Generally speaking, I consider myself a fan of the word ‘shit’ and find it an English octopus with all the connections it can establish when interleaved in sentences and discussions. But that’s about it. One can be as creative as one wants using the word ‘shit’ in small talks and slang conversations. It should not be so much prostituted in writing, even when the goddamn book is narrated by a sixteen-year-old. It gets fucking irritating to read the word ‘shit’ over five times on a single sheet of paper.

I made it till page 75 of the book when Austin Szerba, the keen protagonist who doesn’t miss out on anything, communicates an almost life-changing revelation. I’ll quote it below in hopes it doesn’t permanently damage my brain tissues or yours:

“History never tells about people taking shits. I can’t for a moment believe that guys like Theodor Roosevelt or Winston Churchill never took a shit. History always abbreviates out the shit-taking and excess consonants.”

To sum it up, the main character is either horny, confused about his sexuality, or nagging about his great-great-great grandfather’s name which got shorten from Krzys Szczerba to Chris Szerba. And why wouldn’t it? I kept looking back and forth to type this thing right. I bet the author doesn’t even know how to spell it. I even bet his cat fondled the laptop keyboard and made that awful stack of consonants.

Yeah, I can’t go through another 300+ pages of this. It seriously feels like being inside a rectum, with nothing but ‘shit’ ahead.