Minutes ago, I ran into yet another overhyped quotation attributed to him, and that’s when I finally snapped. The pretensions in this man’s sentences smother me every time I [try] to read anything by him. His whole “plight of the underprivileged man” is bull**** (I rarely like to curse but today Palahniuk went too far). He just cries…cries about the lifelong struggle of being a middle-class white male in America. It must be so hard, Chuck; Dear lord, he is so repressed. What do we normal folk know of struggle, when it is he who has truly suffered?
Honestly, throughout the years, I thought it was J. D. Salinger who deserved shame for single handedly destroying the immature life of American literature. Finishing The Catcher in the Rye—on the recommendation of some college hipsters with whom I am forced to study—made me feel like I personally allowed Salinger to throw up all over my lap.
BUT ALAS, I realized that even in the midst of all of Holden Caulfield’s angst-ridden, Gothic, nihilistic, and unbearable patheticness, that nothing—absolutely nothing—could be as absurd as the man who came up with this horror:
“Just remember, the same as a spectacular Vogue magazine, remember that no matter how close you follow the jumps: Continued on page whatever. No matter how careful you are, there's going to be the sense you missed something, the ... collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn't experience it all. There's that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should've been paying attention. Well, get used to that feeling. That's how your whole life will feel some day. This is all practice. None of this matters. We're just warming up.”
&c: http://thinkexist.com/quotes/chuck_palahniuk/
My God, I have been hating the wrong man all this time.
If you’re reading this, Chuck Palahniuk, I want you to know that you’re a horrible man; not just for disgracing the entire male sex but for also justifying an abrogation of the morals from a true great: Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451—
(book burning, in case you inevitably didn’t get that)
Fin.
Honestly, throughout the years, I thought it was J. D. Salinger who deserved shame for single handedly destroying the immature life of American literature. Finishing The Catcher in the Rye—on the recommendation of some college hipsters with whom I am forced to study—made me feel like I personally allowed Salinger to throw up all over my lap.
BUT ALAS, I realized that even in the midst of all of Holden Caulfield’s angst-ridden, Gothic, nihilistic, and unbearable patheticness, that nothing—absolutely nothing—could be as absurd as the man who came up with this horror:
“Just remember, the same as a spectacular Vogue magazine, remember that no matter how close you follow the jumps: Continued on page whatever. No matter how careful you are, there's going to be the sense you missed something, the ... collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn't experience it all. There's that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should've been paying attention. Well, get used to that feeling. That's how your whole life will feel some day. This is all practice. None of this matters. We're just warming up.”
&c: http://thinkexist.com/quotes/chuck_palahniuk/
My God, I have been hating the wrong man all this time.
If you’re reading this, Chuck Palahniuk, I want you to know that you’re a horrible man; not just for disgracing the entire male sex but for also justifying an abrogation of the morals from a true great: Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451—
(book burning, in case you inevitably didn’t get that)
Fin.