Saturday, October 3, 2026

Eee! Tess Ate Chai Tea: The Newsletter #32 (Second Week of July 2018)

E!TACT #32
Music Reviews, Strangers in Paradise XXV #4, Kick-Ass #5, Exit Stage Left: The Snagglepuss Chronicles #6, Hit-Girl #5, New Super-man and the Justice League of China #24, and Facebooking with Grunion Guy!
By Grunion Guy


The Prologue!

I just learned that my comic books for the week of July 18th will be late because they were on a train bound for my local comic book shop that was also carrying toxic materials which spilled. That means all of my comic books for this week will now probably be issues of Daredevil and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.


Grunion Guy's Musical Corner of Music Reviews!

Your Song by Elton John. I mean Ewan McGregor? Whatever. The version from Moulin Rouge!
One thing I think I've heard but I can't totally be sure is that people constantly wonder who Carly Simon was singing about in "You're So Vain." But how come nobody ever wonders which song Elton John was talking about in "Your Song"? I suppose, like I did for a long time, people simply assume Elton John is singing about the song he's currently singing. The song he wrote is "Your Song." But that's not correct at all. The song is obviously sung from the perspective of a really awkward guy handing somebody else either a sheet of written music or a recorded track and telling them about how he wrote that song for them. But we never actually hear the song he wrote for the person. I like to imagine it's "Rocket Man."
     Another possible interpretation of this song is that the persona singing the song is just Bernie Taupin himself. He's all, "Hey, Elton. Here's another song I wrote for you. I don't mind if you tell everybody that it's your song. Go ahead and take credit for it. I don't care. I mean, I don't even remember what color your eyes are, that's how fucking chill I am. Just don't forget to pay me, darling."
     I wish there was a cut of Moulin Rouge where Nicole Kidman stands expectantly after Ewan McGregor finishes singing until he finally says, "Well? What do you think?" And then she's all, "I'm just waiting excitedly for the song you wrote for me since that obviously was just you telling me about how you wrote a song for me! I bet it's great!" And then Ewan panics and just starts singing Alice Cooper's "Roses on White Lace".
Grade: B+.


Oh Dear by Brandi Carlile
I'm not great at reviewing things because I treat every review as a discussion with another person who has experienced the thing I'm reviewing. That's because I think reviews that take care not to spoil the thing being reviewed (in the case of a book or movie) are too superficial to matter. People either want to have an in-depth discussion of experiencing the thing or want a Cliff's Note summary of the thing so they can pretend to speak on it as if they'd developed their own opinions on it. The latter reason for reading reviews probably stems from a fear of not being completely plugged in to popular culture and having to admit to somebody at some party that you haven't formulated an opinion on every single event in popular culture over the last forty years. I prefer to either have something extremely witty and precise to say about something I've personally experienced than to vomit somebody else's opinions on that thing. But I can see why people would feel they need to have an opinion on everything. And I hope you use some of the things I say in discussions while pretending you came up with them yourself. It would be so flattering!
     All that is to say this: what I'm about to say about this song, you won't understand unless you've heard the song. And even then, you might simply think, "You're an idiot, Grunion Guy." Of course if you think that, I hope you think, immediately after, that I'm thinking, "Fuck you, asshole!"
      I can't help thinking that this song plays on an endless loop in Velma's head every time Fred and Daphne go off together to "hunt for Daphne's clit." Whoops! That didn't need quotes! What I meant to say was "hunt for ghosts" as the euphemism for what I actually typed. Sorry about that! Anyway, this song is about yearning and loneliness and being scared while chasing ghosts in a van deep in the dark woods. That might not be said explicitly in the lyrics (although it comes quite close!) but the yodeling definitely comes across as setting the tone of the dark woods.
     Don't question me in that tone! I already told you what you can and can't think after reading my opinions! Anyway, the only thing I'm not sure about is if Velma is yearning for Fred or Daphne.
Rating: B.


This Song by Ookla the Mok
Unlike "Your Song" by Elton John, "This Song" is actually about this song. You can tell because when Ookla the Mok sing, "This song is over now," the song ends. When Elton John sings about the song being finished, it keeps going for two more minutes. Because he finished writing the song he sings about in "Your Song" but he never gets around to singing it.
     "This Song" simply describes "This Song" and since it's just a song about describing itself, it doesn't have a lot to say. It would be interesting if it was all, "This song will make your head explode in five days!" But it doesn't do that (thankfully! It might be interesting but I would spend the next five days terrified and possibly wrapping my head in duct tape hoping to keep it together by the end of day five (I wonder if duct tape would keep my head from exploding? I wish the Mythbusters were still around)). It just points out the song is kind of weak and short. It might house a secret message that I'm too stupid to figure out.
Grade: C-.


Be My Dark Angel by Electric Six
This song is about a guy who crosses the street to fry an egg on the face of the woman he wants to fuck. It might be the most relatable lyrics Electric Six have ever written! Especially the part about asking the lady to be his Capri Sun. I guess that means Mr. Valentine has sex by poking his penis into a woman's nether regions for five minutes until he finally gets his penis in the hole.
     This is a really progressive song because in the middle of it, he just lists all the different races of girls he'd like to have sex with. That's called being a good ally.
     If you decide to listen to this because I gave it a good grade, you should be forewarned: at one point he mentions that the Jacksons are reuniting and going on tour. This isn't true. Michael Jackson died like nine years ago. This song is from 2005 so it was probably true then. I bet Electric Six was paid good money to advertise the new Jackson 5 tour. Heck, I suppose it could be true now even though Michael is dead. It's not like he was ever part of any Jackson reunion tour anyway.
Grade: B-.


