If you've been following this blog from the start, you know that I only have one review left to write on the dumb fucking movie and then that will be the end of all my snark. This knowledge makes you sad. In fact, for some of you, this is downright devastating. I realized today that this makes me sad, too.
After much thought, I've made what will probably end up being a very stupid decision.
I'm going to read and review "Tiny Beautiful Things," also by Cheryl Strayed.
Before I tell you what that big bag of bullshit is about, I will allow all of you a long moment to squeal with delight, fist-pump, dance around the room, throw some confetti and high-five the nearest person.
Go ahead. I know you're doing it. I'll wait.
God, it's like I have a death wish.
Cheryl Strayed had been *an advice columnist* for years before she... that's all I really need to say, isn't it. This stupid book is a collection of all the advice she's given over the years and it's just as horrifically terrible as you imagine. No matter what question the "reader" is asking (and I put "reader" in quotes because it has been widely speculated that Cheryl made up the questions herself), Cheryl responds by oversharing and making the whole thing about herself. It's awful. A reader could write in and ask, "My favorite ice-cream is chocolate! What's yours?" And Cheryl would respond with something like, "I WAS GANG-RAPED BY THREE DOZEN PANDAS WHEN I WAS 4 YEARS OLD..." and then maybe, several agonizing pages later, she might conclude with, "...and that's why I like strawberry."
It's going to be awesome. For you.
I might eventually commit suicide.
In conclusion, you may now look forward to something. The fun isn't ending. We're gonna keep this alive.
Hugs and kisses (and fuck Cheryl Strayed),