So, I struggled through this book that was offered by a friend to be a smart, funny read. Turns out, I adamantly despise this friend for what she has done to me. The author of “Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs” has been tremendously successful from this book and others, which I can fairly comprehend.
What I cannot wrap my mind around is how a whole culture of Gen-Xers that eat up his tenacious, annoying observations like sugary lumps of stale cereal on hangover day.
Chuck Klosterman is a metaphor that represents a toxic form of writing and undignified ramblings. Without even opening the book, one can read his short, unimpressive biography situated next to a portrait of a smug, creepy little hipster that looks as though he’s ridden with lupus.
In that biography we learn that he wrote for Washington Post and GQ; it just so happens the review quotes littering the cover of this travesty are credited Washington Post and GQ! The funny thing is -and I’m laughing as this goes in- that these approval reviews sound forced and vague. Those meek friends of Chuck’s couldn’t be less disguised as humiliated.
The one-line review by GQ, the publication Klosterman used to write for, states “Quintessential Klosterman – sometimes exasperating but almost always engaging.” Well, at least he’s almost always engaging.
Turns out he’s only engaging during the flat hypotheticals Klosterman poses at random throughout the book. Odd and unfunny things like, “Would you swallow a pill that makes every song you hear sound like Alice in Chains to avoid having the collarbones of yourself and your soulmate being broken by someone every three years?” or “Given the chance to free every political prisoner on Earth if you kicked an immobile Clydesdale to death, would you do it? Oh yeah, you can wear steel-toe boots.”
Of course, I had to paraphrase these ridiculous and dreary questions, but that’s the meat of it. “Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs” is a collection of essays written by a trite and unfocused individual who reminds me of the loneliest man in the world.
I disagreed with the author on every page. The book claims to be a “low culture manifesto,” which in itself sounds mildly amusing. I thought I would learn something or get in touch with the hick lifestyle of a proud North Dakotan like Klosterman.
Nothing he examines in this book is as inspired as low culture. This self-righteously projected ‘culturist’ deconstructs the mainstream medium into a hackneyed incoherence that is tedious to read.
Nothing exemplifies my distaste for Klosterman more than Klosterman himself.
“Amateur pornography grounds us in our reality,” he said.
“Billy Joel is great,” Kolsterman also said.
“Coldplay is absolutely the sh**tiest f***ing band I’ve ever heard in my entire f***king life. I hope Coldplay gets f***ing dropped by f***ing EMI and ends up like the Stone f***ing Roses, who were actually a better f***ing band, all things considered,” he said.
Alas, the two-page preface by the author does state this book is meant for “evening reading” and was also written at the twilight state of falling asleep at the helm of a keyboard.
I objectively think this is inaccurate. More significant substance can be conjured out of the brain’s misfiring and following unconsciousness.
This prose is actually quite similar to that of a very desperate young gentleman after 10 games of beer pong who insists that everyone must agree to all the generalizations and put downs he won’t remember saying the next morning.