Juxtaposition

This morning, as a settled into my seat on the F-Train, I noticed we had a preacher on the car. A loud man warning us about The End of Days, and how best to save our souls, all the way from 2nd Avenue to 42nd Street.

I opened up Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk, which I'm really not enjoying much at all. And not just because it's gross, it's also lazy. Like, dude, if your characters, all 17 of them, are each going to be the "author" of their own short story, you might want to, um, I don't know, change up that whole "voice" thing a little? And I know I've said this before, but there are too many motherfucking characters in your book. And, you know, it's gross. That said, listening to the preacher while reading this piece of crap novel was pretty funny. It went a little something like this:

"As the end of days grows near, it's time to start thinking about your souls."

This is the smell of animals half run-over and smearing a path of shit and blood as they drag their shattered back legs off a hot summer highway.

"Lucifer, he wants your souls, all of them."

If we don't eat now, before the bacteria inside Comrade Snarky begin their own chow-down, she'll be wasted.

"And you need to turn your head up to the heavens! And beg the Lord Almighty to save you!"

In a way, the Donner Party was lucky, says the Earl of Slander, still scribbling in his notepad.

"The Lord will save you! But you must do penance for your sins! Before it's too late!"

Likewise, cleaning a skirt steak and skinning the little weasel who posted an article about how your beef Wellington was ruined with too much foie gras, both jobs go fast and effortless thanks to the flexible blade of your eight-inch filleting knife.

I pretty much giggled the whole way, which probably means I'm not going to be saved. At least it gave me ten minutes of enjoyment out of a novel that's torturing me. Worth going to hell for? Maybe.