Cujo–Stephen King

Okay look Stephen King: You just fucking stop it. 

Why do I fucking read these books? Why do I seek out this terror? This book was so fucking stressful. 

And I’m going to spoil things, so you are warned. I have to spoil things because I need to channel this energy of rage this book gave me into a posting because I CAN’T BE ALONE WITH THESE FEELS.

Let me first tell you what I thought this book was about: 

A psychotic dog that eats people. Thought it was possessed or something. 

Here’s what the book is actually about: 

A sweetheart of a dog that gets poisoned when he chases a rabbit down into a cave that is full of sick bats. Rabies type virus ensues. 

Sweetheart dog starts to feel sick. We get to see into his thoughts as well (thanks a lot for THAT Stephen King.). We get to see it take him. Which is so fucking heartbreaking. Moreso than if that was happening to a human because dogs are little rays of light in an otherwise dark and stormy world.

How dare you come after a dog Stephen King!!! 

I’m going to be cursing him until the day I die. 

Anyway. There are a few players in this book that circle each other (and I DO forget their names so I’ll just describe them.) : 

One: Hapless husband who goes on business trip. Gets calls from wife nightly for updates on life. 

Two: Menacing Mechanic, owner of Cujo, altogether unsavoury asshat.

Three: Mechanics wife and son, who leave for a vacation with her sister. Son is the true owner/friend of Cujo. Kid is a sensitive sweetheart, wife wants out of her life. 

Four: Neighbour and only friend of menacing mechanic. 

Five: The cops. More or less useless. 

Six (and most important.): Hapless Husbands wife and four year old son. Wife needs car fixed, is sent to mechanic by husband. Car breaks down there. 

And hell fucking breaks loose. 

Now here’s how things went: Dog got sick. Dog turns slowly but surely. He eats mechanics friend. Then Mechanic goes to visit his friend because they are supposed to go fishing or something because the wife and kid went on vacation. Mechanic gets eaten at some point. 

Hapless husband forgets to check in with wife and son and after DAYS finally notices she hasn’t been calling either and calls the cops. 

Mechanics wife and kid are having a grand old time, although the kid just KNOWS something is wrong with Cujo even from afar.

Cut to: The hapless families wife and son are packing up snacks and whatnot for a small drive to the mechanics out of town just in case the car breaks down on the side of the road before they can even get to the farmhouse. 

And this is stressful for me because at the time I was looking after my four year old cousin and I couldn’t even fathom how a mother wouldn’t do EVERYTHING in her power to save her fucking kid.

The heat rose to excruciating heights. Kid is dehydrated, dog keeps attacking car, but is getting more and more vicious by the hour. They are both dying. Everyone is dying. The mom knows there’s a phone in the house, knows the dog is in the garage in the cold. She tries once to run for the phone…but the dog gets her leg, then she gets stuck back in the car.

Eventually all the things collide: someone at the police station finally believed the dad that his family was missing and they sent a cop to go look around. Cop sees note that the wife left saying where she was going. (A note she wrote for no one by the way. She just “had a feeling”.) 

Cop gets eaten. 

Wife and kid still. stuck. in. the. fucking. car. The kid is delirious. Like straight up heat stroke, had seizure, etc. 

Eventually the cops notice that their other cop didn’t come back. 

And everything explodes.

Hapless dad comes back before the cops get there, he finds the wife who (in her delirium and idiocy) goes for a bat instead of the cops rifle/radio, and is now beating the dog to death. 

Cops swarm, wife thinks husband saved her (which was annoying), and guess the fuck what. 

THE KID FUCKING DIES ANYWAY.

After all that. I fucking threw the book. 

How dare that end in the death of that sweet little four year old.

Fucking Stephen King. A plague on both your houses.

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Carolina Isle–Jude Deveraux

After some in depth reading of a YA series, I need some serious adult time.

I was a moron to pick this book of all the Jude Deverauxs on my shelf.

The book itself sounds like it’s going to be fun, two cousins meet, they realize they look practically identical and decide to switch places in life since one is an overworked lady with a tyrant for a boss and the other is an underworked over life-styled princess with an overbearing mother.

What’s weird was that the promised switcheroo was bland and didn’t play out in even a quarter of the book.

This book would’ve been better if she ditched the romance and just made it into a murder mystery because it was creepier than a bunch of her others and probably would’ve played out better to an audience. (Not her general one since she writes romances.)

Anyway, not my favourite, probably the worst of her books that I’ve read, but hey, everyone writes terrible books every once in awhile, even the greats.

I’m looking at you Stephen King.

…I don’t know why I just called him out. Mea culpa. Mea culpa.

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Sick as a Dog, But Not as Cute.

I’ve been so sick that I could barely get out of bed even though my dog was crying outside my door to be my friend. Migraines, cold, fever, you name it, I’ve had it this week. Clearly I was in some need of rest and relaxation. Unfortunately, I had just moved home and needed to get organized and whatnot.

So I’ve been fighting my OCD as well as my actual illness. The only semi-solace I got was in the laughter I got because of my fever hair. It was so messed up it was amazing, I needed to post them on Facebook.

Lucky for you, my little cousin was around to help me sort through some stuff and guess what I found?

Poetry. Pure, tweenage, distraught, poetry. Oh yeah. This is happening. AND I took a much needed walk into some fresh air to a thrift store today and bought some Stephen King books for 25 cents a pop, including the new Joyland! Whoohoo!

