Tuesdays With Racism [Reviews]

In Gupter Puncher/Oli Johns on October 8, 2010 at 1:44 pm

These reviews are a little late.

When you’re a nothing magazine made on Microsoft Word and free and read by five people [three of them me], it takes time for the publishing people to send stuff to you.

I don’t know when ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’ came out, but I’m pretty sure it’s not upcoming. And I’m pretty sure this review is-…

Actually I don’t really have much to write about it. Not my fault though…I think there were some pages missing.

There’s a picture of Hank Azaria on the front cover…huh?

They’ve made a movie already?

I don’t know. I guess they wouldn’t just randomly select Hank to pose on the-…

Fuck it, let’s get on with the review. But not really a review, more a question and answer session.

Q: What’s it all about?

A: Every Tuesday some guy [Hank?] gets patronised by some old guy [Morrie?]


That review wasn’t actually written by me. It was written by Flannery Plath. Can’t think of much else to add to it.

Are old people wise?










Oh, look, I’ve just found one of the missing pages.

For ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’, I mean.

Let’s see what it says:

Hank Azaria walked into the room and saw the old man drooling in the corner, wearing nothing but pants and an Oswald Mosley t-shirt.

It’s Tuesday, Morrie!”

Shut up and sit down.”

Hank bowed and sat down.

Look at this, boy…” Morrie jabbed at the TV screen, which was showing the old Kurosawa classic ‘Ran’. “Fucking Japs killing and making trouble again. Goddamnit.”

Ah, I’ve seen this before. It’s Kurosawa, right?”

What do you know? Huh?”

Sorry, Morrie. I was just saying that-…”

What? What’s that?”

I said…I know this film. I’ve seen it bef-…”

I said shut up. Just shut up and listen to me for a minute.”

Okay, Morrie.”

These Japs…Goddamnit, let me tell you about the Japs, boy. Fucking nasty pieces of work they are. Real nasty. Saw it myself, just a few years back. Savages…them killing babies, them killing mothers, them killing…Goddamnit, them killing everything that could be killed.”

But…Morrie, wasn’t that a long time ago? Like, fifty or-…”

You know nothing! Nothing, you hear me. Nothing about nothing.” Morrie jabbed a finger Hank’s way. A small, pathetic little finger. “Japs are Japs and they’ll always be Japs. You think they’re any different nowadays? Bullshit, different now…they’re still there…them killing babies, them killing mothers…hey, you listening to me, shit head? Open up your fucking ears…them killing everything they can…everything you can kill.”

Err…Morrie, I went to Tokyo last year and-…”

Shut up and sit down!”

I am sitting do-…”

You went to Tokyo last year, huh? Well, fuck you, I went there…I’ve been there too, boy. And let me tell you something…let me tell you…they’re doing it, they’re still doing it, but…but they hide it. They hide it, you see? They hide the killing and the babies and….and them killing the mothers and everything, they hide it. They won’t be showing you any of that, but you can bet your last dollar they’re doing it.”

Hank sat still, unsure what to say. It wasn’t like this last Tuesday.

Your last fucking dollar, boy.”

Wow, what a page.

I wonder if I should add it to my review?

I guess it’s not really fair. I mean, it wasn’t actually in the book they sent me. It was kind of tucked away in the side of the package.

Maybe they put it there by accident?

Wait, what’s this?

The post just came [again] and it’s another book.

I’ve never heard of this one. ‘The Canal’ by some guy called Lee Rourke.

Okay, I’ve just read the blurb on the back and it says…’Lee Rourke is a brutalist.’


That doesn’t sound very nice.

Does it mean he’s gonna hurt people? Kill them?

Can you kill a canal?

No, I’m judging him. I’m judging Lee Rourke the brutalist without reading a word of his book. I should go do that now and then come back and tell you about it.

Okay, I’m done. And I checked up on Brutalism too. Aparently, it’s a literary movement…a literary movement founded by some guys in England I’ve never heard of.

What is Brutalism?

‘We want to be very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very honest.’ They say. The writers from England, I mean.

Sounds nice.

Oh, and one of their books is called ‘The Book of Fuck.’

Maybe I should read that too?

Okay, I’ve now read both ‘The Canal’ by brutalist Lee Rourke and ‘The Book of Fuck’ by…I can’t remember his name.

Never mind, lets’ review.

First up, ‘The Canal’ by brutalist Lee Rourke.

Q: What’s it all about?

A: A guy skips work and goes to sit by a canal to look at stuff. The eponymous Canal does nothing.

Q: Any good?

A: The Canal does nothing.

Strike one for brutalism.

But…I guess some books do this kind of thing…have characters looking at stuff and not doing anything…like Samuel Beckett…

I’m being too hard on this, maybe?

Give it a couple of days, see if I feel any different…

Okay, it’s been a couple of minutes and, honestly [brutalistically?], I don’t feel any different.



I feel kind of bad for treating the brutalist Lee Rourke this way.

I mean, he’s trying his best.

Excerpt from ‘The Canal’:

‘He sat down on the bench and became still. He looked down and considered what it was he was sitting on. A Bench. Yes, a bench. More than a bench? No, simply, realistically, objectively, unemotionally, a bench. What is the life of a bench, he wondered? But there was no answer to his questioning of the thing he sat on, the thing he called, simply, playfully, pragmatically, a bench. He looked up and around. My God, a Canal. Yes, a canal. More than a canal? No, no, no, no, no. It was simply, triumphantly, dirtily, transcendentally, a bench. No, a canal. Not a bench. The bench was beneath him, being a bench, simply, convincingly. The canal on the other hand was before him, being a canal. Canal shaped. Canal themed. C-a-n-a-l. Oh Canal, what can I say of thou? You are dirty and watery and there is dirt inside you, and on top of the dirt there is water, but not ordinary water, dirty water. Water with dirt. Water becoming dirt. Dirt terrorizing water. Dirt uniting with water and becoming ‘watirt’. Is it the truth? Oh, dirt, water, canal…what is it that you are?’

That was the first paragraph.

The second one talks about the path. The third goes back to the bench.

I didn’t get much further.

Fuck it, let’s try the other one. The Book of Fuck:

Q: What’s it all about?

A: A guy likes to fuck. He doesn’t write a book about it, he is the book.

Q: Why, oh, why does he like to fuck?

A: The Power!

Q: Is Neil LaBute real?

A: No, he has been erased from history to make way for the book of fuck.

Q: Is it an important book?

A: The power!!

Note: I have not read the Book of Fuck. But this review is still valid.

Okay, that’s all the books I have this week.

I feel like we’ve covered quite a lot though. We’ve done popular stuff, and literary stuff. And that’s enough to keep us all going, I think.

Shame about brutalism though. It did sound nice.


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