I loathe Ulysses the way that most sensible folks loathe the very existence of Bernie Madoff. It's an all encompassing and consuming loathing leaving no room for mercy. In fact, if I were The Blob or a Killer Tomato on the attack, I'd consume every volume of Ulysses extant (and Bernie Madoff) with my acidic, dissolving loathing. I wish the book were still banned and my access to it summarily and arbitrarily denied me by Big Brother, so that I wouldn't have wantonly wasted my precious, irreplaceable time and energy reading it, is how deep my Ulysses-loathing goes.
Yes, it's true, reading Ulysses (even just half of this poo poo) feels like being disemboweled (or at least like having bad, painful gas; and that's bad, painful gas when you're stuck inside somewhere with other people and it would be too impolite and embarrassing - even as painful as it is holding it in - to let it rip). Oh yeah?! You think that's tacky and tasteless of me to mention? Well, if the "genius," Joyce, can make fart jokes in Ulysses left and right, not to mention making graphic reference to some (at the time) unprecedented masturbatory behavior from its protagonist, why can't anybody else do the same in describing his flatulent, onanist, nauseating tome?
Worse, reading Ulysses leaves one feeling like they've been had, scammed, rused, abused, conned, pawned, Ponzi'd, cheated, excreted, duped, nuked, swindled, swizzled, diddled, fiddled, belittled, hustled, bustled, hoaxed, stiffed, tricked, taken to the cleaners, taken for a ride, ripped off royally of everything you've worked hard for your whole damn life. Just like Madoff! How you like that endless list, Joyce, you MOTHERF%$#!R?
Less painful indeed, having your wisdom teeth extracted with pliers by an orangutan without novocaine, than trying to read Ulysses first page to last.
I hated it.
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