The Great American Success Story by Alice Cooper
Alice Cooper has a song called "The Man with the Golden Gun" that was almost certainly written to be the theme song for the movie. He also wrote "The Man Behind the Mask" which was used in one of the Friday the 13th movies. He wrote "Prince of Darkness" for the movie, Prince of Darkness. A movie was written based on his song "Road Rats." "I am the Future" played over the credits for Class of 1984. What I'm suggesting is that Alice Cooper has had a long history of songs being written exclusively for movies (as well as some other things I suggested that don't fit that particular argument. Sue me!). So when I first heard this song on Constrictor, I thought, "Was this song supposed to be the theme song for Rodney Dangerfield's Back to School?" Since that time, the Internet has become a thing and I could easily verify that fact. But I enjoy living in a world where I trust my own assumptions! If I think a thought, it must be true or else how could I have thought it?! Answer me that, genius!
      In one line of this song, Alice sings, "He's staring at her legs but he's thinking 'bout her face." The word that face is supposed to rhyme with is "class." I like to believe that Alice makes a huge, over-emphasized wink to the crowd when he sings this song in concert and then says, "You get what I meant to say, right?!" He loves doing that trick. In "I Love America," he sings "flirt" where he obviously means to say "fuck." I bet he winks really big when he sings that song too! What a joker this guy is!
Grade: C.


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Comic Book Reviews!

Strangers in Paradise XXV #4
By Terry Moore

Why does Terry Moore insist on a nearly completely black cover? Is it so every single issue will retain proof that it has been read? Unless you put on rubber gloves, you can't not wind up with greasy fingerprints all over the stupid thing!

Unless...maybe...am I just a filthy, greasy monster? Do most people wash their hands enough that they don't leave greasy prints on glossy black comic book covers?

No, you know what? I'm unasking that question. I don't want to know if I'm generally more disgusting than the rest of humanity! Besides, most of you will probably lie just to seem cleaner. I'm the only one out here speaking the truth!

Rating: I forget. All my reviews of this comic book are about the damned black back covers! Anyway, it was Strangers in Paradise. Does it need a review? Oh, fine. Katchoo, the Katchoo-looking character, finally catches up to Stephanie, the Jet-looking character. They both have rose tattoos like all the female characters in Strangers in Paradise except Francine. That means they're deadly sex monsters. Later, Tambi, the Dolph-Lundgren-looking character, returns to the story to help Katchoo destroy the last of the off-the-leash deadly sex monsters. That wasn't a rating. It was a synopsis. You get what you pay for.


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Kick-Ass #5
By Millar and Romita Jr.

For some unknown reason, Hit-Girl is on the cover of this issue. But she doesn't make an appearance. Does that mean Hit-Girl will save the new Kick-Ass in the final issue and somebody fucked up with the cover? Or does it mean I'm living in a reality where nothing makes any sense and nobody gives a fuck? I can't even remember if Hit-Girl had a scene in one of the previous issues. Maybe she's hunting Violencia and will just happen to wind up at the right place at the right time in the final issue. Kick-Ass is going to need some kind of deus ex machina to save the day being that Millar has put her in an unwinnable situation.

But then again, "unwinnable situations" are the hallmark of Kick-Ass comic books. They're injected into the narrative so that the Fangenders can think, "Yep! This is how these kinds of things would really go down in real life. A lone vigilante can't stand against the power and money and weapons and violence of criminal organizations! They'd totally get caught and beaten within an inch of their life, if not outright killed! Kudos to realism, Millar! Bravo!" And usually that's when Hit-Girl arrives to say, "Look at me! I'm a tween monster assassin with only the most basic of morality informing my hyper-violent tendencies! I can solve any problem and survive any situation! I'm here to remind you that this is a comic book and I'm the superhero that saves the day so that you can continue to believe all the Kick-Ass parts of the story were still quite realistic. All the comic book stuff resides in me and my ridiculousness! But it's also why I'm your favorite part! Because you don't really want to read books where the nerd in a costume gets killed living your Fangender wet dream! I'm going to stop here because I don't want to get into the creepiness index of needing your savior to be an eleven year old girl."

Grade: I'm changing this part of my review from "rating" to "grade" because I can do whatever I want. Plus it's easier to just say "C-" than to ramble for a full paragraph and then never provide any sense of how well the comic book was written or drawn. I've never been any good at that anyway. Other comic book reviewers just throw that shit in because it's tradition. "Okay. So I've summed up the story in the most boring way possible and now I should probably mention the art. It's good to say how it hinders or uplifts the tone of the script. And I should mention how well both the penciller and the inker did their jobs even if I don't really understand how a person tells who did what. Then maybe knock off a line about the colorist making things bright or gloomy or using a specific palette that worked well with the themes. After that, I'll give a cursory nod to the letterer even though nobody fucking cares about that part of the process. Then I'll give it a random number of stars out of another random number of stars, insisting that it's a fair review and completely unbiased because that's important for some reason. Inject your own bias and personality and terrifying secrets from your childhood into a comic book review?! Who would be so gauche?!"

Anyway, this comic book gets a C-.


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Exit Stage Left: The Snagglepuss Chronicles #6
By Russell, Stilwell, Feehan, Vazquez, Parsons, Mounts, and Campbell

Grade: A+. This comic book finally gets around to the point of the series: explaining why Snagglepuss first appeared in the Hanna-Barbera cartoons as an orange cat named Snaggletooth! I knew there'd be a point to all of the nonsensical blather Russell has been writing for the last five issues!

If you want to know the reason, you'll have to buy the collected series when it comes out as a trade paperback. I'm not going to spoil it for you! Mostly because I can't repeat all of the poetic commentary on society that Russell puts in as filler before getting to the big Snaggletooth reveal! Which I totally spoiled. But that's okay because, really, all that great filler is the real reason to read this masterpiece.


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Hit-Girl #5
By Lemire and Risso

I know I said I would stop buying this comic book because it was too depressingly violent for a comic book that's supposed to take place in a non-comic book world. But then I remembered it is a comic book and Hit-Girl is the one part of the Kick-Ass world that's supposed to remind the audience that it's all a comic book and also that I don't have anything better to do than to read comic books anyway. Plus it's written by Jeff Lemire and when is the last time he wrote something that made me think, "Aquaman is a fucking dick." Oh yeah! When he wrote Aquaman!

