smokerings

[ding, dong, teh witch is BACK.]

there are things you can get away with saying in Magic Realism. the imagery is full of flesh. the cock and angel symbolise fertility. given enough time and practice, a magic realist can write about fuckin'anything, i kid you not. so here's the low-down on one of the biggest wastes of my time... Love in The Time of Cholera.

it is now a well-known scientifically proven researched and documented fact that women have fewer teeth and therefore smaller, weaker and less-capable-of-knowing-whats- good-for-them brains than men. so punydick protagonist Ariza ends up meeting these hoardes of stupid, childish, psychotic, twisted women who end up sick, dying, dead, raped, murdered or with a pacifier stuck in their mouth after he's done with them. important lesson, boys and girls: no matter how inane a man's life is, there will always be six-hundered and fifty-two women who are willing to have sex with him. because thats the male right (refer to bit on less teeth, etc).

having recovered from the more brilliantly inspiring aspects of Ariza's personality, you might just get a glimpse of a few other characters before the throbbing in your brain forces you to throw the book down. the doctor, urbino. i dont remember much of him, except that he was.. er.. um... pretty much exactly like every other Marquezian model of the modern major-general-colonel-doctor-insert noble profession here. to be very fair, i dont know urbino too well, except that he pissed like a horse and died trying to catch a parrot. very manly, godpromise.
i never reached the end. i think i got past ariza's final declaration of everlasting obsession (and his now long forgotton virginty) to Fermina Daza before screaming ENOUGH!!! and tearing all my hair out. what was Daza doing at the time? crying, tolerating, riding a bicycle and flying in a hot air balloon with her husband in order to keep him happy at the same time never forgetting the idiot who once proposed to her. what does that matter? it is art! and i have it on good sources that it is tres chic to rape warm corpses of young virgins until someone from the anti-surrealist, post-modernist school of thought is brave enough to raise his noble pen and shout "STOP! you cowards. if you were MEN, you'd rape them ALIVE, good sirs!"

sigh. i think im done for the day.