Friday the 13th

I know what you're thinking, Friday the 13th, what portents of doom will wend there way into this wordy world of weblogs.

Well, Certain people have said that the world is like a calm pond, and that anytime a person does even the smallest thing, it is as if a stone has dropped in the pond, spreading circles of ripples further and further out, until the entire world has been changed by one tiny action. If this is true, then the book you are reading now is perhaps the perfect thing to drop into a pond.

I hear the question. What book is he talking about?

Well, If you have ever peeled an onion, then you know the first thin, papery layer reveals another thin, papery layer, and that revels another, and another, and before you know it you have hundreds of layers all over the kitchen table and thousands of tears in your eyes, sorry that you ever started peeling in the first place and wishing that you had left the onion alone to wither away on the shelf of the pantry while you went on with your life, even if that meant never again enjoying the complicated and overwhelming taste of this strange and bitter vegetable.

In this way, the story of the Baudelaire orphans is like an onion, and if you insist on reading each and every thin, papery layer in A Series of Unfortunate Events, your only reward will be 170 chapters of misery in your library and countless tears in your eyes.

~The opening paragraphs of Lemony Snicket's 'Book the Twelfth' and 'Book the Thirteenth'.

I've never enjoyed a Friday the Thirteenth this much!

If for some reason you have a love of the english language in all its ludicrousness, a word here that means silly enough to enjoy one of the best series of books ever written for children and adults alike, but have yet to read a single page let alone a full volume or the entire 13 books in A Series of Unfortunate Events, or just haven't gotten around to buying the last book of the series, then STOP! Never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, ever read the tale of the Baudelaire orphans and their heartbreaking calamities, a word here that means it would be preferable to swim through a pool of scorpions than live a single day in the life endured by Violet, Klaus or Sonny, which started with the fire that changed their lives forever by killing their parents. It only gets worse from there.

Which is why, although I just purchased the book, I am leaving work right now in search of a pond in which to drop this accursed book.

SNICKET MUST BE STOPPED!