius is “the single most important surviving author from fifth-century Gaul” according to Eric Goldberg.
Superlative of the day
The first adversary approaches Faith; it is Worship-of-the-Old-Gods (we have no better name) who proposes to accept the challenge of Faith. But Faith strikes the enemy’s head and it tumbles in the dirt where it lies, with its be-ribboned brows and the wide mouth that ate the warm red flesh of beasts.
Faith tramples the head and takes particular pains to squeeze the dead grey eyes out of the bloody skull; the monster’s throat is dosed and its breath is throttled in its passages until it gasps a hard death. The spectators, who have been assembled by Faith from among the ranks of the martyrs, become brave enough to face the foe: she crowns her followers with blossoms and gives them robes of flaming purple.
The first adversary approaches Faith; it is Worship-of-the-Old-Gods (we have no better name) who proposes to accept the challenge of Faith. But Faith strikes the enemy’s head and it tumbles in the dirt where it lies, with its be-ribboned brows and the wide mouth that ate the warm red flesh of beasts.
Faith tramples the head and takes particular pains to squeeze the dead grey eyes out of the bloody skull; the monster’s throat is dosed and its breath is throttled in its passages until it gasps a hard death. The spectators, who have been assembled by Faith from among the ranks of the martyrs, become brave enough to face the foe: she crowns her followers with blossoms and gives them robes of flaming purple.
The Psychomachia. It is nuts.
From the far edges of the world, where the sun sets, comes their enemy, Indulgence. Reputation means nothing to her, for it is already lost. Her curls are perfumed, her restless eyes are not still, her voice is languid and bored. She lives for pleasure, she wants all feelings to be calm and gentle, she finds delight in her unlawful games and she tries to destroy her mind by making it more feeble. As she arrives on the scene she is lazily belching because of a long feast she has just left. She comes with dawn because she has heard the trumpets calling her to fight. She leaves the cups of warm wine and her dizzy feet slip as she walks through puddles of wine and perfume; her bare feet crush the flowers on the pavement: drunkenly she goes off to war. In her chariot her beauty inspires the army of her compatriots. It is a strange battle: she does not shoot arrows from her bow, no lances are hurled at the enemy’s lines, she holds no sword. Rather she throws baskets of violets and roses and scatters blossoms over her fierce enemy. The virtues are won by her charms. Her sweetened breath dilutes their manly courage, her strong odours strike their lips and he" [sic] so that their iron-clad strength is crushed.
(via thespineanditstingle)