I know that sentence that began "Plus it's written by" went completely off the rails and made no sense. You don't have to remind me that I'm a terrible writer. I have to live with this legacy, you know! I think it about it all the time!

The back of the comic book reads, "The world's deadliest tween superhero is on a mission to serve justice around the globe." It could just as easily read, "The world's most tween sociopath is on a mission to satiate her lust for blood around the globe." My version might even be more accurate.


Try to remember that this is a tween girl before you start jacking off to this image, you virgin nerds. But also remember it's a fictional drawing. So maybe jerking off to it is okay? Who am I to clarify morally ambiguous gray areas?! It would be so much easier if this stuff was all clearly explained in The Bible. But instead, The Bible is all, "Hey? You guys want to read some hot father on daughter action in a cave? Don't worry! The father is drunk so he doesn't know he's totally banging his hot daughters."

20/20's "What Would You Do?" segment should do one where they leave some daughters in a cave with their father and some wine to see if they'd be all, "Whoa. Has the world ended? I need some dick so badly right now!" They should do a segment on all the stories of Genesis! "What would you do if your father was passed out naked in a tent? Would you look directly at his nakedness? Would you avert your eyes as you covered him up? Would you just mind your own fucking business and, maybe, over dinner bring up your concerns about his drinking habits?" "What would you do if 'God' asked you to kill your only child? Would you attempt to do it? Would you later write accounts of the story pretending that the child was the child that matters to your religion even though Isaac was never Abraham's 'only child' and it must have been Ismael in that story? We see your subtle manipulations of Biblical history, The Bible."

I almost said "We see your subtle manipulations of the truth" in that last sentence but I couldn't bring myself to imply that anything in The Bible is true.

Mindy currently has her foot caught in a bear trap and she's going to hack it off to escape. Because that's the only way to get out of a bear trap when you're a weak tween girl assassin. It's a weird place to begin the story if you've forgotten you were reading a comic book. The main rule of comic books is this: "Remember when comic books used to sit on a rack and not on a shelf already placed securely in Mylar with a piece of tape to stave off virgins reading the product without buying it? Well, we, the Comic Book Publishers Conglomerate of America still demand our comics be written according to the good old days. And the number one way to get kids to buy comic books is to let them know on the first couple of pages that the protagonist will be facing a super duper exciting dilemma! This dilemma must be mentioned early before the soda jerk behind the counter has time to notice and yell, 'Hey, you pesky kids! This ain't no library! Git outta here!' But that kid will drop an easy nickel on the book if those pages were exciting enough!"

I know it's a pretty lengthy rule but I didn't write it! I'm just reporting the findings of my deep cover investigation into why comic books continue to use outdated writing tropes that don't really add anything to the story being told.

Hit-Girl's super-power is the opposite of Batman's. He strikes fear into the hearts of criminals which doesn't stop crime because most of the crime isn't caused because somebody was sitting around bored and thought, "Crime would be fun! As long as no scary vigilante is out there to stop me! If there was, I'd definitely not do crime!" Most crime is crimed out of desperation and/or the need for drug money. Neither of those care about the fear of a Batman. Hit-Girl's super power is killing criminals immediately no matter what crime they've done or will do which totally stops them from doing future crimes. Once again, I'm not hear to clear up age old philosophical quandaries about morally grey aspects of living in our current reality. And since I'm not here to do that, I can only conclude that Hit-Girl is more competent at stopping crime. I almost said she's more competent at being an advocate for justice but the whole idea of justice resides in that morally gray area. I mean, is it just to kill somebody for a minor infraction of the law? Who's to say?! Not me!

You might be thinking, "What the fuck? Is Grunion Guy being paid off by the NRA now?" And I would answer, "You aren't allowed to access my list of donors, you stupid pacifist! Pew pew!"

Anyway, Hit-Girl murders a bunch of people in gory details before going off to Northern Canada and getting her foot caught in a bear trap. But not before she murders some drug lord's son which means the drug lord is going to send so many guys after her that she'll kill them all easily.

Grade: C+.


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New Super-man and the Justice League of China #24
By Yang, Peeples, Santorelli, and Hi-Fi

Master I-Ching tells Kenan, "Let go of the goodness that can never be. And embrace the goodness that is." Sure, it's a bit like Obi Wan's advice to Luke. Or Yoda's advice to Luke. I don't know. It was somebody's advice to Luke, I'm fairly certain. Did Luke ever go to a 12 Step planet where he learned about the wisdom to know the difference between things you can and can't control? I-Ching's wisdom is also a slight variation on forgiving not for the other person but so that you can move on. It seems sappy and overly optimistic and a bit too happy ending on the surface of it. But I think, ultimately, it represents a kind of maturity. Stop wishing things could have been different because you can't do anything about the past. Concentrate on the present good. Work on making the present good a future joy. At the very least, reconciling the past so that it doesn't poison your future can't be anything but a positive step forward. And it takes maturity to let go of the anger and resentment of things that are set in stone.

There's a lot to be said for embracing maturity. I don't mean you have to wear a suit and stop making dick jokes in reviews about terrible comic books. The World Cup just ended so let me make a World Cup analogy (this might be a first! I'm actively making a terrible analogy and about a sport I don't care about at all!): if your first reaction to contact from an opposing player is to dramatically fall to the ground and act hurt, you've yet to reach the level of maturity I'm talking about. Playing through the buffeting from the other player, or the slide tackle, or even their overly aggressive tactics to simply concentrate on your game and your actions and the things you can control seems to me the way to approach life. I feel like I did a pretty good job of getting there in the latter half of my thirties.

Maybe writing comic book reviews that use over-the-top hyperbole while spouting whiny complaints and nitpicky critiques has become the steam valve for other aspects of my life. I get all the shit out here in a fun and whimsical way so that I don't bore my drinking buddies with long-winded maudlin grumbles about never really having a father in my life or my mother's lack of attention due to her constant battle with my out-of-control sister! I've just come to accept those were things I dealt with and so what? It made me the genius I am today!

