Stephen King’s legacy as a horror visionary is as far-reaching as it is undeniable, but it should be fair to say that he, like all of us, harbors a bag of bones in the closet. There was a time in his career when his addictions got the better of him and he ended up creating works that he can’t recall putting to paper. Is it possible that there exists a dumber, yet equally attractive author out there ready to dethrone the King? I got zonked out of my gourd last week and typed up my own book, but I don’t remember writing a word of this nonsense.
I honestly don’t know how it happened. One minute my lard-ass was sitting in front of a bag of frozen tater tots that I figured I could just warm up in my mouth, and cradling a martini made with some uppers and stuff that I scored off a buddy of mine. The next minute I was lying face-down in front of the printer, splayed out like I’d been hit by a minivan on the shoulder of Route 5, gradually becoming buried under a sea of paper and ink that I sure as hell am way too unemployed to replenish.
I somehow wrote a horror story when I was high on that green mile, typing away at the cool ranch Doritos-stained Bluetooth keyboard connected to my phone. And honestly? Reading what came out of the labyrinthian hedge maze of my mind terrified me, but, you know, in like a manly way. Not because it was scary or anything, but because it’s frightening just how much it fucking sucks.
Seriously, this thing is an incomprehensible mess of names and timelines, and even though it’s over 1,000 pages long, the ending still feels rushed. Also, tell me the truth: how many characters would you say are allowed to be writers in one story? Because I’m counting 17, and even though nine of them are women, they’re written only to be sex objects–and not even hot ones.
I could only make it to the part where I introduced the villain 50 pages in before I had to give up entirely. Honestly, a cobbler whose shoes compel people to walk onto active railways? Please. No one’ll be quaking in their boots over that.
I wish I could tuck this all away into a mental lockbox, but unfortunately, that’s impossible. Apparently, I already posted this garbage to Reddit, and people are obsessed with it; I keep getting DMs asking me things like, “What’s the deal with the 17-author cage match?” or, “SEQUEL WHEN?!”
Shit, I guess we’ll never know now, because I’m sober for good.