Yeah shit I am pissed, I have to be alive everyday trying to pretend we all carve out some sort of unique human niche existence and I am riding BART to work or walking to get groceries or sitting in a coffee shop or just fucking picking humdingers out of my bumdigger and no matter where I go, no matter what I do (I see the same ho, 2pac, what, i know represent) I cannot stop seeing with their shit-faces buried in this motherfucking book. This book has become the Tamagotchi for sad, adults in need of hope for life-affirming middle age moments not involving diapers. Whoever this woman, Elizabeth Gilbert is, I wish she had never learned to write or read, because now her life is ruining mine.
I guess it's not that big a deal though, I've never read the book, maybe it's alright.
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