Grade: B-.


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Facebooking with Grunion Guy!

On this week's episode, "World Emoji Day!"




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The End Part!

Speaking of Facebook, it's the ultimate modern dramatic monologue. All these people out there not realizing how everything they say is simply exposing their inner hearts. And then they don't want anybody calling them out on it because that's mean and uncivil. I have no problem saying, explicitly, what I think and feel. If somebody feels uncomfortable saying what they think and feel because they know they're going to be called out on it, maybe they should work out why those ideas anger people. Maybe they should stop viewing the world as intolerant of their terrible beliefs and start viewing themselves as intolerant people. Embrace that shit, you monster! It would be much easier to debate somebody who says what they think instead of all these cowards trying to debate about some weird, vague analogy that doesn't quite approach their real positions because they know those positions are terrible.

We can't have an honest conversation about systemic racial bias in the justice system if the people who think the justice system is fine think that because they're also racially biased but will never admit to it. You can't just respond to police taking the justice system into their own hands and murdering people instead of apprehending them by saying things like, "Don't do anything wrong and you'll be okay," or "Not all cops!" We see what you're really saying when you do because cops don't just kill people committing crimes. And even if they did only kill people committing crimes or trying to run from police, isn't that a fucking problem all on its own?! Who is out here thinking cops should have the right to administer the death penalty simply because a person suspected of a crime runs? Or gets confused over multiple police yelling instructions at them? Or disrespects a cop because the cop is being an aggressive abuser of his power? Just believing that any of that is okay makes you a terrible person in my eyes. Keep defending bullshit, my Facebook Fra Lippo Lippi. We see you, motherfucker.

Later, jerkos!

Slaugherhouse-Five, or The Children's Crusade by Kurt Vonnegut (1969)


Jacket design by Paul Bacon.

I was probably on the downhill side of a manic episode when I re-read this novel over a year ago so I never managed a review of it fresh in my noggin. I toyed with the idea of re-re-reading it but after a few pages, I knew I was just covering old familiar ground while the mortality clock continued to tick faster and faster. So I put it down and decided to just do a shit review of Vonnegut's most famous book. Which maybe that's exactly the right novel of his to do a shit review of! There's so much material out there about it, why would anybody care what I thought about it? From what I've learned about doing reviews on the Internet, many denizens of the world simply want three things out of critical writing about a piece of art: the literal point of it; all the "Easter eggs"¹ in it; and why they should give a fuck about it. I suppose that's why morons like AI and hate my line-by-line breakdowns of Pynchon texts. "Just tell me all the secrets and mathematical formulae so I can file it away as 'information' in my stupid electric fat storage system." Insight and dick jokes apparently mean nothing to them.

Slaughterhouse-Five was the first Vonnegut book I ever read. It's probably the first Vonnegut book a lot of people read if they approach Vonnegut as an author they want to read. I imagine a lot of people began reading Vonnegut because they found one of his "lesser" novels in an aunt or uncle's bookcase where they'd stuck it unread after receiving it from some dodgy '70s book club and was then intrigued enough to give it a read. But I started with Slaughterhouse-Five because it was an intentional move on my part. I was a senior at San Jose State University and had found myself in English 1B (or 102? or whatever the second standard English course is you're supposed to take as a Freshman) due to my weird history of transferring schools and skipping semesters. Somewhere along the way, my high school AP credits for the class had disappeared from my record and the school was all, "Hey, idiot. How did you get this far without taking this mandatory Freshman class? Go back and take it!" So there I was, King Shit Senior in a Freshman English class full of fresh new college students, most of whom did not give a fuck about reading and writing but had been told they must take this class. I was like a fucking Golden God in that classroom! My teacher, Aaron Malchow (who was a Graduate Student teacher. What do you call those? I fucking forget. The Non-Certified Spouse, who taught German at the University of Lincoln as one, could tell me but she's asleep!), fucking loved me. Probably. We were probably about the same age, anyway. I bet he wanted to hang out with me because I was so cool.

It's probably time for a new paragraph. Is that how writing works? Is it that arbitrary? Anyway, I had Cerebus pins on my backpack at the time so when I went to the teacher/student meeting to discuss the big essay project for the class, focusing on one author and their work, Assistant Student Near Professor Malchow suggested I do Dave Sim and Cerebus. It was a great suggestion and probably would have been a lot of fun but I was there to learn, dammit! So I wanted to read something I wasn't familiar with. That was Kurt Vonnegut. He was disappointed because I think he wanted to read smart and funny things about Dave Sim being a huge misogynist (which Dave claims he isn't and forces people to sign a petition saying he isn't if they want to have anything at all to do with him, so, um, checkmate, you jerks!). He did thank me for making my essays funny though. He kind of shit on most of his students when he pointed out they all take it so seriously that they're afraid to put any personality into their writing at all. I can't say I didn't understand that feeling that you needed to be academic and serious in your papers. But when you're a couple months away from graduating from college and you're taking a Baby Course for English Babies? It basically frees you up to write an essay that's six pages of ranting about people on campus carrying around umbrellas in the rain.

My point, which I haven't been supporting but I'll just choose to get to it now, is that I don't really need to review this book. Because if a Vonnegut book has been more written about than this one, it's Breakfast of Champions. I meant to end that statement with "I'll eat my own butthole" or something but now we're past it (and also me threatening to eat my own butthole due to being wrong about something just means I'm probably purposefully being wrong because can you imagine eating your own butthole? I'm not being gross! Obviously I mean directly after a shower!), so I'll add some evidence about Slaughterhouse-Five being the most written about Vonnegut novel: it's his magnum opus. So, yeah, of course. Just check the Wikipedia for Slaughterhouse-Five, clock how long it is, and then go look at the stub of an article for Slapstick or Deadeye Dick. If there's a question about Kurt Vonnegut on Jeopardy, the question is going to be "Who do Conservatives pretend they've read but would actually have had a massive aneurysm and be too dead to make that claim if they'd actually read anything he's ever written?" I mean, "What is Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death?"

