PROFANITY ALERT!!
Normally we at Dysfunctional Literacy avoid the use of profanity, but this is a site that reviews literature (occasionally), and these two books are currently on the bestsellers’ lists and are relevant. We will do our best to handle any vocabulary issues tastefully.
Sh** My Dad Says by Justin Halpern
The author was a writer for Maxim and… Maxim has writers?
Some of the book is funny. Most of it reads like a magazine article, which makes sense because the author worked for a magazine that’s not really known for articles. I read the book on a plane, and it was entertaining both before and after the dramamine. The problem is that the author isn’t that interesting. He has a fairly pedestrian life, and I kept saying to myself, “This guy works for Maxim?”
The dad, however, is interesting, but Halpern doesn’t dig deeply enough for us to learn about the man. Yes, the dad doesn’t like to talk about himself, but that’s the job of the author. If your subject (is alive and) won’t talk, then you talk to the people that know him best and learn about his past. Do your Barbara Walters imitation, and ask him about his favorite color or what kind of tree he’d like to be. Dig deeper, man! You’re a bestselling author now.
As for the television show based on the book, I never saw it, but William Shatner was probably miscast as the dad.
WOULD THIS BOOK HAVE BEEN A BESTSELLER WITHOUT THE WORD SH** IN THE TITLE?
Probably not. We’ll delve further into that a bit later.
*****
Go the F*** to Sleep by Adam Mansbach and illustrated by Ricardo Cortes
We get it. It’s a parody. It looks like a kid’s book. Don’t read it to your kids. We adults can sit around and laugh at it. But if you’re going to use the f-word, use it properly.
IMPROPER PROFANITY ALERT!
The problem with the title Go the F*** to Sleep is that it has an inappropriate f-word usage. You never, ever… ever… use the phrase “the f***” in an imperative sentence (giving an order) unless you’re willing to commit an act of violence (which, of course, we don’t condone). Below are a couple of examples.
Get the f*** out of my face.
Move the f*** out of my way.
When people get to that phase of a conflict where they feel compelled to use the phrase “the f***” in an imperative sentence, people often end up bleeding, dead, on You-Tube, or on the news. You don’t use that language when talking about kids (unless they’re teenagers, maybe). You might think it, but you never say it, and you certainly don’t write it down. Yes, babies (and little kids) can drive you nuts, but you never admit (in writing) that you’ve gotten to that level.
Now, it is okay to use “the f***” in a question. Below are two perfectly appropriate examples.
What the f*** is going on here?
What the f*** should I title my book?
See? Nobody is going to get into a fight over that.
It’s also okay to use f*** with an –ing suffix. When Joe Biden did it (It’s a big f***ing deal), nobody threw any punches.
ALTERNATIVE TITLES (that won’t get CPS sent after you)
Go to F***in’ Sleep
F***in’ Go to Sleep
Why the F*** Won’t You Go to Sleep?
Go to Sleep, Motherf*****
AUDIO VERSION
Supposedly, Samuel Jackson reads the audio version of the book. That probably would have been more amusing five years ago.
WOULD THIS BOOK BE A BESTSELLER WITHOUT THE WORD F*** IN THE TITLE?
Are you f***in’ kidding me?
IT’S NOT THE END OF CIVILIZATION, BUT…
Do we really need profanity in book titles? C’mon, this is a shameless attempt to hide mediocre writing behind a vulgar title in hopes that a bunch of browsers pick it up. It’s almost as bad as mediocre music with children’s beats loaded with obscene lyrics. I really hope the book purchasing public can see through this charade and stop buying books just because they have a vulgar expression in the title. The publishing industry can do better, and we readers deserve better.
SHAMELESS PROMOTION ALERT!!!!
Coming soon from Dysfunctional Literacy is the soon-to-be bestseller F*** You if You Don’t Buy This Book!
Hey, if other mediocre writers can capitalize on the profanity-in-the- title craze, then we want in on the action too.
