Paradise, Fuck Yeah

by thoughtsonthedead

Recently posted by the New York Times on the innertubes is this correctly glowing review of Chris Jennings’ new book Paradise Now: The Story of American Utopianism (available at Amazon’s website or at one of the 300 actual physical Amazon bookstores that are opening because Capitalism has entered its Silly Era), and the author, Kirk Davis Swinehart, is both complimentary and well-named.

The review is, alas, not quite as positive as it could be; I’ve taken it upon myself to spruce it up.

Paradise Now, Perfection Now-er


All of us should thank the good Lord (Jesus Christ) for Chris Jennings, a writer living in Northern California. His first book, Paradise Now: The Story of American Utopianism, is a debut worthy of Fitzgerald, or the Sex Pistols. It is epochal: will we one day refer to years as BPN and APN (Before Paradise Now, etc.)?

Perhaps. We should, probably.

Liquid language pours from Mr. Jennings as though he were made of dictionaries, and it was very hot out. His mastery is such that hence, the rules of grammar shall be condensed to this: Do what Mr. Jennings does. He places commas like a syntactical sniper, and employs the same care with his semi-colons as a semi-proctologist would.

It should also be noted that Mr. Jennings’ work is not just some made-up horseshit. The Times has noticed an increase in made-up horseshit recently, some of it originating from our offices, but Paradise Now actually happened: it’s non-fiction, and there’s all sorts of rules about that. It entails digging through old books, and writing things on 3×5 cards, and reading old letters. This reviewer has to be honest: it sounds dreadful. This reviewer would last twenty minutes in the library before befriending a strange child and playing Tag in the stacks. This reviewer would probably be forced to return the advance, and leave the library.

This reviewer digresses.

Those who do not purchase this book will get boils on their tushees. Big ones, oozing; they will not respond to topical treatments. Locusts may or may not eat your crop; rodents may or may not eat your seed; cows may or may not eat your face. (The release of Paradise Now: The Story of American Utopianism caused cows to start eating faces. Like I’ve been saying: this is a very important book.)

If you sleep with the book under your pillow, you’ll have nothing but good dreams; a copy buried in the yard will bring money.

Things Paradise Now Is Better Than:

  • All other books.
  • Including Bill O’Reilly’s Killing series.
  • Almost all theme parks.
  • Every carnival.
  • Furniture.
  • Certain time zones. (Looking at you, Central.)
  • Stylized violence.
  • All gourds.
  • The evolutionary decision to have regular dongs instead of turtle dongs. (Look it up!)

Okay, let’s stop this.

What did I do?

Two things, honestly: 1, you’re not taking this seriously.

Who? Me? Noooo. How dare you. I protest.

And 2, once again you haven’t read the book.

I have to ease into these things.


You said there were two things. You’re moving the goalposts here, man.

please don’t bring up turtle dongs when you’re talking about Chris’ book.

I know for a fact he enjoys those videos.

Not the point. Stop being passive-aggressive.

Should I just be aggressive? I could call him in the middle of the night screaming obscenities.


What about passive? I could just, like: lay on top of him.

Just dead weight on top of the guy? Randomly?


It’s kinda funny.

It is.

You shouldn’t do it.

I can’t promise anything.



Little jealous? How many people you know written books?

Around a dozen. A large number.

How’s that make ya feel?

Like a balloon animal in the shape of a giraffe, but the balloons are filled with hot bile.

You have very precise emotions.

It’s a gift.

Go read the book.


I do, actually.

Right, yeah.