Wonkette
Jay McInerney used to love dating crazy broads and doing a lot of blow, back in the 80s, when it was considered un-American not to walk around with a cocaine mustache and a persistent case of chlamydia. During these halcyon days, he dated the craziest broad of them all: Lisa Druck, who went on to change her name to “Rielle Hunter” and attain universal revile for her terrible use of fonts in John Edwards’ painfully embarrassing presidential campaign “Webisodes.” Now Jay McInerney’s publisher is reprinting a book he wrote in 1988 called Story of My Life, which is told from the point of view of a Hunter-like character, so now you too can read second-person descriptions of what it is like to have furtive futuristic time-machine sex with John Edwards in his Dirt Palace. Hint: the name he calls out in the throes of passion is his own. [Baltimore Sun]
Fuck the re-print… we want a sequel!
I need to start writing books about the sluts i hooked up with in the DC area. Just sit back and wait for the payoffs, yee-ah!
Good ol’ Jay… about as relevant as sipping on a Bartles n’ Jaymes wine cooler while wearing slinky bracelets. I know they’re going to make a comeback in 2011, so save it.
I was beginning to worry that only the Enquirer - the greatest news source of our time - would make a profit off of this. Whew!
Damn. The 80s are just like Herpes. Comes back to haunt you in an outbreak when you least expect it.
later in life you will do blow off John Edward’s knob and ruin his life. Big up yourself.
Narcissism was as common as hair gel in the ’80s.
I call out my own name in the heat of passion too. Of course, usually I am the only one there.
I think I’ll pass on this work of fiction which includes a character based on the ‘drug-addled’, idiotic participant in a boring scandal with a political has-been.
Bright Lights, Big Booty.
Christ on a biscuit — if we’re letting John Edwards and Jay McInernay dictate our nostalgia trends, I’m going back to being oblivious. And by “going back to,” I mean “continuing to be,” only more so.
“The Literature of the 1980s” is one of those phrases that initially seems to make sense.
But if you think about it for a half sec, you realize it’s more like “military music” or “military intelligence” or “President Bush.”
You know, one of those contradictory thingies . . . an “oxycotain,” I think they call them.
I am am curious to see if Lisa Druck cruised the bars of New York in the 80s asking men if their wives were Cancers.
If it was written in the 80’s about future sex, wouldn’t it mostly just be about the Orgasmatron in the Woody Allen film Sleeper??
Think how proud the publishing industry must be of itself at moments like this: to descend from publishing Wolfe, Faulkner and Hemingway to re-publishing solipsistic, nihilist dreck like MacInerny is contemptible.
Not that anyone reads books anymore anyway, so who cares? Is “Lost” on tonight?
You’re not the kind of person who would be reading books like these.
Will Elizabeth get a copy?
Synopsis
In his new novel John Edwards revisits the nocturnal New York of 2006. Alison Poole, 40 going on 42, is a ‘the-bloom-is-off-the-rose’ wack-job and social parasite already fatally well versed in hopping onto just about any hairy pole, making middle age lust seem pathetic and abusing the Gladwellian term videographer. As Alison races toward a planned pregnancy, Edwards gives us a hilarious yet oddly touching portrait of a postmodern Hedda Gabler coming to terms with a world in which everything is political and nothing really matters.
Good lord, those Edwards webisodes look like cheap point-of-view porn flicks. I keep waiting for Hunter to try to convince Edwards that he’s auditioning for a sexy model shoot so it’s OK for him to take off his shirt.
Joehoya: “Plane Truths” remake porn version coming soon in DVD. Wheels up indeed.
[vomit]
Obama say RELAX.
Masterful use of the Courier-New Font, also known as “I don’t have enough words in my book report so I’m switching to this wide-as-fuck-font to make up for it.”
Where the hell is my copy of that Spy magazine parody of Cliff’s Notes on the ’80s novel? Oh, it was devastating. What a chump I was for loaning it out…much better than reading the real thing, all of that Bennington literary mulch now insulating our nation’s thrift shops–