“is this your first time at CBC?”
“i thought so! i saw you at Cover Me Canada!”
yes, and the best part is that he recognized me because i was reading there, too. the debate at work has been whether or not it’s offensive to double date young dictators on a christmas card (young gaddafi and young stalin-google those hotties), so it’s fitting that i’ve finished this teenage angst novel from the point of view of a young woman in hell. it’s kind of cute that she’s so insecure and defensive over people’s perception that she doesn’t know the words she uses. are you there satan, it’s me madison is the best shoutout to are you there god, it’s me margaret that i have ever heard. yippee for the most fun i’ve had with palahniuk since snuff.
“Other girls might get a training bra at thirteen, but my mom offered to have me fitted for a training diaphragm. Beyond the birds and the bees-and tea-bagging, rimming, and scissoring-my parents never taught me a single thing about death. At most my dad pestered me to use moisturizer with sunblock and to floss my teeth. If they perceived death at all, it was only on the most superficial level, as the wrinkles and gray hairs of very old people fated soon to expire. Therefore they seemed heavily invested in the belief that if one could constantly maintain one’s personal appearance and mitigate the signs of aging, then death would never be a pressing issue. To my parents, death existed as merely the logical, albeit extreme, result of not adequately exfoliating your skin. A slippery slope. If one simply failed to practice meticulous grooming, one’s life would grind to an end.
And please, if you’re still in denial, eating low-sodium, heart-healthy skinless chicken breasts and feeling all self-righteous as you jog on a treadmill, don’t pretend you’re any more realistic than my loopy parents.” (89)
“My environmental parents chose a biodegradable casket of pressed-wood pulp guaranteed to rapidly break down and encourage bacterial subsoil life-forms. This is typical of how little respect you get once you’re dead. I mean, the well-being of earthworms gets a higher priority.
Consider that as proof positive that you’re never too young to record a final directive.
It was like being buried inside a pinata.” (165-6)