This book is about the bombing of Dresden and the existential dread that settled over Vonnegut for the rest of his life having survived it. Kurt says this about Dresden on the first page of the novel and I think it might be the sentence that most explains Vonnegut's point of view: "There must be tons of human bone meal in the ground." That's his description of Dresden when he went back to visit in 1967. But isn't that just his description of life and the world humans have made? He's referencing bone meal that wouldn't be there if not for the actions of other human beings. This is how fucked up we are and this is the shit world we live in and it's because of this, because of all this human bone meal we tread upon every day, that he's so insistent that we just fucking be kind to each other.

My attempt at a theme for this novel is this: "Life is hard and it can often suck and the people in power will make it worse and the strangers around you often don't give a shit about you and we're all going to wind up bone meal paving the streets of every big city in the world so maybe don't make this finite existence worse for other people going through the same shit?" And also maybe, "Don't blame yourself for the times you didn't do your best. We're all just fucking trying and, well, free will isn't even a thing, sort of!" I remember somewhere in the beginning of this book, he tells his kids to do anything they want except go into making weapons.² Seems like good, reasonable fucking advice.

I've been to Dresden. Hanging in my living room, I have a framed picture of a barren landscape of dark trees next to the Elbe, just dozens of feet from Dresden Castle, that I took while I was there. I should label it "Human Bone Meal". I was there in 2003 or so. Sixty years after the bombing of Dresden. They were still fucking rebuilding shit.

Another line I think exemplifies Vonnegut's philosophy. This one on page 8, a quote from his father: "You know—you never wrote a story with a villain in it." And here's a phrase that I hate to read when I'm reading people's essays on the Internet, a phrase that I'm now using even though I hate it, using it because it sounds like such a Vonnegutian phrase (although I never hate it when Vonnegut uses it because he knows when to use it for good effect): "Think on that." Vonnegut doesn't write villains because life is the antagonist. Life is trying to kill us all and all we have to help defeat it—at least for as long as we can—is each other. We are villains when we refuse to be kind to others, when we let greed and stupidity and selfish violent actions overcome our empathy and compassion.

Remember: Conservatives could never like Vonnegut.

I believe the closest Vonnegut ever came to writing a villain was when he was writing a nonfiction essay about William F. Buckley, Jr.

I'm almost done with this review and I haven't even mentioned Billy Pilgrim or Tralfamadore or Montana Wildhack. Why should I?

The first chapter of Slaughterhouse-Five is what most people would have called an author's note because it's not even a prologue. Vonnegut explains how the book came to be in Chapter One and the story begins in Chapter Two. You know the novel begins in Chapter Two and not Chapter One because Vonnegut ends Chapter One by saying the novel begins with "Listen. Billy Pilgrim has become unstuck in time" and that's the line that begins Chapter Two. It's odd, isn't it?

The end of this review is this: I have just re-re-re-re-re-read (it's hard to know how many times I've read it over my 55 years) Chapter One of Slaughterhouse-Five and I've cried multiple times while doing so and my heart is broken for all the children coerced into going off to war and making the world a worse place simply because terrible men who have never found anything to love in this world forced them to (or, at the very least, manipulated them through propaganda and the mythology of what it means to be a man). I guess I'm about to read it again?

P.S. There's a lot of horseshit about the book on its Wikipedia page. Don't read that. It'll just confuse you. Read the fucking book, slacker.



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¹ Those quote marks are doing a lot of mental work here. I feel like the Internet meaning of "Easter egg" has changed the pre-Internet meaning so much that it's basically unrecognizable now. There was a time when "Easter egg" truly meant something somewhat outside the work that was hidden, meant to be hard to find, and was simply a surprising, interesting, and cool find when it was. An Easter egg had no impact on the work it was hidden within. Now it just means something recognizable was referenced. "Oh! The protagonist in the opening credits of Movie X mentions truth and beauty in this bit. That's a reference to John Keats' 'Ode on a Grecian Urn'!" There was a time when audiences were expected to know things and knowing those things helped understand the overall theme and plot of a work, or the dialogue happening between generations of poets, or, in visual art, philosophical ideas communicated through the styles used or subverted. Now these are just "Easter eggs" for people to point out as endless bits of Trivia on an IMDB page or that awful TV Tropes shit that's ruined actually experiencing things with your own fucking mind. The purposeful references in a work of art are now just seen as opportunities to post an "I see what u did there" gif instead of a helpful aid in understanding the overall work of art. Internet "Easter Eggs" are noticing that the title Infinite Jest comes from "Hamlet" without understanding that David Foster Wallace is saying, "Get thee to The Complete Works of Shakespeare before reading this book because it'll, you know, fucking help."
² "I have told my sons that they are not under any circumstances to take part in massacres, and that the news of massacres of enemies is not to fill them with satisfaction or glee. I have also told them not to work for companies which make massacre machinery, and to express contempt for people who think we need machinery like that." Page 19, Slaughterhouse-Five. Amen.

Wednesday, September 30, 2026

Slapstick by Kurt Vonnegut (1976)



If you feel like you only have time in your life to read 13 of Vonnegut's 14 novels, just skip this one. Although it's such an easy and quick read, it would probably be weird to tell somebody you didn't have time to read it because your super exciting and sexy life got in the way from completing a read-through of all of Vonnegut's books. I'm just giving my advice in those really marginal cases where somebody absolutely only had time to read 92% of Vonnegut's novels.

Perhaps if you simply don't read every time Vonnegut writes "Hi Ho", you can save enough time to actually read all of Vonnegut's novels anyway! But if you really are up against a mortal time crunch and you can't find any way to fit this book into your finite lifespan, you could just read Vonnegut's Playboy interview in Wampeters, Foma, and Granfalloons. He gives all the salient points of this book in that interview, even regurgitating a joke his brother told him about scientists and how messy they are.

