A Book Review, by Wormy

Sigh. Yes, as my name suggests, I am a worm. And yes, as the subject line reveals, I am the book reviewer at Six Lines. But if you ever... ever... EVER call me a bookworm, I will seriously rip some inside part of your body out onto the outside. That inside part, used to living symbiotically with the rest of your organs, will be unable to survive in its new environment. It will shrivel, it will die, and nobody will care, because everybody will know you deserved it.

I am not a bookworm. I am a worm who reviews books occupationally and happens to like them as well.

And don't try to get me to review books written by women. That pisses me off just as much.

This is a woman author. Run.

Look, I have nothing against women. Most worms are hermaphrodites, so I have to deal with the best and worst of both worlds. I simply feel that reading books by women is on par with having feet. It's disgusting and unnatural. I don't slime my way over to the library to learn about feelings and emotions. I want action, meaningful dialogue, and - what's the word? - oh yeah, substance.

Females think they know more about their gender than men. To prove otherwise, I have selected for my premiere review a book written by a man, including a strong female character.


TMNT: The Movie Novel. April O'Neil isn't too heavily featured in this book, and it is in fact her actions as an antiques collector which facilitate the arrival of our key antagonists; however, she proves her strength by hanging out with males who are way awesomer than her. Want to know how rad the turtles are? "Punches, kicks, full body throws. Ninjitsu, Tae Kwan Do, street-fighting moves. Sais, katanas, shuriken. The brothers brought all the techniques and skills that they had learned over their lifetime together into this battle." That is rad. Only a girl with relative (though still miniscule) coolness could even think about such radness, much less interact with those in possession of it. Oh, and let's face it: In dating Casey Jones, April's pulling in way over her head. The guy is ripped, and he walks with the perfect canter of rebellion plus hockey. I'm not embarrassed to say that if he were a worm, I'd do him, if I figured out how I have sex.

What else, other than some scenes with a woman, does this book include? Well, if you've seen the movie, it includes that stuff. If you haven't, then let me give you a hint: EVERYTHING! This book comes with my highest recommendation. Before the prologue ("Leonardo's Journey") even gets a chance to begin, we're provided with this lesson from the great ninja master himself - Splinter:

"A sensei once counseled a grief-stricken boy as his older brother prepared to leave for battle. He said, "Child, why do you cry? You are both part of a family. And a family is a bond that cannot be broken by war, by strife, by force or neglect. And, more importantly, you are brothers. And brothers you shall remain, despite time... argument... and even distance.'"

Family pervades all four dimensions: The singular point of battle, the linear quantity distance, the rounded texture of neglect, and time. Learn it. No other book will teach you more about family than this one, and, given the integral importance of family in human society, no other human book will have meaning for you unless you read this one first.

The book is not without its surprises. Twists turn into, uh, turns. Turns, uh, turn into, uh, other turns. Nothing connects, though, until the author, lyricist Steve Murphy, wants it to. Fortunately (yet expectedly) his wants exactly parallel your desires. Who is the Nightwatcher? Why is Maximilian Winters collecting stone statues from all over the world? Why are weird, arbitrary monsters appearing in New York? All is answered in time, and your patience in reaching the final, 127th page is rewarded.

A monster from the book, from the movie.

Wormy's Blurb: Leonardo and Raphael bicker. Michelangelo eats pizza. Donatello says nerdy stuff. The foot clan appear in their finest role since The Blue Lagoon novelization, and everyone goes home happy. I'm pretty sure they're going to make a movie out of this brilliance, but you do not want to have to wait for it.

Read this on five rainy days out of five. I'll be on your driveway.

GREETINGS, from the Editor

Hello, new friends! I'm the Editor, taking over for Harry while he's on "temporary" leave. Don't look for him in Africa. He's probably not there. Don't write to him in Africa, either. He definitely doesn't know how to read.

Greetings! Salutations! Noozles! I am a wonderful editor, and I know exactly what you, the consuming public, wants in a blog. You want information... Zap! We're gonna get that for you. You want opinions... Zap! We're gonna give them to you. You want money.... Huh? The zapper seems to have run out... Moving on!

You want animated gifs... Zap!

