Stinkers! America's Worst Self-Published Books. Michael N. Marcus
make me angrier than that is if there is some fool somewhere who actually gave this person money.
(8) I honestly don't know if this is a joke or not... Someone help me out here? Is this a gag, or what?
(9)There have been many incisive commentaries written here. But, curiously, they all omit the sine qua non of Ms. Strong-Anderson's talents as a writer: her mastery of both definite and indefinite articles. In the title itself, we, the readers, are told that Birth Control is Sinful in *the* Christian Marriages (emphasis mine). Not "in Christian Marriages", "in many Christian Marriages", or even "in most Christian Marriages". No, none of that for Strong-Anderson, who is clear that it is happening in THE Christian Marriages. We are naturally led to ask: yes, but WHICH?
That seemingly wee question leads the reader on a journey through prophylaxis, fertilization, betrothal, implantation (or lack thereof), larceny, theology, and much else besides. Including subtle omissions -- and commissions -- of English articles of various sorts. If you've ever wondered, even in your quietest moments, exactly in which Christian Marriages birth control is robbing God of priesthood children, this book was written with you in mind.
I bought your reasonably priced book, and it has been a gift from God. My children were fornicating unsuccessfully for years, but once they read this piece of magic they stopped instantly. They didn't even need to open it - the cover alone scared them back to the straight and narrow. Now the priesthood has two new children to fornicate with. That is what she meant, right?
I love you MS. ELIYZABETH YANNE STRONG and I DESIRE MUCH to make PRIESTHOOD CHILDREN with you. Christian power forever!
(10) I love this book. It has so many uses.
In the summer I can use it to hold the door open and in the winter to hold it closed. It's is weighty enough that I can use it to press my trousers, when placed in the window next to my front door, it scares off the door-to-door salesmen, thanks to the cheery faced Medusa on the cover.
If I'm hot I can fan myself and if cold, I can burn it. At the bargain price of $135 I can resell it and buy something I might want to read.
The inside pages can be removed to make into a paper mache mask, and the cover is good for crushing spiders.
As for the book's message? If I looked like the woman on the cover, I would never have to worry about birth control ever again.
Sarah Palin personally recommended this book to me. She gave it five stars. One for each kid.
(11) There are times in your life when you encounter the equivalent of a train wreck. You find something that is so excruciatingly awful that it transcends that awfulness and becomes a source of amusement and, dare I say, entertainment. Seeing 'Plan Nine From Outer Space," or its modern counterpart, "Battlefield Earth," has this effect. At first you are shocked at the awfulness of the thing. Then you question it, is this a put-on, some sort of gag? Finally you realize that it really is just as supremely horrible as you had first suspected, but knowing this, you settle in for the long haul, reveling in the sheer masochistic joy that only comes from exposure to the sublimely asinine. Such is the case with this rare tome. Here is a woman who is clearly several bananas short of a fruit cocktail, a woman with a world-view that has only a passing acquaintance with reality, a woman who feels with absolute certainty that she is the designated mouthpiece of an almighty deity. She has taken one small part of her twisted world-view and took the time to write a book on the subject. She sums up the book entirely in its title, and yet feels the necessity to devote hours and perhaps days to pointless reiteration and abstraction of these concepts. Having completed this herculean task, she takes this text file, sans correction, and has the audacity to market it for one hundred thirty five freaking dollars! One can only marvel at the sheer egotism of this woman, to not only be God's appointed mouthpiece, but also to expect to profit so outrageously from God's given word. This is to the printed word what John Daker is to song. It is every bit as much a lunatic rant as the works of the late Francis E. Dec, but not nearly as entertaining, and with a much heftier price tag. It is also, in its way, terribly cliched, since Francis E. Dec and many others have already paved the way with their pioneer works of caps-locked, arbitrarily-punctuated, randomly portmanteaued babblings. This is just a more current example, and not nearly as much fun.
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