100 Books in One Year / Brian Prisco
Book Reviews | September 9, 2008 | Comments ()
Hear ye! Here ye! Hearken you noble Pajibblets to our mighty quest! A duel to shock the mighty cosmos. Like Zeus armwrestling with Godzilla, or Jesus and Jeff Speakman duking it out in the Octagon. Bear witness to our furor!
For those of you who’ve been keeping track, a challenge has been called out. 100 books in one year. Not so much thunderdome as marathon, but still, asses will be kicked, threats will be made, and awesomeness will be for good. I declared my intent to complete this herculean task, and my battle cry was met across the nation by none other than everyone’s hospital-bound heroine, Alabamapink.
That’s right. I’m fighting a chick with cancer.
There are rules. No books smaller than 200 pages. Short story collections only count if they are at least 6 stories long. No graphic novels. No hitting below the belt: my genitals are tiny and worthless and Pink tucks her cock. And an extra caveat I have added for myself: I will take all recommendations. To an extent. The details are available at my blog, The Gospel According to Prisco. We will cross-post our reviews here and on our own blogs when we see fit. They aren’t going to be full-on reviews necessarily, more or less our own personal feelings about the book. Insults and slander are welcome and accepted.
Why would we undertake such a brutal mission? Frankly, because we’re both disgusted by people who say, “I don’t read.” You are buffoons, who should be taken out back of a woodshed and brutally mauled by a sexually frustrated simpleton armed with leather tanning equipment. Everyone should find time to read a book. Just once or twice a year even. There are lots of them. Some of them are even good.
Our battle has begun, and we’re already off to a dynamic start. I’m 4 books in, and Pink is standing strong at 2. I’m glad, because I was pretty sure she’d be pulling that whole “Oh, I’m dying, they’re shooting me full of chemicals” crap. Which is crap. I fill myself with toxic chemicals every day. They’re called Gas Station Hot Dogs, and they make you just as weak and lethargic. Plus, as she viciously pointed out, she’s got a lot of doctor visits, which is nothing but waiting. Waiting and reading. Mwhwhahahaah. (That’s right. She laughs with w’s and h’s. Fear her!) While I have to toil away at my meaningless grocery cart job.
We’re already off to the races, but there’s no reason other people can’t take up the cause. If you’d like to join in, please feel free. It’s not like there’s an official website or anything. We were going to try to raise money for cancer research or neat dirtbikes or something, but we decided you people can pay us in love and support.
As the contest progresses, we’re going to come up with clever ways for you people to totally derail my progress while pumping Pink full of happy juices of success (now available in Citrus Circus and Raspberry Regret). So visit our sites, and read up on our progress, and if you care to, start up your own blog charting your progress. It’s free! And the best way to get people to read it is to write hateful things about overly sensitive people! Like vegetarians and single, unwed teenage moms!
Viva los Cannonball!
Brian Prisco is a warrior-poet from the valley of North Hollywood, by way of Philadelphia. He wastes most of his life in desk jobs, biding his time until he finally becomes an actor, a writer, or cannon fodder in the inevitable zombie invasion. He can be found shaking his fist and angrily shouting at clouds on his blog, The Gospel According to Prisco.
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