Dear Mr. Ellis,
I just wrote a very long and excessively creepy blog entry to you. Then I decided that my awkward sarcasm may not translate particularly well over the internet, and that I don't want to go to jail for having a bad sense of humor. So.
You. Are. GOD. Or would be, if I were not a pagan atheist who makes up gods on the spot when cranky/amused, such as the Gods of Organs, or the God of People Farting In Elevators. But Crooked Little Vein is so good it might inspire me to start a religion based around the idea that you have amazing powers us mere mortals cannot comprehend. The fact that you also wrote Transmetropolitan simply confirms that you shall forever be immortalized in the Panthen Of Good Gods Of ElleVee's World. Or something.
So here's the deal: You keep writing. I will keep buying the things you write, and force everyone I know to buy Crooked Little Vein, including my octogenarian grandmother. And if reading it kills her, I will blame it on her inherent crankiness and bribe the police. So you will make money, and I will go to jail for lying to the police. And I will read your books in jail, in between knife fights and work-out sessions and doing laundry and trying not to get violated in the shower, which is apparently all that happens in jail, from what I've seen on Oz.
OK. I just wanted to say that your book is beautiful and funny and twisted and heartbreaking and honest and mesmerizing, and that I love every diseased word. It just came out much weirder and more unwholesome than I had intended.
In conclusion, Mr. Ellis, I love your work. You are a great writer, and I am happy to own this book. And the cover kicks ass. But I hope I never meet you, because I'll probably stutter and cry, and feel exceedingly uncomfortable about this very weird, caffeine-inspired entry.
I just reread this post, and nearly deleted it for a second time. But I really want to say something about this book, and this is as coherent as I can be after a long day at work, and hiding in my room from my psychotic roommate, who may be feasting on the broken souls of former American Idol contestants.
Crooked Little Vein is my favorite novel of the year. Hands down. And you, Mr. Ellis, have forever changed the way I look at Godzilla.
Love (from a safe, police-approved distance),
- LV
I just wrote a very long and excessively creepy blog entry to you. Then I decided that my awkward sarcasm may not translate particularly well over the internet, and that I don't want to go to jail for having a bad sense of humor. So.
You. Are. GOD. Or would be, if I were not a pagan atheist who makes up gods on the spot when cranky/amused, such as the Gods of Organs, or the God of People Farting In Elevators. But Crooked Little Vein is so good it might inspire me to start a religion based around the idea that you have amazing powers us mere mortals cannot comprehend. The fact that you also wrote Transmetropolitan simply confirms that you shall forever be immortalized in the Panthen Of Good Gods Of ElleVee's World. Or something.
So here's the deal: You keep writing. I will keep buying the things you write, and force everyone I know to buy Crooked Little Vein, including my octogenarian grandmother. And if reading it kills her, I will blame it on her inherent crankiness and bribe the police. So you will make money, and I will go to jail for lying to the police. And I will read your books in jail, in between knife fights and work-out sessions and doing laundry and trying not to get violated in the shower, which is apparently all that happens in jail, from what I've seen on Oz.
OK. I just wanted to say that your book is beautiful and funny and twisted and heartbreaking and honest and mesmerizing, and that I love every diseased word. It just came out much weirder and more unwholesome than I had intended.
In conclusion, Mr. Ellis, I love your work. You are a great writer, and I am happy to own this book. And the cover kicks ass. But I hope I never meet you, because I'll probably stutter and cry, and feel exceedingly uncomfortable about this very weird, caffeine-inspired entry.
I just reread this post, and nearly deleted it for a second time. But I really want to say something about this book, and this is as coherent as I can be after a long day at work, and hiding in my room from my psychotic roommate, who may be feasting on the broken souls of former American Idol contestants.
Crooked Little Vein is my favorite novel of the year. Hands down. And you, Mr. Ellis, have forever changed the way I look at Godzilla.
Love (from a safe, police-approved distance),
- LV
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