What the Hell Did I Just Read (John Dies at the End, #3)

by David Wong

But as far as I’m concerned, if the object isn’t killing anybody, it isn’t “cursed.” I’ve had it in the junk room for four months and it hasn’t inconvenienced me once.

his million-dollar idea for a “Punch Zoo,” which is like a petting zoo where you get to punch the animals.

category on the site now, it’s great). Among this week’s junk had been a water-damaged “haunted” paperback copy of Bad as I Wanna Be, the autobiography of Chicago Bulls power forward Dennis Rodman. “Haunted” because this copy, and only this copy, had multiple chapters describing how Rodman conspired with several teammates to ritualistically murder over fifty prostitutes in the years they traveled with the team.

7. If You Have Seen a Man-Shaped Figure Made of Inky Blackness with a Pair of Eyes that Glow like the Embers of Two Smoldering Cigars Congratulations! You’re one of the few humans to have ever seen the universe as it truly is. If it happens again, run.

“Past experience has only taught us not to rely on past experience.”

No matter who you are or where you’re from, we can all look upon the raw, energetic creations of children and agree that they are very shitty artists.

John’s entire house is now booby-trapped. The doors, for instance, are surrounded by four nozzles that in theory will fire four jets of propane-fueled flames, instantly turning any intruder into an intruder who is on fire. Won’t this almost certainly catch the exterior of the house on fire, you ask? Yep. And, once the flaming intruder stumbles inside, the interior of the house will also be on fire.

It was unspeakably awesome, in my opinion—cocaine decor on a crack budget.

See, one thing John had learned about the various creatures they’d faced over the years was that almost none of them liked being sawed in half by motorized metal teeth. Simple biology, really.

So yeah, you want to fight, I’ll give you a fight. I won’t win, you’re a trained soldier and I’m a sack of guts designed to convert beer into piss and depression.

A person, they can be good or bad depending on the day. A good dog, well, it just wants to make you happy, all the time.

John said, “You don’t have a warrant. That means you can’t come in unless we invite you.” Bowman said, “You’re thinking of vampires.”

“The International Jew” (the pizza arrived before we could find out his name).

A stench hit me so hard that I thought my brain had shit my sinuses.

“George Bailey is portrayed as the hero because he wanted to give cheap home loans to citizens who couldn’t afford them—the very practice that just caused a worldwide financial crisis in real life. We’d have been better off if he and everyone like him were, in fact, drowned in a river.”

“May they find peace in the next world, but their own choices took ’em there.

Try to look up Joy Park on the web, all you find are the biggest titties I’ve ever seen on an Asian girl.

I said, “You’re leaving town?” “You’re not?”

Problem isn’t that there’s not enough heroes in the world, problem is too many dumb people assume they are one.”

It’s actually hard to succinctly describe the effects of Soy Sauce, in the sense that it’s hard to succinctly describe the effect of a gorilla on a child’s birthday party—it can go several ways.

“You took the Soy Sauce, you looked at Chastity and yelled, ‘It’s dildos all the way down, baby,’ and ran out of the building.

(if you’re reading this in the future and Skype is no longer a thing, it was just a piece of video-calling software people used back then. Or back now. Whatever).

I said, “Holy shit, that’s a convoluted reproduction process right there.” “Have you seen what the human reproduction process is like, Mr. Wong? Here’s a hint—the automobile you drive was almost certainly designed with reproduction in mind.”

The agent said, “You need a special tool to open it. On the lid you’ll see a hole about two inches wide. It leads to a shaft about eight inches deep. You need to insert a rigid object to depress the latch.” John said, “Don’t worry, I have just the thing …

John said, “Got almost three hundred bucks to show for it. Is the kid talking?” “He is.” David said, “Is he saying a bunch of weird, creepy nonsense?” “No, that’s Spanish he’s speaking. It’s a foreign language, you see.”

This meant that, on top of making sure nobody interfered with the operation, we needed to get the innocents as far away as possible, all within the next few minutes—that would be John’s job. Someday, he will be remembered as the Michelangelo of loud, baffling distractions.

It was a unique sensation; the best comparison I can offer is if you opened your fridge to realize something was rotten in there, then when you opened the cheese drawer, you found a photo of your mother fucking a Dalmatian.

Somebody Amy and I care about a whole lot is about to get hit by that truck and only you can save them. The person we need you to save just happens to be you. Also, the truck is filled with shit, I don’t know if I mentioned that.” “I just assumed.”

It’s a German word that translates literally to, “Server at translate.google.com not responding, please check your internet connection.”