Your Kindle is a Filthy Liar
For someone like yours truly, who is actively trying to get sentences published on paper in the real world (Believe it or not, my written work is not solely in the "hey, what's Lindsay Lohan doing today?" genre), the death of print media is a double-edged sword (See, that's called "imagery;" very literary). On the one hand, I have to watch a field I am deeply interested in shrivel and wither like an eighty-year stop motion movie of my penis (That one's called a "simile"). On the other hand, the low standards of decency on the web allow me to project the image of my withered penis into the minds of thousands of readers, whereas in the pre-web days such a wonderful bond would not, yea, could not have been forged. But come on, print media: though your long reign may be approaching its end, let’s die with some dignity shall we? The specific embarrassing death throes I’m referring to are the increasingly frequent misattributions of the title “memoir” or “true story” to straight up Fiction. Or, as we call it at our weekly writer's meetings, “Lies.” You probably remember James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces being unmasked as fraud, especially because that particular unmasking made Oprah look like a tool, which is always fun.
When not blogging for Cracked, Michael constructs a far more interesting life than his own as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren't Muskets!