Vernon God Little - urrrrggghhh! I shudder, and bile rises in the back of my throat even thinking about it. It sickens me almost as much as the sight of its rat-faced "authors" stupid fucking rat's face on television, when the stupid middle-class "judges" awarded him the Booker prize. On the upside, it was almost worth it to see the barely concealed hatred on lemon-sucking, terrible hairstyle-sporting, writer who denies she's sci-fi when she so obviously is, Margaret Atwood's thin-lipped face.
Well, a lot of idiots bought the shit book, and were too scared to admit they thought it was crap. Scared because a stupid middle-class, guardian-reading cow with a chopped fringe, thick-rimmed glasses, red lipstick and a hooped sweater talked bollocks about it on The Late Show. She only likes it because she's got no life of her own, and serves no useful function in society. Her fundamental error in assesing the book was to confuse edgy and groundbreaking writing with her own total and complete lack of knowledge of anything whatsoever, outside of her smug, insular world of sitting on her arse, reading the guardian and drinking fair-trade coffee. And snorting cocaine.
I made it as far as the second page before flinging the wretched thing at the wall in disgust. Not with the frankly awful attempt at swearing, which was third division at best. No, it was the frankly piss-fucking poor standard of writing that spewed from every contrived sentence that made me instantly want to puke.
I listened nodding in smug agreement to the reviews of his latest book "Lumilla's broken English". This time, the critics tore it to shreds, going as far as reading out some of the most laughably poor extracts.
By all means buy this book if you must, but if I see you on the Tube reading it, don't be surprised if I snatch it from your hands, slap your face with it, then set it on fire. If you're one of those idiots that has a paper cup of coffee, then expect to get that emptied onto your groin as well.