Sometimes I think you ain't got the sense God gave a lemon!

So lately I’ve been enjoying the Barnes and Noble eReader on my iPhone. I have a long commute, and a high tolerance for crap novels, so I’ve been working my way through the eBooks they offer for free. The other day, having grown tired of Harlequin romance novels (see note re: high tolerance for crap) (and also, their “military-themed” romances with the tagline “The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell,” always makes me giggle out loud.), I downloaded a book that didn’t have a synopsis, but that I was pretty sure wasn’t a cheesy romance novel.

I was right. It wasn’t. What it was, was gay erotica. Now, I have no problems with gay erotica per se, but it doesn’t do much for me. Also, I felt a little weird reading it on the train. Still, the worst thing about it was the GRAMMAR. I am shocked—SHOCKED—at the low grammatical standards for pulp gay erotica. Also, dialogue exchanges such as this made me want to pluck out my eyelashes:

“Thanks Mr. Austin You da man”.

“Nah, you da man Pauli” I said pointing at him as I walked in to the bar.

That’s exactly as it’s written – I take no credit for the grammar or content of the above. It made the Harlequins look like Tolstoy.

On an entirely different note, who decided that the years 2000-2009 would be dubbed the “Aughts”? As if I didn’t feel old enough already, I have to tell the story of my twenties sounding like a grumpy old fart??

**Gross throat-clearing noise**

“Back in Aught-Four,”

**adjusts ratty bathrobe**

“Janet Jackson sang a ditty with that Timberlake feller during the SuperBowl…”

**shuffles slippers**

See what I mean?