I love Vonnegut but this book feels like he had an idea that was maybe a bit too grand and he wasn't sure how to express it. Or maybe he did know what he was doing and he was saying, "Look. We should treat each other as family. We should be able to trust each other, encourage each other, be the safety net for each other, without any ridiculous bureaucratic nonsense and simplified ideas like portrayed in this book. But importantly, and maybe the smartest thing I put down in this book, we should be able to bluntly and succinctly tell the people who stopped earning our trust to go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut. Go take a flying fuck at the moon."

Sorry for swearing without a warning but I was only quoting Vonnegut! But Vonnegut's right in that aspect. We need to care more about each other and we also need to easily and simply tell the people who suck that they suck. Just like a family!

Tuesday, September 29, 2026

Deadeye Dick by Kurt Vonnegut (1982)


I'm sure this first edition cover layout has some inherent meaning to the theme of "epilogueness" and not just some art director being lazy.

This cover has completely thrown me for a loop. I'll have to delay my actual review of this book to review this cover now! The layout has to have some purpose to it, right?! It can't just be, "Fuck it! Just choose a couple of fonts, stick Kurt's name at the top to make it sell, and increase the title by 5000%. Bosh! Killed it!" I suppose the thing that stands out the most is how the cover literally reads, "Kurt Vonnegut Dead" which, I mean, plays into the fucking theme so well that maybe I figured it out? Also two words you can't help to read in this style are "Dead Dick" which, again, play into the fucking theme! Did some art director (or Vonnegut himself?) actually smash this thing out of the park by creating the most bland cover they could think of? Because being bland and boring and unattractive also play into the themes of this book!

Okay, enough about the cover. I wonder if I should discuss the covers more often instead of just dropping the first edition cover at the beginning of the review with an implied "This was the initial idea for selling this book!" and letting everybody come up with their own opinions on why the publisher (or Vonnegut?!) thought it was the best idea at the time. Who ever got anywhere letting other people think for themselves?! I should be telling everybody what these covers mean and why they were chosen!

Oh! I know why I didn't discuss the covers on a bunch of my past reviews! Because I wrote them for Goodreads and Goodreads chooses which cover they want to show. Which is bullshit. Also Goodreads is bullshit because they have some weird "Top 100 Reviewers" thing that tries to gamify the experience but what eventually happens is you just have a Top 100 of the most bland and reviewy reviews a bunch of people can squeeze out of their word frosting piping bags. That's my eloquent way of saying "mouths". Anyway, I write reviews for my blog first and foremost now! If I can bother, I'll eventually move them to Goodreads instead of the other way around.

What was I doing? Oh yeah! A review for Deadeye Dick!

Kurt Vonnegut was 60 when this book was published and he was 13 years past the publication of the book that was the final version of what he'd been trying to say in all the books previous (I'm talking about Slaughterhouse-Five, in case you're more ignorant than I am). In that sense, Kurt probably thought of all of his books after that as epilogue. He still had things to say, and he said them well (sometimes! I mean, did he need to write Slapstick? Or could it have simply existed as the expressed idea of a book in his Playboy interview? (On a side-note, I just realized there's a movie version of Slapstick starring Jerry Lewis, Madeline Kahn, and Marty Feldman. And it's on Tubi! I know what I'm doing after work tomorrow morning!)), but I don't think he had the same driving need to express them after releasing the Dresden bombing demons in Slaughterhouse. My main evidence of this is entirely personal in that I like Vonnegut's work much better pre-Breakfast of Champions (inclusive) than post that novel. This, of course, ignores Galapagos which I don't own but I began to re-read two years ago when a friend of mine was throwing her "20 Year Anniversary of her 30th Birthday Party" at a sex castle on the coast of Washington state. I don't think she completely realized it was a sex castle; she just wanted to throw a huge party in a castle. But when I was downstairs in the sex dungeon dropping my bags off in one of the rooms that oddly had windows from the hall looking in on the bedrooms and a hot tub surrounded by walls with actual weapons on them, I noticed the engraving on the shower door of a woman straddling a knight and I was all, "Oh. I get it." Then I went upstairs and was all, "Nice sex dungeon, Xan!" And she was all, "Oh yeah! I see it now!" My point being that the sex castle had a bunch of books on their shelves and one was Galapagos and I began re-reading it one night when I couldn't sleep and I forgot how great it was and he invented the Apple iPod and/or iPhone in it.

How can one person lose their train of thought this often? Trains are supposed to run on tracks so they easily get to their destination! Why does my thought train think it can go any-fucking-where it wants?!

The point of the point is that for nearly a decade, I've been trying to describe in my comic book reviews how exactly it feels to be living the last half of your life, when all the potential of your life has long ago gone been expended in the kinetic days of your youth. One of my own favorite quotes (if you'll excuse an old man for being intellectually masturbatory) is, "Young people are just old people who have yet to realize they've wasted their lives." Little did I know (or remember since I did read this book in my 20s), Kurt Vonnegut already expressed that feeling in Deadeye Dick. The main question in the book is this: "What do you do with the rest of your life after your story has already been told?" Technically, Vonnegut answers that question by writing this book. But, you know, that's just a glib answer that ignores everything else in the book!

Back to the cover! See how "Kurt Vonnegut Dead" expresses the idea of living out your epilogue after your story is already over? There's really nothing left but to maybe express how you felt the story went. And in Deadeye Dick, the story doesn't go great. Kurt obliterates all the characters living in his Midland City. His main character lives his entire life without ever intimately connecting with another being (literally growing old as a virgin which again references the cover's "Dead Dick"), basically living an entire life of epilogue after his story ends when he, as a child, accidentally kills a pregnant woman by firing a rifle from the roof of his family home. After taking the life of a woman and all the potential life and stories of the baby within her, he decides he doesn't deserve a life or a story himself. That isn't (again I think of the word "technically") the end of his story completely though. He does try to have a story through the encouragement of a writing teacher. So he writes a play, it's performed one time in New York and once in his home town, and then that's it. Story over. The rest is epilogue, baby.

