A Clockwork Orange aka Crazy Town.

If you've never read A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess, you won't understand what I'm talking about so I suggest you tune in another time when I'm not talking about depressing novels. OR You can stick around and read my "totally awkward entertaining" rant review on it.

Well, for those of you who have read it (and those of you who don't care and are reading this because you're bored), I have to say A Clockwork Orange is probably one of the most memorable stories I've come across. I think a lot of people would say that though.

What other author writes in a dialect as confusing and intricate as this one? I mean, other than J.R.R. Tolkien (and every other devoted fantasy writer alive).

It's not just a few words here and there. It's a LOT of words, all the time, from the very beginning.

When I first opened the book, I died a little.

The first line wasn't that daunting.

It was the following that made me want to curl up in the fetal position with a copy of the dictionary.

It took me until the third or fourth chapter to finally catch on to some of the more frequent one, but even after finishing the book, I still don't know the meanings of some of the words.

On top of trying to get the hang of the lingo, I also had to drag my eyes through pages of unspeakable, unforgiving horror. Drugs, violence, theft, more violence, rape, more theft, killing. My fragile constitution almost collapsed under the darkness and crime.

After all that crap, Alex is put through horrible rehabilitation methods that make me twitch.

Certain types of psychology and the whole idea of hypnosis frightens me. The description of what they did to Alex (that's the protagonist for you n00bs who haven't actually read it) were a little unrealistic, but just realistic enough to keep me from being like, "Yeah, that's stupid."

The shot that made him sick and weak was the portion that really scared me. I know there are medical drugs that can do that to people. Combined with horrible images of violence, I just shudder. Shudder, I say.

I mean, have you ever eaten something and then, either because it was rife with E coli or because you had the flu, you ralphed and then ever after that you always get a queasy feeling when you think about or smell that food?

It's the same thing with this horrible reformation. Makes me tense!

Don't drug me, Doctor. Prease.

<segue> </segue>

Anthony Burgess is a genius. He really is.

I think he is the only author that could fashion a story that dark and confusing and still have it be fascinating, powerful and mind-blowing. Of course, the darkness and confusing-ness of this book might be the reason it's all of those things.

After finishing the book, I had to sit and breathe for a little while and just focus on not crying. I'm usually not stirred up by violent and malicious things. Hell, I write stuff like this.

Something about the protagonist character makes me want to just give up hope for humanity.

I'm sure most who read this post, if any at all, are going, "Lady... it's fiction, calm down."

But fiction holds Truth. Truth! Just ask Nathaniel Hawthorne. He'll vouch for me.

Well, this has to be the lamest post ever. I have no more steam to write this. I'll probably come back to it later.

I go back to school tomorrow. So, you may or may not ever hear from me again.

My apologies. See you at the end of the world!

Peace off.

Dammit Biology.

So, I want to be able to grow a mustache.

Why? Because no one takes me seriously.

I mean, I'm really not intimidating. At all. I'm 5'2" and 95 pounds (on a heavy day). So, when I try to be menacing, people end up:

A.) Laughing at me.

B.) Ruffling my hair.

or C.) Doing A. and B. while going, "Awwww" and speaking to me like I'm a mentally deficient animal with an extra leg.

After a while, it gets aggravating.

For once in my life, I'd like to be able to be like, "Oh, yeah?" BAM. Mustache. How could anyone react to that?

They couldn't.

What would you do if all of a sudden this face

had a mustache?

You'd soil yourself at the sheer terror my mustache would instill!

Of course, I don't want to grow a mustache and then have to keep it because that would take away from my feminine wiles. Of course, after seeing that face up there, I doubt you'd believe I had any feminine wiles to begin with. (Ignore how awkward my hair looks. It really is the same length on both sides, you just can't tell in this picture.)

I'd like to be able to grow a mustache, but then have it fall right off afterwards, like one of those sticky hand things you get in those 25 cent machines at cheap restaurants that stick to a surface for a grand total of 3 seconds and then are never sticky again. It would be glorious.

It could be used in many situations, not just to make people take me seriously.

If someone cut me off in traffic, I'd drive up next to them (if there is an available lane) and grow a mustache at them.

If they saw my awesome display of manliness, they'd be sure to have a wreck and then I'd never have to deal with them and their road-assery ever again.

If they don't, then it will fall off and I'd have an extra mustache in my car that I could sell to any prepubescent boy for thirty bucks.

If there's a chump at the office who keeps eating my food and "borrowing" paperclips, I'd grow my mustache several hundred times until I had enough mustaches to make a cat. Then, I'd scatter them all over their office space.

When they come back and witness the colossal amounts of mustaches, they'd be humbled by my advanced ability to sprout hair and come to realize the errors of their ways.

I could pose as a Jehovah's Witness and, when the gullible soul that answered to my knock appears, I'd ask them, "Have you found Jesus today?" They'd politely agree since they really didn't want to talk to me because they'd rather be watching Jersey Shore and eating fat free yogurt.

But before they can shut the door in my evangelizing face, I'd shout, "I DON'T THINK YOU HAVE!" Then, BAM. Mustache.

 Now, they found Jesus. (That was really sacrilegious. I'm sorry to those who are sensitive about that, but Jehovah's are a laughing matter.) They'd be an instant convert.

And that's just the beginning.

I could use the extra mustaches to stuff the inside of a homemade pillow.

I could use them as fish bait because every good angler knows that all fish all want facial hair.

Using my awesome skill and the power of YouTube, I could end up on Oprah and then begin showcasing my superhuman mustache power around the world.

But, NO. Biology will never let me have my dream. Never. Because I'm a girl and girls don't grow 1337 awesome mustaches that fall off after three seconds.

Well, screw you, DARWIN.

I'll grow a mustache if I want to!

Put that in your pipe and BLOW ON IT.

I'm out of here. I'm going to go set a pair of shoes on fire and throw them on a telephone line.

Peace off.