I seen a lot of people posting these things on these blogs and in these magazines about the American novel, and I figured if a bunch of motherfuckers are doing something, there's gotta be some money in it. So, I'm gonna start with my first essay about the health of the novel and American literature, drum up some V.C. (that's venture capital for all you dumbasses), and keep writing essays about the novel until I'm fucking wealthy. I got a list of targets. I got beef with all of them, or you know partial beef. Beef Lettuce and Tomato:
First up: Jonathan Franzen. I see you homey. I heard what you said about that Status and that Contract, man. Back in '02. I know a bitch you used to fuck with. She said you go both ways. Said you like to have the Status and the Contract. What's up, man? Do you fuck with that faggot Gaddis or don't you? Can't have it both ways, my nigga.
Now, I'm not a novelist. I haven't even written one novel, let alone a whole bunch of novels to warrant motherfuckers calling me a novelist. So I know some of y'all is like, then what kind of authority do you have to be polemicking, my nigga.
But I would just say to you, my nigga, by way of analogy: How is Marv Albert, that short unathletic cross-dressing motherfucker, able to comment-hate on the NBA? How come he can do a better job than Charles Barkley or Bill Walton, who played the damn game until they couldn't walk straight? I think niggas like Franzen and Ben Marcus, they walking like Gnarls Barkley cause they been novelizing too much. They can't peep the game with any kind of objectivity, because at the end of the day, they just trying to style on niggaz. I'm not saying Marv Albert's "better" at basketball. Everyone knows he can't ball. Same way I can't write a novel, but you know the motherfucker just sees the game better, more objectively, no dog in the fight. Unless that motherfucker's got money on the Bulls or something. Which I've had my suspicions about. "Jordan." Why he says it like that: "Jordan." All italicized and shit. Anyway, that's my analogy. Get at me.
Now, back to this polemic: I want to talk about Ulysses. I read that shit. That bitch Molly is a freak. Bloom got a little dick. But Bloom = Joyce. Meaning he had to wait 700 some odd pages to tell y'all he had a little dick because he was embarrassed. Because personally I wouldn't want to read no 800 page novel by some dude with a little dick. Blazes Boylan. That's the nigga with the big dick that Molly likes. I want to read a novel about that player ass nigga, Blazes. Call it Blaze. About a dude with a big dick who just be fucking bitches with a rose in his mouth. Straight up. Give me a thousand pages of that. That's what I took away from Ulysses, that the book had to be that long and full of different shit because Bloom's dick was little. It's like how motherfuckers who aren't packing gotta drive big Hummers to compensate. James Joyce my nigga though.
So, now that I've handled Ulysses and I've proved that I can talk about that shit, I can prove my point about the novel, and you can believe that whatever I say next is gonna be from the heart, objective, and unbiased:
D. Wallace can eat a bag of big Blazes Boylan fat dicks! That mothefucker stole all my ideas. Including suicide. That was supposed to be my shit. I want my money, you lonely ass mothefucker.
Let's see I handled Joyce, Franzen, Wallace. Who's left?
Oh, how could I fucking forget...
Zoom in on me, America, zoom in...
N + 1. Y'all didn't think I was gonna go there. Y'all thought I wasn't gonna stoop to that level. Think again, you quadratic equation ass mothefuckers. Kunkel, you better watch your fucking mouth, man. Talking all reckless on the blogs, posting comments and shit with your cynical ass. You always dropping mad names, B. Unsolicited names, B. What's with all the fucking names? When are your well-crafted, defensive battle raps gonna end. This nigga think he a novelist. Nigga only wrote one novel, set the motherfucker in New York, and I wasn't even in it. Not one little cameo. What happened to the Contract Franzen was talking about? What happened to the Contract? And while we're at it: what does it equal? Yeah, motherfucker, I'm talking to you, what does N + fucking 1 equal? Why you got me doing math in a literary polemic? Get the fuck out of here. I'm through thrashing these little ass niggas.
Yo, America. Straight up. That's just my first polemic about your novels. My next one is gonna drop soon as I sign this Status Contract with my nigga Franzen. Get at me.
Oh, Zaaaaaaaaaaaaadie. I see you, sweetheart.