Sherman Alexie . . . WTF

by bookindian

Sherman Alexie . . .
Prologue
(published before the G4 regained consciousness)

Sherman Alexie AIN’T no fucking rock star, so why he needs big time jet with no less than 60 seats . . . bet he needs Perrier water to top off his hydrocephalic brain AND scented ass wipe paper . . . too good for Sears catalog, neh?!

Oh, why you don’t cry for all those womans and children atomized by nuclear Fat Man dropping in unannounced one August day . . .

FATMAN

and his brother Little Boy?!

Oh, I forgot, you living in Seattle drinking latte smooth-y and prolly never even been to Bainbridge Island or missed the fucking ferry . . . so if you don’t catch a ride to Cali, I don’t care, I don’t cry for Twin Towers collapsing, or Haiti (Port Au Prince) where people are dying cos they too fucking lazy to rise up and do something for themselves . . . for a change.

And I hope all people who can afford one buys a Kindle or iPad and downloads electronic media so they can carry words and music in they pockets and purses and have option of alternative independent free thought without diarrhea talk show & TV host smile-y face telling me what’s the thing I should do . . . NO more Oprah, Conan or CNN or Dancing With the Stars . . . But that doesn’t mean that people will go to book-signings . . . again.

As soon as the G4 comes back to life, I’ll complete this thought . . . “if you become naked . . . ” (the Beatles)

(Uploaded from my iPod Touch)

Original text and photos recovered from the G4 after its seizure.-

First, Sherman Alexie AIN’T no fucking rock star . . . his publicist . . . that’s right, his publicist says he must have a jet with not less than 60 seats . . . uh . . . time to get off your writer ass and out of the Seattle fog.

DONT CARE

The only person who can ask for a jet, a private jet, to come for him, is Karl Lagerfeld . . . and be sure to send a limo to pick him up.

I suppose Alexie wants his M&M’s sorted by color . . . with or without nuts Alexie?? Oh . . . and will you need scented tissue for your elite ass?? And, how about some Perrier water in case your brain is a bit low . . .

Paranoia . . . piracy . . . digital technology . . . EXACTLY . . . there’s this video on YouTube titled “Sherman Alexie Speaks” . . . do people think he is God? . . . Or is it that no one thought he COULD speak . . . oh shit, now I’m confused . . . so as usual, I’m “. . . doing the knowledge” before I make statements or point my pistola . . .

O.K. if Colbert or some other media smiley face asked me what I thought about 9/11, I would say, on NATIONAL television . . . “Now you know what other people think of the United States . . . the ugly America . . .“ you know, Britney Spears bald pubes, and Paris Hilton wearing no panties, AND all the “sex tapes” and Sarah Palin and the fucking Tea Party . . . how soon we forget history.

Why didn’t anyone say anything about dropping atomic bombs on Nagasaki and Hiroshima? What about all those women and children, and the old people who died because the United States wanted erase the embarrassment of getting caught with its ass hanging out at Pearl Harbor . . . there was no lingering death from radiation poisoning at the World Trade Center . . .

FATMAN

and “cowboys” can be seen wearing their hats inside restaurants . . .

Sherman Alexie talks like he’s a fucking white man!!

I didn’t cry when I saw the “Twin Towers” collapse, I just wondered how a country could be so smug that it would allow itself to be fucked in the ass, again, and still be clueless about the possibility of such an act occurring within the sanctity of its borders . . . didn’t some guy in a red and white Santa Claus cleric suit try the same stunt a few years earlier in the SAME place?

FATMAN

Little Boy” . . .

So, even though I read “The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian”, I don’t really care if Sherman Alexie gets his ride to Cali-land . . . I don’t care whether or not his books are on Kindle AND I don’t care if he is/am/are/was/were hydrocephalic, I just want to know why Junior didn’t feed the bulimic blond some trouser snake, you know, like “ . . . here, swallow this, and bring it back up . . . s-l-o-w.”

. . . hey, go listen to some Mickey Avalon . . . I’m going to get a bowl of Neapolitan ice cream and re-read some Henry Miller . . .

WONKA

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