Here are some pictures of my week:

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Pretty ginger beauty right? These “selfies”, contrary to what is happening on Facebook lately, are not for breast cancer awareness or to show off my impeccable make up-less face to raise money. This is me being just plain old laughing at myself because I look insane.

What’s next? Oh right, I started a store on Etsy. There will be new stuff to come on there, but if you are looking for some dish clothes and pillowcases, feel free to order some! Look for DerangedLibrarian and you’ll find me (once again looking like a dork).

Are you ready? Are you now ready for our new segment: Shitty Things I Wrote In High School.

Please note I was insanely melodramatic when it came to poetry. Also. Go right ahead and judge me haha.

“Falling to Pieces:

Falling to pieces

All by myself

Falling to pieces

I put my heart on a shelf,

Try not to look at it as you walk by

Try not to look as I sit and cry.

Falling to pieces

All by myself. ”

A poem, by 14 year old, Allison Abate, DDS.

You’re welcome. Please feel free to submit your own shitty poetry or writing. Hell, if you have paintings, diary entries, or short films that you are still laughing at your seriousness over the topic, send them on over!

Constant vigilance.

The Tommyknockers–Stephen King


–>

Literally: Scared my pants off.

Figuratively: Stressed me out hardcore.

Uh, scratch that, reverse it. This book was not as stress inducing as Misery, didn’t have me under the covers crying like a little bitch, but it DID freak me the hell out so much that I had nightmares.

So I guess I’m still a little bitch. But that’s okay, because I really really needed to read this book and tuck it away in my memory for future reference when I need to call up a disturbed scene in a book.

IE: The whole last half of the book.

The plot is that a western writer lives in the forest alone with her dog that is getting old and going blind in one eye. One day, she trips over this metal thing in the woods. Decides to dig it out. Realizes she’s been digging for a seriously long time and has a period of epic proportions. Scary proportions. Now if you are a girl, you understand that this is petrifying and a serious sign that something is wrong in your ‘verse. If you are a guy, you probably think ‘Oh shit, that’s not good, get that girl to a hospital’. And we thank you for that, we really do. Haha.

But what do you really do when there are alien life forms a comin’ and you can feel in your bones that your best friend is in deep shit? Well, if you’re Jim Gardner, you get wasted and then try to die.

OR you go and help. Either one, really.

I loved this book in that it was exactly what I was looking for. Good writing, good plot, surprising as fuck, and scary because it rolls a handful of my nightmares into one and glorious stressfest.

And I don’t like to be scared from books, so you know I really mean it.

Book Hunting

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I decided to take myself on a little artist date today and buys some books and supplies for making things later this week! Giant mess on my bed (and ignore my clean laundry pile) there’s some yarn for wash clothes, rocks for painting, crayons because I effin’ love colouring, and I bought a cactus just because! (I haven’t decided on a name yet, but you’ll know when I do. And yes. That’s a pumpkin scone in that paper bag. Mmmm…) Yay to books that are going to scare the pants off me before halloween! That’s Jeffrey Deaver book I found at the 18th and Ontario little outside library/chessboard where you can exchange books with strangers! I love it so much! I try to drop off books at least once a week since I discovered it!

Misery–Stephen King

I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long for this review. I put things in order of how I read them and I’m not always up to date just because I basically have a backlog of things I read in case of such books like Game of Thrones where it takes me weeks and weeks to read them. This way you’ll always have something from me to you to read about.

            But now! MISERY.

You read my reactions, you know that this book scared the hell out of me. Not in a scary like terrified for my own life kind of way, but more like stressing me the hell out. I FELT so much with this book that I barely got through it because I kept having to put it down and just go “Aaaahhh fuuuuuuuck.” Every other page. I was so convinced that he wasn’t going to get out of there! And at every turn Annie had him pinned down or another scheme to torture him.

I just can’t believe that this was in a persons head. I want to find Stephen King and give him a bear hug because this guy just…just…you know? Just. *exhales *

Great writing, great story, great everything and its mom.

Don’t read it alone.

Oh right, the plot. I should probably tell you a little more about that in case you haven’t read it.

    Paul Sheldon is a famous writer who gets into a car accident, then Annie finds him, sticks him in her trunk before anyone finds him, and “nurses” him back to health while he writes a new Misery book because she didn’t like how he had ended his series. Gets him addicted to painkillers.

Every writers worst nightmare is a crazed fan who would torture them with their own work. Annie takes it to the next degree where she leaves Paul with his busted up legs and pumps him full of drugs and then does things to torture him into writing.

Again, don’t read it alone.

To Say a Few Words…

Here’s Paul Sheldon under serious duress:

He had heard the same thing time and time again. It came in different wrappers, but it always boiled down to the same thing: I remember getting into the car, and I remember waking up here. Everything else is a blank.

Why couldn’t that happen to him?

Because writers remember everything, Paul. Especially the hurts. Strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he’ll tell you the story of each small one. From the big ones you get novels, not amnesia. A little talent is a nice thing to have if you want to be a writer, but the only real requirement is that ability to remember the story of every scar.

Art consists of the persistence of memory.

Who had said that? Thomas Szasz? William Faulkner? Cyndi Lauper?

-Paul Sheldon, Misery, Stephen King