Snarkingly funny

I had all sorts of ideas for todays post, but the satire of the entity known as Auntie Evil Peril was just too good to pass up. Located at Smart Bitches, the post is in reply to the snarkers being snarked by someone who snarked and ran; and by a post by Karen Scott.

Satire, if done well like a recent post by PBW is wickedly funny and sharply pointed.

And while the post makes reference to a number of frequent posters at the Smart Bitches site, it's still enjoyable for the concepts contained. Here, then, is what AEP had to say about the latest down and dirty, blogfightin' bitchslapping fest:

Well damn. And just when the frustration of days of sitting on my hands while muttering the mantra “Leave it alone, do not fan the flames” had finally driven me beyond the point of no return. I was all ready to let caution fly to the winds and post my review of their review site of sites that review this morning. Owing to the tied hands, I had to type it with my nose and everything. Beaucoup snotty.

Then hopefully someone else would have reviewed my review, and that review would have been critiqued on someone else’s blog which could have been snarked by another writer on another forum. This would have been met by a flurry of outrage culminating with a poster who hadn’t read all the comments mistakenly calling the wrong poster a cheap handbag without matching shoes.

Then a group of anonymous writers of Barbara Cartland fanfic would have banded together, formed a blog called “The Vicariously Impulsive Runaway Gypsy Ingenue Nun-brides of Sheikh Rodrigo’s Uber-Snark and colonised the Isle of Wight. V.I.R.G.I.N.S.R.U.S. would have declared a pulchrocracy and given all able-bodied men between the ages of 25 and 45 peerages and six-packs. In the face of this new threat, Beth, Slayer of Foley, would have signed a battlefield truce with the Ladies of Lallybroch and re-enacted Culloden with Gaelic subtitles in Maili’s back garden.

SB Sarah would have kept her top-secret meeting with Mrs. Giggles in a shady bar in South America (Montana? - I don’t think so). As the mysterious “Read Barons”, they’d have taken off from a jungle airstrip in a modified Fokker Dr.I with secret baby wings and launched an aerial bombardment on Avon HQ. Their attack would have been backed up by ground forces made up of ancient half-naked vampire Roman warriors in teeny leather skirts awoken in the nick of time from their enchanted sleep by Snarkling Clean, Dear Author and the Book Bitches.

Meanwhile, resolved to go on the offensive, HQN and Zebra would have formed an uneasy alliance with seven (lookee: mystic number!) e-pubs and spear-headed a subliminal message campaign in ladies’ restrooms all over the world. But one of the editors with an ex to grind would play a double game and so the message, “Fabio is a dream-hunk. You want and need the burning love of DeSalvo” would be recorded backwards over an old copy of “Living on a Prayer” and played in men’s toilets in three American states and Botswana.

In the ensuing chaos, MJD and a team of fellow-authors would have pawned her diamonds in Amsterdam and used it to successfully push through emergency legislation setting out specific IQ requirements and/or other chosen standards for any potential reader. New experimental technology would have developed books that could give any unauthorised reader a graded series of electric shocks for each successive violation, from “frizzy hair” to “(femme) fatale”.

In the interests of literary freedom Candy and Bam would have modified oven gloves and earthing boots for illicit readers and sold them on the black market. Having made their fortunes, Candy would have self-published a series of photographic essays on tinned cat food and Bam would have retired to a secret underground lair built by aliens and grown giant hydroponic watermelons.

And now, my dreams are but ashes. *sniff*. But at least Harriet loves us all.

I've read this a couple of times and the sheer cleverness of it makes me laugh every time. This is true satire, this is what every commentator should aspire to, whether they are snarkers or not.