Chews Yur Mate

Let’s imagine, just for a moment, that you have been dragged—against your will, against your better judgment, and possibly against several laws of narrative cohesion—into the worst novel ever written. Worse than Twilight. Worse than Fifty Shades of Grey. Worse than that omegaverse romance you swear you didn’t read but somehow know far too much about. Worse than paranormal romance as a concept. Don’t even get me started on vampires, werewolves, and—shudder—orcs. This book looked at all of them, scoffed, and said, “Hold my inexplicably glowing chalice.” Welcome to literary purgatory. Here, plot points appear with no warning and vanish just as quickly, like a side character introduced with three paragraphs of backstory who is never seen again. Characters change hair color mid-conversation. Eye colors are a suggestion, not a rule. Accents come and go. Time passes whenever it feels like it. Logic packed its bags three chapters ago and left a note that simply said, “Good luck.” Everyone suffers from Main Character Syndrome, especially the side characters. The stakes are allegedly high, though no one is quite sure why. There is a prophecy—probably. It contradicts itself. Someone misuses the word “mate” every other sentence. Emotions are declared, not shown. Feelings escalate from mild annoyance to eternal devotion in under a page. And you? You’re trapped. Turning the page only makes it worse. So welcome—no, endure—your stay in “Chews Yur M4te.” Yes. You read that correctly. The spelling never improves. The grammar resists correction. The plot is gaining on you. Run while you still can.