I suppose I didn't remember much from this novel because when I first read it, my story was still happening. Potential was just jizzing and jizzing and jizzing in my face. How could I understand the utter apathetic uselessness of staring down years and years of life that feel like they don't matter? Except that's not the point! Just like Vonnegut always does, he points out the world is shit and people fucking suck and death looms on the horizon. But he also fires up an engine of hope and kindness and reminds people, "It doesn't have to be this way." In the story, it seems like Rudy Waltz (did I just now mention the main character's name? Fuck I suck at this) is having a terrible life. But he finds things he enjoys and he winds up in a place where he's content. He realizes that he loves the epilogue. He doesn't want a story. He's happy not having a story and not caring about the need for a story. He seems content.

Okay, that review was terrible. I'll admit it. But I do want to point out one striking bit that reminded me of my time in college. I was a literature major who didn't realize he was focusing on gender studies in the things he wrote until years later but who couldn't help writing papers about gender when reading so much 19th Century literature by and about women living in eras which were trying desperately not to notice them (the eras were trying, not the women). Kurt Vonnegut expresses how he realized so many women throughout his life were living epilogues and how unhappy it made so many of them and how he saw so many of them commit suicide because of it. Society told them their story was to get married and have a child. And that was it. What does that do to a person's mind when they've been told, over and over and over, that their story was virtually over before they even hit their mid-20s?! Probably earlier in many cases! Vonnegut acknowledges the weight of that, possibly thinking about his own mother (whose story, like many of Vonnegut's relations, was also hampered by mental illness. So chuck that into the mix of a life story and good luck, baby!), sort of mentions it in passing as he does with so much stuff, and moves on.

One of the things about Vonnegut's novels in his epilogue (and maybe more before that but I seem to notice it more in these later books) is that they're less focused on one major theme and just sort of express a scattershot bunch of ideas. I suppose he does this in Cat's Cradle as well so maybe I'm wrong that it's just his later stuff. It's more probably that I just wasn't old enough to truly grok the themes of Vonnegut's later novels when I was a stupid jerk in his twenties, face so covered in potential's jizz, that I just didn't understand, or want to understand, a fucking word of this thing. I probably read it and was all, "This guy don't fuck?! How can this guy not fuck?! What's wrong with this guy?! Fucking loser, man!"

Anyway. Hi ho, I guess?

Saturday, September 26, 2026

God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater by Kurt Vonnegut (1965)



In this book, Eliot Rosewater suggests that some science fiction writer should write a science fiction book about money which is what Kurt Vonnegut has chosen to do. While Vonnegut, as always, touches upon many themes throughout the book, the overarching theme is about money, inherited wealth, and the wide gap between rich and poor created by capitalism. It's about how wealth is concentrated among so few and how those few often did nothing to accumulate that wealth except happen to be born with the correct surname. Eliot Rosewater happens to be the main protagonist although he is only one of a dozen or more characters who also think they're the main characters (which they are, all equally, no matter how many pages they're allowed, given this is a Kurt Vonnegut novel). Throughout the novel, he is driven crazy by his responsibility to do something good and decent with the money he lucked into until he ultimately finds a quite Biblical, if not Communist (neutrally used!), solution to his problem. Basically, he spreads his seeds (figuratively) and spreads the wealth (literally).

I first read all of Vonnegut's books in my twenties and am re-reading them again now that I've hit my fifties. I loved them then, and they must have informed some of who I became in their kindness and optimism and cynicism and all of what they are, but I see them much more clearly now. I was too selfish to see exactly how they reflected the world back then, to see how clear-eyed Vonnegut was viewing the world. Conservatives will accuse any liberal or progressive view as having a modern agenda and yet Vonnegut was expressing those same views in his earliest novels and stories from the late fifties and throughout the sixties.

Here's a quote from the book I love where Trout is basically Vonnegut's pure sci-fi, pulp alter ego and the "He" in the quote is the manipulative lawyer Mushari trying to get his mitts on a fraction of Eliot's money by declaring Eliot insane although "He" could be any small-minded pundit or conservative today: "He didn't understand that what Trout had in common with pornography wasn't sex but fantasies of an impossibly hospitable world."

This novel has more heart than plot. That's a good thing, at times. Like the television show, Atlanta, it's more a variety of sketches depicting the pot holes scattered (purposefully!) across the American landscape and a few of the people trying to navigate around or through them.

There's maybe too much throughout this novel to write a concise review of it so I'd just like to quote Eliot's speech he was meant to give at a science fiction convention, a speech Mushari chooses to use as evidence that Eliot is insane. Apparently, according to lawyers and senators and anybody that embraces the status quo, giving a damn means you're crazy.

"I love you sons of bitches," Eliot said in Milford. "You're all I read any more. You're the only ones who'll talk about the really terrific changes going on, the only ones crazy enough to know that life is a space voyage, and not a short one, either, but one that'll last for billions of years. You're the only ones with guts enough to really care about the future, who really notice what machines do to us, what wars do to us, what cities do to us, what big, simple ideas do to us, what tremendous misunderstandings, mistakes, accidents and catastrophes do to us. You're the only ones zany enough to agonize over time and distances without limit, over mysteries that will never die, over the fact that we are right now determining whether the space voyage for the next billion years or so is going to be Heaven or Hell."

Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut (1963)



Sometimes I'll watch a television show like Star Trek: The Next Generation and think, "I wonder how many conservatives think they enjoy this show?" And sometimes I'll read a book and think, "I wonder how many conservatives think they love this book and the author in general?" I often wonder how many conservatives think they love Kurt Vonnegut specifically but that just makes me think, "They must never have read a Kurt Vonnegut novel. They just know they're supposed to appreciate his work." It's like how the best way to disbelieve The Bible is to actually read The Bible, reading a Kurt Vonnegut book is the best way to know if you're a terrible person or not. Here's a hint as to how you discover you're a terrible person: you don't agree with Kurt Vonnegut's conclusions about humanity.

