[The following is the text of a "book review" supposedly written by one Adam Miller, for some high school project or something. Just one of those things I wish I'd written myself.]
Lord of the Flies:
An inside look at natural human tendencies and a brief history of the author(s)
Adam Miller
The Lord of the Flies was written during a time period of serious problems. Back before the invention of the ipod and before people realized how fun masturbation is, people didn’t know what to do with their spare time. Apparently, Mark Twain (whose real name was Samuel Clemens and just called himself Mark Twain because he hated black people like Samuel L. Jackson) had used this time to write a book about little children who land on an island and have giant orgy parties an lots of good fun. In the book, this fun continues for weeks until they are arrested by the native islander feds for public indecency and possession of illegal firearms (Jack stole an AK-47 from some British guy before he got on the plane and crashed). Actually, forget that part in the parentheses unless you read the extended version of the book because Twain didn’t put that in until later when he realized the book lacked the stylish modernized violence that everyone really like to read about.
(Mark Twain had a gray moustache, was a pedophile, an was stoned to death at the age of 47, when he was accused and convicted of molesting an 8-year-old boy by manually inserting and emptying the contents of an entire tube of Crest cinnamon flavored toothpaste into the poor kid’s anus. [Back before the electric chair and lethal injections, someone had the good idea of throwing rocks and other heavy shit at a person till his corpse is no longer recognizable, which is of course a lot more fun than all the new forms of death penalty. I think the first person to do it was Jesus, and since he was cool a lot of people kept doing it. That was until those fucking liberals decided it was “cruel and unusual” or something gay like that. Fuck those bitches.]) (Ignore the parentheses surrounding the previous sentences.) The child never recovered from the attack. His name was George Cohen, and he was unable to drop a deuce for two years after the attack, so the docs had to cut a temporary asshole above his pelvis bone on his left side. George never brushed his teeth again. Eventually George committed suicide in the parking lot of his junior high school. However, Twain did recover from his painful death, and his mangled body was buried peacefully in a big green cemetery with lots of flowers. That eased his passing. He was one of the great writers of our time, however, so respect the dead no matter how many innocent children he raped.
When Mark Twain died his masterpiece Lord of the Flies was yet to be finished, and some fucker named William Golding or some hit (what a gay name, he should have changed it like Twain…stupid turtlefuck) stole it out of his desk and erased the name, added a quick ending about pigs, and turned in to the National Board of Acceptance of Great American Books (NBAGAB) for inspection. At first the judges were kind of skeptical about the book, cause they were like “shiiiit man this guy must have been on acid when he wrote this cause glasses cant start fires and fat kids like Piggy would never eat fruit like that. They’d be too hungry, and would resort to secretly stabbin other kids with a bowie knife and eating them.” I’ve heard human flesh tastes a lot like provolone and contains lots of essential vitamins and minerals and shit you need to survive in the wild. (Piggy probably would have killed Simon first, that little bitch.)
But soon the judges caved and decided to let it become a Great Book because, after all, it did have a lot of interesting sex scenes containing coconuts, fat kids, and the severed heads of hunted pigs. So now we study the Lord of the Flies in our schools and have to write six page papers about it even though we have a shitload of other homework to do by tomorrow and have to jack off three more times today in order to win that bet. (You know what bet I’m talking about.)
The Lord of the Flies has a lot of references to themes that other books have a lot of times. One of these themes is human nature. People tend to like to kill stuff a lot, which is brought up in this book several times. People also like to fuck stuff a lot, which is brought up in this book several times also. Often times, people like to combine the two, by killing stuff then fucking the living shit out of the lifeless body. This actually didn’t happen in the Lord of the Flies, but it probably should have, and maybe then I would have actually read it. (Please ignore that last statement).
The character Ralph was very intriguing. His attitude towards the stuff that happened in the book was cool, and kind of made me wish I was gay so I could openly admit to being attracted to him.
When Simon confronted the Lord of the Flies near the end of the book something happened that caused another thing to happen. The Lord of the Flies was the severed head of a dead pig impaled on a spear. Apparently, Twain (or was it Golding?) forgot that once a pig is dead it can no longer communicate. Either that, or Simon snuck some of that LSD that Ralph was passing around right after the plane crash. (Most likely the latter.) The haLlucination Supplement Drug (commonly referred to as LSD) was first discovered by the Italian chemist Ferdinand Magellan. However, it was made popular by the famous Beatles song “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” in 1963 when everyone first started to like smoking pot, experimenting with kinky sex positions, tripping on acid, and other important activities.
Anyways, when Simon met the Lord of the Flies, at first the Lord of the Flies was like “What the fuck you doin?”
Then Simon was like “I’m gay and I’m wanderin around the forest looking for butterflies and shit.”
Then the Lord of the Flies realized the poor kid had down syndrome and decided to spare him. Then he changed his mind and bit Simon’s leg off and dumped his dead body in the ocean. Twain (or Golding) then proceeded in rambling on for several pages about the scenery around the mangled corpse of Simon and thunderstorms or something. (I didn’t really understand that part so don’t take off points please if I’m wrong about that since I’m admitting I didn’t understand it.)
The ending of the book was abrupt and basically it was fucking retarded. I personally like the alternate ending in the extended version much better, so I would recommend buying that version at your local Barnes & Noble (Barnes and Noble sells Starbucks coffee, too, and sells cds and dvds and all that good shit, so plan a trip with your friends and check it out for yourself.)
The Alternate Ending involves lots of intriguing love interests, blood, naked chicks (not really because this fucking book is all about little boys [remember Twain was a gay pedophile]) dead bodies and other fun stuff. Ralph accidentally stumbles upon Jack and while he’s greasing his gator (if ya know what I mean [in case you don’t, it means jacking off]) and the two end up getting stoned together and having violent anal sex deep into the night. When Piggy discovers them, he of course wants to join, but Ralph and Jack refuse, not wanting to see his inevitably tiny shriveled up penis. When Piggy insists and begins to strip, Jack removes his dick from Ralph’s butt hole, picks up a small boulder (Jack was pretty strong) and throws it on top of Piggy’s head, breaking his skull. He then uses the oozing brains of Piggy as anal lube. Ralph likes the warm sensation it provides. Later, as I said, the feds come and break up all the fun, but for me this was the ending of the book, because I didn’t read the rest. (I would recommend you find your own personal ending as well).
Ralph then was inspired to write a song called “Fuck the Police,” which when he got back to civilization topped the charts. These are the lyric for the chorus:
Fuck them Popo.
(Yea, Yea.)
Fuck them all
(Uh Huh, Yea)
Police can suck my dick.
(Mmmm Yea.)
Fuck them Popo.
(Hells Yeeee.)
Thus, in conclusion, Mark Twain was a genius, and should have written more books and stuff.
The end.