WHICH ONE? SH** or F***?
You don’t miss anything by not reading either one.
However, Sh** My Dad Says is a much better value. It takes a few hours to read, whereas you’ll be done with Go the F*** to Sleep in about five minutes.
There’s probably a bad joke about Sh** taking longer than F***, but I don’t even know how to phrase it.
I deleted this blog post because it was kind of stupid, and it doesn’t fit this blog’s purpose. At the time, I was experimenting with search engine algorithms (that’s a whole different topic), and I learned what I needed to learn (and I can write about that another time), but I ended up with dozens of stupid blog posts that aren’t appropriate for my blog’s purpose anymore. I’ve kept other stupid blog posts that actually are appropriate content for Dysfunctional Literacy.
I deleted this blog post because it was kind of stupid, and it doesn’t fit this blog’s purpose. At the time, I was experimenting with search engine algorithms (that’s a whole different topic), and I learned what I needed to learn (and I can write about that another time), but I ended up with dozens of stupid blog posts that aren’t appropriate for my blog’s purpose anymore. I’ve kept other stupid blog posts that actually are appropriate content for Dysfunctional Literacy.
You don’t have to be a mind reader to know that Lebron James doesn’t think this Lebron James joke is funny. Image via Wikipedia
LeBron James was dining with his girlfriend at a fine restaurant when Dirk Nowitzki showed up with his entourage. It was a slightly uncomfortable moment, but both superstars nodded acknowledgements to each other and went about their business peacefully.
Dirk was seated across the restaurant facing LeBron, and as they were eating, LeBron noticed that Nowitzki was making a face at him. Puzzled at first, LeBron watched as Dirk clutched his throat, strained his face, and even stuck his tongue out a bit.
The crowd laughed, and LeBron was a bit miffed. Yeah, he had made fun of Dirk’s alleged illness during the Finals, but that was at the arena and not in public after the season was over. LeBron tried to ignore the taunting, but Dirk’s entourage was laughing quite loudly, and the crowd in the restaurant was noticing his antics. Dirk then stood, hands clutching throat, his body shaking violently, and the crowd howled in derision at LeBron. Even LeBron’s girlfriend had a tough time controlling her amusement.
Finally, LeBron had had enough. He was tired of these lame LeBron James jokes. All he had heard since mid-season was “LeBron James chokes, Lebron James chokes, Lebron James chokes.” There is only so far that you can push a man before he breaks, so LeBron stood, strode across the restaurant to Dirk’s table, and punched him full in the stomach.
Dirk doubled over as a piece of meat flew across the room. Dirk gasped and announced to everybody that LeBron had just saved his life! LeBron was suddenly recognized as a hero. While everybody else had stood and watched Dirk nearly choke to death, only LeBron had had the presence of mind to use an unusual Heimlich method to dislodge the hunk of meat from Dirk’s throat. LeBron was once again king, and much of the national negativity against him dissipated. Times were good.
The NBA season started again. The Miami Heat were in a close game in the 4th quarter. Lebron took an ill-advised jumper, and the ball clanked off the rim. The home crowd booed, and as LeBron turned around, his teammate Dwayne Wade hit him full in the stomach. The crowd cheered as LeBron doubled over, the wind knocked out of him.
When LeBron regained his breath, he rushed Dwayne Wade, but the other Heat players got between them, and after everybody calmed down, LeBron asked Dwayne, “What did you do that for?”
Dwayne Wade said, “To make sure you don’t choke.”
*****
*****
UPDATE- June 25, 2012
Sigh! I guess I’m going to have to think of a new LeBron James joke since he probably won’t be known as a choker anymore.
It had been a rough few weeks for President Obama. The economy was bad. Unemployment was high. Every other week there was a new military action. The national debt was rising at an insurmountable rate. The First Lady was giving him grief about his smoking and eating habits. President Obama, however, was a deep sleeper, and one night God came down from Heaven to visit Obama in his dream.
