literary cage matches (two men enter and only one’s a ghost)

So yeah probably all heard this whole Brett Easton Ellis thing and him trashing the ghost of David Foster Wallace on twitter. I guess twitter is the new oiuja board or something, and maybe the ghost tweeted back by moving some twitterly planchette rolling over those letters and it responding f-u-c-k-o-f-f or maybe it will just spin and circles and the ghost of DFW will posses the person wielding it and make them go to AA or something.

But either anyway, literary feuds are nothing new something old anyway, and it should be no surprise, they’re both wordy smart asses who like to make their opinions known loud and clear all the time. They’re both overly judgmental writers from two opposing camps and two opposing ways of writing. That, and this is just what BEE does, he just pokes the literary tiger cages, goes after the main holy cup and pisses in it and laughs when he does it. Which, you know, might have been cute and all that when he was a young spry twenty something writing about drugs and cannibalism, but now he’s an old fucker and it’s just kinda sad. It’s sad watching someone past his prime (which he is, sorry, but yeah) whining all the time online trying to get attention again (by wanting to write the screenplay for Fifty Shades of Grey…come on, you went from writing books like Less than Zero and American Psycho to…wanting to write the hollywoodification of mommy porn? some stars just fall and others clasp and burn and relight themselves with kerosene but in the end it’s all watered down and instead of exploding in a firework light they just fizzle and fall flat…)

while the other hung himself while he was still stars in the sky or something….

But that’s all cliche. Really, it’s just what happens when all things line up and explode at the right moment.

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