The only important thing that could ever be important about a thing, no matter what that thing may be

Is apparently whether Lindy West liked it or not.

Please, don’t mistake me for a person who doesn’t acknowledge that all human beings are basically self centered, and writers are possibly the worst of all. I am not that person. I am not going to offer any evidence to support that statement, I’m going to expect you to take it at face value. In that respect, Lindy West and I are very similar people.

Now that we’ve established that writers are self important douchebags to begin with, and that I, a writer, am cognizant of that fact, let’s move on to why Lindy West is the douchiest of them all. Why it is that I have, in fact, declared her a scooby dooby douchebag.
Now, you’re thinking it’s because in every review she has ever written, she fails to actually review the thing she is supposedly reviewing. That’s a fair basis for a diagnosis of douche, to be sure, but that’s not really the biggest issue I have with her “work”.

You’re wracking your brains, trying to remember one interesting or unique feature of her writing right now, aren’t you, to help you figure out just what it is I might hate so much? If you are, you’ll probably dig up some vague recollection of fluffy worthless ideas, but no specifics. You might dredge up the fact that she has almost never written an entire review without saying the word shit at least twice. This isn’t annoying because I’m a prude who has no tolerance for obscenity, it’s annoying because goddammit, synonyms exist for a reason, and thesauri exist to alert you to which synonym might give you a helping hand whenever you’re tempted to just play with suffixes instead of developing a functional vocabulary.

Neither of these things are the primary reason that Lindy West needs to never touch any sort of writing utensil ever again.

Are you ready? Here it comes, the number one reason for this pile of invective and bile directed at a relatively tiny person:

Hold your breath, take a seat, make sure your pants are fastened tightly.

Lindy West desperately wants you to like her, and she needs you to think that she is clever, charming and just the kind of girl you want to date, fuck, hire or be best friends with.

That’s it. That’s what makes her absolutely insufferable. Read her review below. Then read the interview below that, by one Shane Mehling.

I think once you’ve done these two things, you’ll understand what I’m saying. It’s okay, actually, to not review the thing you’re supposed to be reviewing. I totally understand that the prospect of watching/listening to/reading some things is so heinous that the brain simply cannot be forced to endure it. I do. I really am a reasonable person, and I try to see situations from all possible angles.

However. If you’re going to choose the protection of your brain and senses over your job, please do so on a somewhat less than constant basis, and above all things, be good at it. Make us laugh. Make us forget that you haven’t done what you presumably get paid to do, at all. Stop being, in turns, ridiculously pleased with yourself and so insecure it drips off the page.

But most of all? Just stop annoying me. Because the most important thing about everything ever isn’t whether Lindy West enjoyed it. It’s whether I did. Obviously.

Lindy West, a randomly selected example used to illustrate just how pointless and lackluster a “review” can be.

Shane Mehling, delivering a Mortal Kombat style fatal blow to an album, also without ever actually reviewing it.

There’s nothing more to say, following that.

-tired pseudonym not indicating cowardice at all, no sir.

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Posted in Film
Tags: french, Lindy West, shane mehling, snakes on a plane, terrible