I never actually wondered if any conservatives loved this book in particular because the main messages of this book, clearly stated, are "Humans are stupid and vicious," "War is terrible," "God doesn't exist," "Religion sucks," and "Life is inherently meaningless." There's a good reason for Kurt Vonnegut to believe these things and he was always quite open about it: all of his books were attempts to reconcile his surviving the carpet bombing of Dresden. What he has come up with in Cat's Cradle seems pretty succinct if not terribly well plotted or profound (at least not profound for a reader who has already reached all the conclusions Vonnegut reaches. And I'd reached them all by the first time I read this book in my twenties. And those conclusions are just more solidified in my fifties. As if my beliefs have configured themselves in a sort of ice nine molecular pattern, you might say).

Cat's Cradle has 127 chapters across 191 pages. It's an easy read, even for a Kurt Vonnegut book. It feels like Kurt was overwhelmed by things he needed to say and so he blurted them out in short vignettes within a story about the end of the world. He has a lot to say here, most of it via a made-up religion called Bokononism which embraces lies because Bokonon understood that the only meaning life has is what we give it. At one point, Newt, the son of the fictional father of the atom bomb, describes the child's game of cat's cradle, a game he points out humans have been playing for ages, teaching it to their confused kids one generation after the other. The game uses a piece of thread to create random connections, various patterns of X's. He shows the game to the narrator and says, "No damn cat, and no damn cradle." Meaninglessness abstracted into a child's game to teach children the true nature of life.

One of the greatest aspects of Vonnegut's writing is that while he may be incredibly cynical, he is never hopeless. Sure, this book ends with the end of the world and Bokonon suggesting the actual ending should be suicide while taunting God. But ultimately, Vonnegut expresses his desire for humans to be kinder, to be better. Cynically, he points out that history has proven that man will never turn away from being as violent and stupid as possible, even with (especially with?) the violent and stupid examples of how humans have acted throughout history. But he wants them to be better. He wants them to be kinder. He wants them to move past the need for meaning and find that all we have are each other and, maybe, we should stop, maybe, buying into the foma of leaders and killing each other for granfalloon reasons. When power and money become our wampeters, we are destined to ice nine our home and everybody in it.

Chapter 114 is a particularly Vonnegutian chapter and probably my favorite. The American ambassador to San Lorenzo goes off speech at a day of celebration to earnestly discuss his thoughts on war and it's absolutely heartbreaking. It feels like the heart of the book even if it doesn't really fit with the plot up to that point or beyond. But that's because it comes from that main reason Kurt was writing. It has one night in Dresden seeping from between each word. And I can't imagine anybody reading it and thinking, "I love this and I'm a conservative."

Mother Night by Kurt Vonnegut (1962)



When I first read Vonnegut's Mother Night in my twenties, I hadn't the background or experience to perceive the scope of it. I hadn't lived through anything that had prepared my mind for what Vonnegut was attempting to express. It left no great impression on my mind and I couldn't have even speculated as to the plot before picking it up again. But now that I have, and I have finished, I am aghast at how relevant this book about a Nazi propagandist is (a Nazi propagandist who claims to be a spy throughout the book, and even seems to be exonerated, but I sense too much of Pale Fire's Charles Kinbote in him. I suppose I can take him at his word, and believe the final letter he receives, although, in the end, it hardly matters. "We are who we pretend to be").

I first read this book before Fox News completely lost its mind and became not just a Republican State Media channel but an Anti-Democrat Hate Machine. The channel has no other goal than to erode the humanity of liberals and fill their audience with hatred and mistrust. Nobody could read this novel today without making the connection between Howard J. Campbell, the book's "Nazi propagandist" narrator, and most of the hosts of Fox News shows.

At one point in the novel, Howard J. Campbell writes, on meeting Adolf Eichmann in an Israeli prison while both are waiting to go on trial:

"As a friend of the court that will try Eichmann, I offer my opinion that Eichmann cannot distinguish between right and wrong—that not only right and wrong, but truth and falsehood, hope and despair, beauty and ugliness, kindness and cruelty, comedy and tragedy, are all processed by Eichmann's mind indiscriminately, like birdshot through a bugle.
     My case is different. I always know when I tell a lie, am capable of imagining the cruel consequences of anybody's believing my lies, know cruelty is wrong. I could no more lie without noticing it than I could unknowingly pass a kidney stone.
     If there is another life after this one, I would like very much, in the next one, to be the sort of person of whom it could truly be said, 'Forgive him—he knows not what he does.' This cannot be said of me now."

And thus we have to see the propagandist in one of these two ways. Do they know the harm they are spreading through their lies and deceit? Or do they believe the things they say, seeing themselves as some kind of hero . . . maybe not even believing the lies spread but believing so passionately in the result of those lies through the actions of the people who will believe them.

And which winds up being worse? They are both terrible but there's something truly cruel and inhuman about knowing you are spreading lies and knowing what kind of cruelty and chaos those lies will unleash on the world. If only there were another world after this one in which someone could judge our actions after. What would happen to Sean Hannity and Tucker Carlson and Laura Ingraham? What has happened to Rush Limbaugh and Charlie Kirk?

And Vonnegut doesn't let the people who believe the lies off the hook by simply concentrating on Howard J. Campbell. In the editor's note by Vonnegut in the beginning of the book, he discusses what the dedication should have been.

"I would prefer to dedicate it to one familiar person, male or female, widely known to have done evil while saying to himself, 'A very good me, the real me, a me made in heaven, is hidden deep inside.'"

How many Americans are currently that person? Doing real evil, making the world a worse place for so many others, while patting themselves on the back for being such a good neighbor, or good mother, or a good brother, acting so civilly and with such kindness to the people they know? How could they be a terrible person when they know so well how good they actually are?

The people who might recognize themselves in this book won't read it. And if they did, they wouldn't recognize themselves anyway. Because this book is about the type of people who are unable to engage in self-reflection.