“Hello, my son,” God said (because we are all God’s children, not because President Obama is the … Aw, never mind). “Once during every president’s term, I come down from Heaven to give one piece of advice. In this way, I show my love for the United States because this country is truly dear to my heart.”
“Uh, I appreciate your intent, God, but, let me be clear, I am trying to sleep,” President Obama said, confused by this conversation with God.
“Every president has accepted my advice, even President Bush,” God said. “You would be wise to ask me one question and follow my advice carefully.
President Obama was puzzled. “So a few years ago when George Bush said he spoke with you, he was telling the truth.”
“Yes,” God said. “It is wise to follow my advice, but it is also sometimes prudent not to announce that you are following my advice.”
“Very well, then. I shall ask you for advice,” President Obama said, thinking. “How can I improve my golf game?”
“What?” God responded with incredulity. “With all the problems that the United States has right now, you have the audacity to ask me about your golf game?”
“Let me be frank,” President Obama said. “When you have gotten punched in the face and had your teeth knocked out, when you’ve been kicked in the testicles and hit on the head with a folding chair, it takes a little while to recover. I’ve got this. Now, are you going to help me with my golf game or not?”
God watched President Obama’s swing and gave a few pointers, but Obama’s golf ball still ended up in the sandpits or knocked birds out of the sky (that always amused God but only in dreams because the birds weren’t real and didn’t actually get hurt). Finally, though, God had seen enough.
“Are you certain that you want to use my wisdom to improve your golf game?” God asked.
“Yes,” President Obama said with confidence in his voice. “Please tell me how I may improve my golf game.”
“Cheat better,” God said, and then disappeared.
“That was odd,” President Obama said when he woke up. He turned to his wife Michelle and explained how he had spoken with God in his dream. When he told her about getting advice about golf, Michelle became upset.
“With all that’s going on right now, you ask him to improve your golf game?” the First Lady said. “That was incredibly selfish of you.”
“What should I have requested?” Obama asked, genuinely surprised at his wife’s reaction.
The First Lady said, “You should have asked him where we should go on vacation this summer.”
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
Bossypants by Tina Fey
AREN’T THESE WOMEN’S BOOKS?
Maybe dysfunctional literates tend to be males, but nobody knows for sure. The studies haven’t been done yet (but we’re going to work on it once we get the funding). However, some women do tell Moby Dick jokes; they just don’t normally do it around men. Since women read a lot, it makes sense that a statistically significant number of them would be dysfunctional literates, so it also makes sense to review some books that might appeal to women a bit more than men.
Plus we didn’t want to get accused of gender bias.
YOU MEAN… THAT MAYA ANGELOU?
Maya Angelou has two strikes against her from a dysfunctional literate’s point of view. Oprah likes her. Strike one. Angelou is a poet. Strike two. When Dysfunctional Literacy assigned me to write a review of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, I felt my stomach tighten, and I thought that it would be the longest short book I’ve ever read. I expected an overwrought tearjerker that would make me grimace with anti-male guilt. Yeah, lots of bad stuff happens in the book, but Maya Angelou, at least in this particular book, is a storyteller first, and a poet second. In other words, I always knew what was going on, and I didn’t have to think too hard to understand what was going, and I didn’t think the author was going out of her way to try to make me cry.
Okay, I liked it. I admit it. Gloat, Oprah, gloat (if you care what a dysfunctional literate thinks).
DOES MAYA ANGELOU OVERUSE METAPHORS?
One of the complaints that some critics have of Maya Angelou’s prose is that she overdoes it with the metaphors. First of all, writers today don’t use enough metaphors, so that’s one reason that Angelou’s writing is worth reading today. Even the title of this book is a metaphor. Besides, she’s a poet. Poets are supposed to use metaphors, especially if their poems don’t rhyme (and yes, I know that some of Angelou’s poems rhyme, but prose doesn’t, so she has to use other devices, and a metaphor is the best one for prose). When a poet writes prose, this is what you get.
