Who Writes This Chick-Lit BS?

If you’re anything like me, I’ll bet the romantic drivel that drives the chick-lit genre makes you want to puke your guts out. Crap like this: “I kissed her neck and shoulders. I felt faint with loving her so much.” Think about it. This dude actually got freakin’ faint from a kiss to the neck? What kind of man would (#1) get faint and (#2) admit it? I’ll tell you what kind – a pantywaisted wuss who’s never bagged a deer or belched in church.

Sad to say this candy-ass writer didn’t stop there. He piled on with these pathetic whines: “Why, darling, I don't live at all when I'm not with you…You're my religion. You're all I've got.” All I’ve got my ass. Real men got themselves a set of balls that make damn sure they live life to the fullest every single minute of every single day.

This prima-donna auteur couldn’t get enough of his own overwrought voice, and he put me over the edge with this trio of hackneyed lovey-dovey phrases:

• “I'd be glad to kiss you if you don't mind.” (Real men don’t ask.)
• “When I saw her I was in love with her. Everything turned over inside of me. She looked toward the door, saw there was no one, then she sat on the side of the bed and leaned over and kissed me.” (Real men throw our women onto the bed.)
• “Keep right on lying to me. That's what I want you to do.” (Real men do the lying.)

I was pretty much on the verge of barfing through the whole damn book, and when I finished there was one insipid line that kept running through my head like a Taylor Swift lyric: “We were never lonely and never afraid when we were together.” Gag me with a maggot.

The good news is I can now toss this waste of ink and paper into the trash. I’ll also add this author – some milquetoast by the name of Ernest Hemingway – to my Never-Ever-Read-Again list and say good riddance to A Farewell to Arms.