bookfraud

It’s more suicidal than bipolar Finnish sheep herders drunk on vodka and Kierkegaard! There’s less hope there than at an Ibsen festival! It’s feels bleaker than a conference of failed, embittered scribes who think Cormac McCarthy is optimistic and Dostoyevsky’s characters are the happiest folk in the universe!

Are we talking about Romney campaign workers, Ohio State fans, or the celebrity-du-jour-meltdown (of which the latest suffer’s name is banned from this space)? No! We’re talking about the mind of the writer! Specifically, Bookfraud’s mind!

There’s a lot of bizzare crap-ola going in this man’s brain — but really, can you blame him? Take a plague of bed bugs going on six months, throw in depression that won’t quit, a literary agent harder to pin down than mercury and a baby who at 3 a.m. sounds like Chuck Yeager breaking the sound barrier, and you’ve got all the makings of a full-throttle mental breakdown!

To make matters worse, Bookfraud is writing about as often as a starving pit bull will ignore a raw T-bone, and what he does churn out is about as readable as Dan Brown in Sanskrit! And let me tell you, his brain is generating all of this mess — the negative thinking, the emotional meltdowns, the sudden urges to lick the sidewalk.

Bookfraud’s brain is not a pretty place to be these days, boys and girls, but I’m going to take you on a fully guided tour of the vast wasteland of his emotional state and the empty grottoes of his soul! Prepare for the most horrifying guided tour since Virgil led Dante through Hades!

Let’s start at the lower brain, the veritable “reptilian” state of the brain that controls heartbeat, breathing, and involuntary teenage boners. Bookfraud’s medulla is in bad shape — look at the Swiss-cheese like holes dotting its surface. It’s no wonder that he’s breathing like a 100-year-old stone accordion! And let’s hope that his blood pressure hasn’t skyrocketed to 500/1000!

Abandon all hope

Now, the midbrain. The midbrain links motor functions, eye and auditory control, and the power train a 1968 Dodge Dart. Thus, when Bookfraud sees an attractive femalian, his eyes bug out, his hands shake, and he starts hearing voices in his head — “Maybe you can do better, buddy! Maybe it’s a good time for a mid-life crisis after all, because there are so many hot 22-year-old blonde babes with enormous gazargons who want to sleep with you!”

Speaking of which, let’s take a look at the hypothalamus, where sexual reproduction is regulated. You may want to hide your children’s eyes for this one. Wow! That’s ugly! It looks like it’s been unused for months — cobwebs everywhere! It’s rotting from the core! I wouldn’t show that to a medical student unless I wanted him or her to quit school that very day.

Next on the tour is the cerebellum. Motor functions are controlled here, and the pink, red, blue, orange, and black spots are why Bookfraud is constantly dropping things, breaking them, and turning into a 43-year-old ball of venomous bile that sets such a great example for his young son!

But let’s get to main course — the mass of grey matter you’re all familiar with, the cerebrum, which tastes great on toast, by the way, or in a taco. The cerebrum is broken up into four lobes, all of which have a different purpose. Let’s take a quick look at each in Bookfraud’s messed-up mind:

The Frontal Lobe: associated with reasoning, parts of speech, and problem solving, this part of Bookfraud’s brain looks about as active as a dead squirrel on a stick! He can’t reason, plan, solve problems like “What’s 2 plus 2?” or speak a coherent sentence without pulling out, one by one, each hair in his nostril.

The Parietal Lobe: regulates movement, orientation, recognition, perception of stimuli; notice the miniscule, translucent insects crawling all through this lobe. They’re bed bugs! And that’s all Bookfraud can see these days — bed bugs in his bed, in his coffee, on his Speed Stick by Mennen! They’re everywhere!

It’s a metaphor

The Occipital Lobe: while this part of the cerebrum handles visual processing, watch what happens in Bookfraud’s occipital lobe when a naked woman starts firing a machine gun while taking a dump. Nothing! It’s a dead zone in here!

The Temporal Lobe: Now we’re talkin’! This area helps regulate speech and memory, which are kinda essential tools for a writer — but look at Bookfraud’s. It’s less appealing than three-day-old eggs at Shoney’s breakfast buffet! It’s going to replace the South Bronx as a symbol of urban decay — someone should spray paint “Bookfraud Thinks Nada” on it!

Look at all the abandoned neurons, the destroyed receptors. Just pitiful. Let’s get out of here before Bookfraud tries to write something again, or we could get run over by a neurological equivalent of a drunken driver!

Well, that’s it. We hope you’ve enjoyed the tour! If you want to see his brain completely meltdown like a bolt of steel thrown to the sun, come back next week — by then, he’ll have completely lost it!

However, I’ve just received some bad news. You’ll have to make new plans for this time slot next week: the scheduled tour of Bookfraud’s penis has been canceled for lack of interest.