Why I Hate Dave Eggars

Why I Hate Dave Eggars

Jealousy. Envy. The green monster. I covet what Dave Eggars has. Deeply. Profoundly. Obsessively. What a sick poisonous fever that's grotesquely ugly and massively toxic. Dave Eggars makes the bile boil in my soul. Why do I hate Dave Eggars? Let me count the ways. For his fame. The adoration. The money. The charity for which people respect and love him. The pirate store he owns. The fans who show up in droves whenever he reads his intensely overrated pseudo-hipster shit. (Can you feel the bitterness?) The literary magazine that humans actually buy and read. (Although I couldn't even make it through the edition of his mag McSweeney's that I stole ((you think I'm going to give that smug Fokker one thin dime of my money? HELL NO!!!)) - seemed like a bunch of fancy-assed pantwaists posing and congratulating themselves for how incredibly clever they are - pretentious is the word I believe). The fact that the Bay Area media of fallen all over him. "DAVE EGGARS TAKES A GOOD SHIT!" (details on page 12). I want all that. And I don't have it.

And the thing is, I actually gave the guy a chance. I read his best-selling memoir, "An Overrated Work of Staggering Stupidity", with an open mind. While I thought the first bit was fairly decent, after about page 100 the book blows chunks and sucks ass. He even says so in the intro. It got so bad that on approximately page 125 I actually threw the book violently across the room, and subsequently used it as kindling to start a fire in my hearth this winter. And people (read idiots) still bought it to the tune of several hundred thousand copies.