WHY IS I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS A CLASSIC?
Is I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings going to be read a hundred years from now, or not? I would wager so. Usually a memoir is either well-written but pointless, or poorly written but with an interesting story (and sometimes it’s both poorly written and pointless). This is one of the few memoirs that is well-written, interesting, and has a point.
After reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, I really know why the caged bird sings and I know why I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings is a classic.
THE PROBLEM WITH BOSSYPANTS
First of all, I think Tina Fey can be pretty funny. I’m one of the (probably) few people who likes both Tina Fey and Sarah Palin. I like them, but I don’t like like them (which means I like them but don’t feel the desire to defend them). Tina Fey fans have probably already read her book and don’t need advice from a dysfunctional literate. So my advice is from a perspective of Tina Fey semi-ambivalence.
This could have been a really good book, but Tina Fey avoids getting too personal, which I understand because her niche is humor. We don’t expect Angelou-ish metaphors that will leave grown men pondering their place in the universe, but even so, the humor is more clever than funny. Some of the laughter evoked from this book might be like the delayed nervous tittering we hear from Saturday Night Live audiences reacting to a silly sketch (probably not written by Tina Fey) that they know should be funny but isn’t really.
I had a tough time figuring out why I felt disconnected from Bossypants. I don’t think it’s because I’m a guy (because I didn’t feel that way with I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings). It’s not because I don’t care for Saturday Night Live. Finally, I figured it out. Tina Fey seems funnier and more insightful when she isn’t writing about herself. For most people, they are their own favorite topics. It seems like with Tina Fey, she is her least favorite topic (Yeah, that might be an exaggeration), which makes for maybe not the best memoir ever.
I’d like to see Tina Fey write a fake but real history textbook. That would probably be pretty (intentionally) funny.
WHICH ONE? I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS or BOSSYPANTS?
This isn’t a fair comparison, but sometimes we dysfunctional literates have to make the tough decisions that others are afraid to make.
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings is a better serious book than Bossypants is a humorous book.
I deleted this blog post because it was kind of stupid, and it doesn’t fit this blog’s purpose. At the time, I was experimenting with search engine algorithms (that’s a whole different topic), and I learned what I needed to learn (and I can write about that another time), but I ended up with dozens of stupid blog posts that aren’t appropriate for my blog’s purpose anymore. I’ve kept other stupid blog posts that actually are appropriate content for Dysfunctional Literacy.
I deleted this blog post because it was kind of stupid, and it doesn’t fit this blog’s purpose. At the time, I was experimenting with search engine algorithms (that’s a whole different topic), and I learned what I needed to learn (and I can write about that another time), but I ended up with dozens of stupid blog posts that aren’t appropriate for my blog’s purpose anymore. I’ve kept other stupid blog posts that actually are appropriate content for Dysfunctional Literacy.
I deleted this blog post because it was kind of stupid, and it doesn’t fit this blog’s purpose. At the time, I was experimenting with search engine algorithms (that’s a whole different topic), and I learned what I needed to learn (and I can write about that another time), but I ended up with dozens of stupid blog posts that aren’t appropriate for my blog’s purpose anymore. I’ve kept other stupid blog posts that actually are appropriate content for Dysfunctional Literacy.
When you have a haircut like this, you’d better be able to sing. Image via Wikipedia
I deleted this blog post because it was kind of stupid, and it doesn’t fit this blog’s purpose. At the time, I was experimenting with search engine algorithms (that’s a whole different topic), and I learned what I needed to learn (and I can write about that another time), but I ended up with dozens of stupid blog posts that aren’t appropriate for my blog’s purpose anymore. I’ve kept other stupid blog posts that actually are appropriate content for Dysfunctional Literacy.
Haha! I tried to draw.
*****
Click on picture once for better image.
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