I didn't want to have to state this again so soon, but I am an incredible editor. I used the term "wonderful" in place of "incredible" before, but both describe me equally brilliantly. I know how to start blogs up. I know how to turn blogs around. Most importantly, I know how to turn your computer screen into cold, hard cash. But I'm not in it for the money. More on that later... Moving on!

The older the monitor, the morer the money.... Moving on!

I'm not at liberty to talk about Harry's brief dismissal, but let's leave it at this: Did you read his last post? We give him an opportunity to say goodbye, and he sends me a bunch of gibberish. Gibberish can be decent, our focus groups reveal, and we'll be sure to provide you with the statistically demanded proportion you desire; however, this gibberish was hogwash. Here at the Six Lines production company (formerly BlogCorp, until the name was snatched up by someone even less aware of its satirical character), we demand sense more than we demand cents. We do that because readers like to read things that make sense, and we need readers to make money. Not that money is at all important to us. Getting you to like us, in the way that you want to like a blog, is. You like pictures, right? Zap!

I'm shuffling papers now, as editors do. I'm wearing a visor, as editors do. I'm seeing a list on my desk, as editors sometimes do, when lists are put on their desks. I'm reading the note attached to the list: "The 42 greatest things in the world. Don't forget! Harry" What? How did this get on my desk? Should I get a new desk (this one's kind of out of place)? Whatever. I'm throwing worthless notes away, as editors do.

These cherished/moneyed readers requested a picture here. Their reason: "The words got too together." Thanks for the feedback!

Did I mention how much I, the wonderful editor, don't care about money? It's because I care about my daughter more. A lot more. If I care about money zero, then I care about my daughter like a million times more than that. She's got the same features as a young Dakota Fanning, but I doubt she'll have the same success. She'll probably be stuck in independent film. Or maybe she'll be a jaded assassin. The truth is, I really don't know if she'll even be born. She hasn't reached that age yet. Everything I do, though, I do for her. Whatever she wants to be, she can always fail and fall back into being the heiress of an incredible editor's fortune. That's what I'm all about. The money doesn't matter. My daughter does.

Regarding the actual nature of Six Lines productions, we will feature various experts writing on various subjects. That's not too unique, but that's what you want, and what you want is unique. Never before has a consuming public wanted to consume in the very same way that you do right now. Take comfort in that, and please continue enjoying our work and our advertisers' work. (Don't worry, Robinson family, a picture is coming soon.)

Can I leave you with something wonderful and incredible? This is a picture I have hanging over my desk. It motivates me a lot. That's why I put it over my desk - to show people how motivated I am. I see my employees looking at it, then I look at it, and then I look back at them. "That's right," I say. "That's what our job is all about. Here, have a paycheck. You've earned it."

Tumult, and nuts

The era is the 1930s. It's a time of great change, and confusion. Peanuts are being salted like they've never been salted before, but the work is being done by children - children soon to be captured by the Nazis. Once-popular carnivals decline into ruin, people no longer enthralled by the mystery of bearded women and crab-toed men. There's enough horror brewing in the old country to satisfy the human thirst for drama. Life is most certainly not the Waldorf salad it was in the 20s.

America's heroes must leave behind what they once knew for something entirely different, but something entirely necessary. Ostensibly, the mission is to save the world. Actually, the mission is to start something new. New doesn't mean good, or honorable, or anything. It means new.

Fast forward to now. And translate everything I just typed into a metaphor for this blog. Do you understand? Maybe this will help:

Through the darkness of future past

The magican longs to see

One chance out between two worlds:

Fire walk with me

Now you understand. Now you know why I have to leave the blogging industry for a few months, maybe even a few eternities. Maybe a few hours. Don't worry; I'll still funnel my musical hits through the new owners (Look for a fresh single to "drop" very soon. Then bend over for it. Really bend). But for now, I'm off. Don't try to write. I don't have an address. And I most definitely don't know how to read.

Speaking of the new owners, you'll like them. They're most certainly not pressuring me to abandon this blog to their hidden, evil purposes. They're just old friends, old friends to whom I owe a huge favor. I'm finally getting the opportunity to experience the world, untied from the chains of technology. When I come back, I'll be stronger than ever. Born under a shadow of darkness, I will return carrying the shadow of light.

Seriously, this all makes sense. The Six Lines wouldn't have it any other way.

"Trust me." - Aladdin

(End Chapter 1)