First line: After my girlfriend left for work this morning, I lay in her bed for an hour looking at the wall.
Rontel is a bit different from the rest of what I’ve read by Sam Pink. This one felt more like a story while everything else is more like poetry. I don’t prefer one over the other, though… I love it all. This one was great, definitely a favorite. Pink’s extreme honesty is hilarious, and I love that I can find a bit of myself in his writing.
“Always felt like, if I could pause time, I’d just go around and break everything then un-pause time, leaving people unharmed but everything else broken, even clouds, mountains, and the sun, maybe a fish or two as well.”
Me too.
The Valentine’s Day edition of the ebook included Pink’s personal phone number and a promise that if I sent him a text, he’d sext me back. And he totally did. I wish I could provide a screen shot of the little conversation we had, but it’s not safe for work or children. Really, it’s probably not safe for anyone to look at. I’ll probably never look at it again (just kidding I’ll probably look at it every day because SAM PINK SENT ME TEXT MESSAGES).
Whenever I try to review a Sam Pink book, I always end up giving up and just posting some favorite quotes/passages. This is that part of the review. I had tons of highlighted favorites this time and I decided to limit myself to three, but I want the world to know: it was very difficult to decide which three to share.
If you like these bits of Rontel, you’ll enjoy the rest of the book.
…I sat down and took out a granola bar I’d stolen from my girlfriend’s roommate.
Her roommate had accused me–to my girlfriend–of eating her food.
Which was untrue.
But then because of how hurt I was by the accusation, I started eating her food.
Yes.
Haha fuck off.————————————————
When I got home, there was a note underneath the apartment door.
The note was handwritten on lined stationary with flowers and birds on it.
It read: “Hey could you please please please stop smoking. It’s stinking up the hallway and it makes me want to vomit. Please, it’s bad. Thanks!”
I took the note inside and sat on the couch.
I read the note again.
It hurt.
Hurt so bad I almost threw my sandwich against the wall.
“…Thanks!”
The exclamation point stung.
Neither my brother nor I smoked.
We’d been wrongly accused.
Now just wait a second, hold on there.
Just because there are birds and flowers in your stationary and your handwriting is nice don’t mean you can come to my floor and just shit in my mouth.
I’m innocent, muffucker.
Stop shitting in my mouth like this with your damned lies!
I graphically imagined myself stomping someone’s face, yelling, “This is my floor, muffucker.”
Then I grabbed a red pen off the windowsill and wrote “die” on the note in big scary letters and put the note halfway underneath the door of my neighbor across the hall, for him to find and worry about, haha!————————————————
…someone behind us yelled, “Kevin,” repeatedly.
I started to think he thought I was Kevin, and he was trying to get me to turn around.
What if I really am Kevin–I thought, and just never knew it.
But I forced myself to not turn around.
If I turned around to confirm who he was yelling at, he might continue to think I was Kevin.
And if he thought I was Kevin, I’d have to answer for not turning around initially.
I’d have to answer for forgetting my own name.
Little Vermo Reviews 