A CURSORY GLANCE AT A BOOK WE DIDN'T BOTHER TO READ
Good reader, I want to let you in on a little secret—I am very superficial. I like expensive foreign cars and expensive foreign women. When you reach the same social status as me (you probably never will), you are allowed to assess people based on their appearance. Hell, people even praise you for it.
The literature editor at The Union discovered that I was ABAP (as baller as possible) and asked me to judge the Flames of the Dragon by its cover. He thought I was new to this, so while he was explaining what he wanted, I was busy sitting there not respecting him and shit, mentally counting the number of breasts that Olivia Wilde has. She has two. Eventually, the editor stopped talking and I got to work.
The first thing I noticed about this lame ass cover is that Burt Reynolds is in it. How the mighty have fallen. Here we have one of the greatest stars of '80s, a guy who was probably done cocaine off of an Icelandic goddesses’ ass, posing in some World of Warcraft cosplay out!t. Has Burt Reynolds sunk so low he has been reduced to whoring himself out to a#ord some more mustache cream?
Without a doubt, seeing Burt Reynolds wielding a bitch-ass sword is one the saddest things I’ve ever seen. The only thing sadder is the name of the author.
Robin Wayne Bailey wrote this book. What kind of sick, evil set of parents would give their child a unisex name? This kid was destined to be beat up by schoolmates who were physically superior and more developed than he was. I assume the writer is a guy but I can’t be one hundred percent sure.
No wonder he’s writing about Dungeons & Dragons. This book is going to be an homage to all the days he spent in his basement rolling a multi-number die while eating Cheetos and jerking off to Xena. That’s fucking depressing.
I don’t want to read this book now. It’s ruining my vibes. I would rather read the story behind the story. The story about not getting laid and fantasizing about all the jocks he wished would perish off the face of Earth. That would be an epic of ancient Greek proportions.
I mean, by looking at this cover I know the guy will rescue the girl, most likely a princess. That is some banal, fairytale Super Mario shit. And look at the princess’ face, she is looking away. It looks like she doesn’t want to be rescued. She would rather hang out with the dragon.
And the dragon isn’t very intimidating. Looks like some lizard I can pick up at a pet store. Where’s the fire? Where are the Flames? The book is called Flames of the Dragon, isn’t it? Where’s the fear? Is Robin such a wimp that he is afraid of looking at a ferocious dragon?
But, you do know what the dragon is symbolic of, right? The penis. More speci!cally, the penises of the guys who kicked poor Robin’s sensitive ass. The jocks were probably hung and Robin was a smalldicked geek. And by this point in his life, he can’t even get his tiny penis up anymore.
He probably married some barfly who was the !rst girl who was ever nice to him and they have a crappy marriage together. His wife probably steals the small inheritance he received from his parents when they died and was forced to live in the first floor instead of the basement. Severely acned, limp dicked, Dungeons & Dragons playing, no sex having, unloved lifetime loser Robin Wayne Bailey. A true American zero.
Man, fuck this book cover. Prolonged viewing of this book cover will only make you miserable. If you see this book put it down immediately or burn it.
This is the vibe that Flames of the Dragon gives off.