The Unbelievable Hamlet Discovery by David Crystal
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Hardly hysterical, hypothetically hilarious, hyperbolically humorous - harmless, however.

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The View from the Cheap Seats: Selected Nonfiction by Neil Gaiman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Wow, I had no idea Neil Gaiman had written that many introductions and speeches.
Nor did I know that he thought his stories have genders (and apparently that I am sort of sexist, having read only his little-boy's book, Neverwhere, and his male novel, American Gods; I'm not counting Sandman, some volumes are male, others female).

I thought Gaiman had been celebrated a little too much in his lifetime compared to his work volume, but this non-fiction collection, besides being a name-dropping parade itself, is the proof why.

This man loves books, libraries, storytellers and their stories and speaks no ill of anyone. Period.
He has such a love for the genre that moved him originally to write stories, that he's made me fill three airsickness bags, back and front, with notes and references of books, authors, comics and artists I want to follow and find out more about. He made me chuckle one too many times and he moved me to tears just by talking with such fondness about people I haven't heard before.

This non-fiction collection will make you all wooshy woobly warm and fuzzy inside for the things Neil Gaiman loves. I don't know if I'll be an avid fantasy/science fiction reader after this, but sure I'll give it an honest try. And I'll look up his movie suggestions and music recommendations. And I'll try to move myself closer to whatever is the mountain that I'd like to see its top. And I'll try to make good art.

Neil Gaiman has met giants and has walked among them, and, well, you can say, after all is said done, he is rightfully one of them.

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Tales of the Unexpected by Roald Dahl
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I don't think I'll forget The Landlady, The Man from the South, The Way up to Heaven, William and Mary, or Skin anytime soon. I'm grateful to all those who insisted I had to have a crack at Dahl's short stories. The Great Switcheroo's plot was funny and bizarre and oopsy-daisy-awkward, but this collection flirts with macabre, grotesque, and even gore, with a masterful, playful, brilliant way. I'm absolutely in love with his creations.

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Through the fingers of boredom that support my forehead
(What a wonderful sight to behold)
A hopeless rain droplet falls on my window (and begs for attention)
Its movement narrates a story untold.

I squint and on its reflective course I see
an immovable mass of rigid self-righteousness,
an unstoppable force of fluid unhappiness,
perplexed with the molecules that comprise it, unable to just be.

And so it floats, nameless and empty, forged to defy the worlds,
it stares and casts its judging glares through the spider veils it whirls.

And it drifts with the drafts that define its days, and climbs on made-up thrones
clad in golem’s skin, over werewolf’s rage, over vampire’s lusts, dreams and bones.

It curses the rivers for flowing, it curses the surface that moves,
It curses the birds and the lizards, it curses the kingdom’s rules.

Every day it drops on life’s glass window,
Every move in the spotlight, demented hero.
Every step and another chance to fail;
every failure another dramatic performance,
in self-pity it chases its tail.

On its throne, before its downfall, at the end of the production,
The tragic droplet mourns again –steamy amoeba’s reproduction–
and breaks into honest tears (its impending doom delayed).

I thought I saw it turning to myself for a reaction,
I might have even heard its final words, uttered only for my satisfaction:

“Out, alas! I’ve been an ignorant fool!” said the droplet and then met the soil.
For a moment I pondered–
But in the end, I rolled my eyes and muttered: “No shit, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle”.

Yeah, hi there, I think I have an issue with my Mango Super Drive. I’m trying to rip my music CD collection, and I have Madonna’s Music in there, and it’s only showing 10 tracks instead of 11. Please, help me! It's broken and I wanna just die!

Well, hi Patricia, I’m Costas. Of course I understand this is super important for you. I always hate it when my Mango Super Drive doesn't show all the tracks on my Madonna CDs. I will definitely help you out today with your issue. Would you mind going to the Lunchpad on the left-hand side in your Duck bar?

Aha!

Great! Do you see ‘Dicktionary’ there?

Aha!

Well, did you know that ‘Dicktionary’ is connected with both an Eenglish dictionary and Wikipeedia? Pretty cool, uh?

Aha!

I know, right? What do you say, let’s type ‘Madonna discography’…

Aha!

…now. If you check for ‘Music’ you’ll see that the Standard edition of the album had actually 10 tracks, but it was the International edition that had 11. You probably thought you had the other one.

Wow, I totally forgot! You're amazing! Thank you so much!

There! See? Aren’t you satisfied with the assistance you got from Mango today?

(…)

[Inspired by real life events.]

the night was still young, I was lucid and I had it all planned, we were still catching up, and we ate, drank and laughed, and we both ignored the bogeyman unnoticeably –how civil!– creeping around, chewing off the air’s big chunks of a b-movie’s sensual, horror plot waiting to unravel, while I was mustering the courage, to sit closer and lean over to you, to reach the end of the barrel– but amid indecisive sighs, when I opened my eyes, I saw the alarm clock’s digits, alas, flashing at me ‘7 30’, commanding me Rise! ah the knackering, dream-twist realisation– exhausted and robbed off of another night’s anticipation, I dragged my self-harming shadow under the cold running shower, and for the sake of monsters, I snoozed again my desire

Y0u’re e1ther soc1ety mater1al 0r–

There’s n0 acceptable state of be1ng 1n the m1ss1ng part 0f the sentence ab0ve. 

0utcast! 1 by 1 c0me to m1nd the gr0ups 1’ve been part 0f. 

Repet1t1veness, r0ut1nes, f0rmulas, recycled 1deas, and n0rms: 

they perpetuate the ugl1ness; 0f c0urse they’d leave me appalled. 

Take 20-year-0ld, breathtak1ng, 1mpulse-awaken1ng beaut1es. 

1n the c0ntext 0f the1r parents 0r the1r fr1ends, they seem reduced to c0p1es.

Nat10nal1ty, Rel1g10n, Patr1archy, C0rp0rat10ns: fa1l-safe mechan1sms and guarantees, struggl1ng to c0nserve the a1r 1n the r00m as 1t was: 

Breathe 1n synchr0ny – 0r d0n’t. 

Y0u’re y0ur parents –s0rry, 0nly 1 s1ze allowed 1n the pr0duct10n l1ne– 0r y0u’re n0t.

D0n’t d3v1at3, 1 sa1d: "Y0u’re e1ther s0c1ety mater1al 0r–"

Οf course… maybe there is another way. 

Accept your layers, ( ( ( tell' em to fuck off ) ) ) 

and be a happy onion.