Hillary’s Reviews

Yes, Amazon is deleting fake reviews. It always does that. They prize their review system very highly. Of course, they are not going to let crowds of unhinged trolls who are still obsessed with Hillary pervert it. 


5 thoughts on “Hillary’s Reviews”

  1. All of those reviews are useless in helping you decide whether to read it. The Goodreads reviews are also useless in that respect. Any autobiography written by someone about to run for office or who has run for office has all the sharp edges and character massaged out of it. You can feel the focus group editing around the edges.


    1. It’s any autobiography, period. I stopped working on this genre when I realized there’s nothing but sad, pathetic lies people tell to others but mostly to themselves.


      1. Does the act of consciously offering up a narrative of their life to other people change the story they tell in any way? Or would you expect to find the same things in someone’s posthumously published diaries they never meant for anyone else to see?


        1. There are two types of autobiography, self-celebratory or confessional. The first is based on the narrative of “I persevered against enormous odds”. The second one is “I’m so evil that it makes me very special.” Both are manipulative and self-serving.


          1. What about super villain autobiographies? :p

            Dr. Evil: The details of my life are quite inconsequential.
            Therapist (Carrie Fisher): Oh no, please, please, let’s hear about your childhood.
            Dr Evil: Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we’d make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it’s breathtaking, I suggest you try it.
            Therapist: You know, we have to stop.


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