Status Updates From Páradais

Wahrlich unendlich lange Sätze

mehh.. i hope it gets better

pues están pasando cosas!

habla más mal que yo, demente.

I was reading this on the commute and was not prepared for how borderline pornographic the first 20 pages was

Follicularly challenged as a way to say bald… love

ok this got out of hand

damn.

this is deeply and undeniably *my shit*

only stopped reading because I was forced to

I did not like this book but I appreciated the intention behind it to some extent.

hmmmmmm

muito doido que um livro com personagens tao profundamente misóginos foi escrito por uma mulher. da um ar mais perturbador pro livro tambem

idk….

O kurwa.

kwicze z tej narracji tu nikt się nie lubi

nah where has fatboy gone im so scared guys!!!!!!

how do you guys read so much i get tired after 2 pages

i was really really scared

El libro está wow, su forma de narrar es algo que no había leído antes. No sé cómo es que tantas palabras vulgares no suenan de esa forma dentro de las páginas.
No tiene una gran trama, pero tiene personajes entretenibles.
Tiene algo que quieres seguir leyendo y no parar. Por ahora no sé que esperar al final

a very long rant about two fucked up boys & their antics

this book so crazy wtf 😭

First few pages of this book is hilarious and Soo inappropriate, I’m intrigued !

literally what is going on

WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO

Hodně evil čtení, brrr. Ale chytlo.

i can’t finish… it’s too boring

this book is crazy, i kinda hate it

Sono a pagina 67 e mi sta succedendo la stessa identica cosa che mi è successa con Otessa Moshfegh ne La morte in mano: a ogni pagina mi ripeto: quanto cazzo è brava. A ogni pagina mi ripeto: di questa storia non mi importa niente.
Interessante scarto.

He was driving straight towards the river, towards his house, or what had once been his house, his mind elsewhere, and when they arrived, he parked under the mango tree like in the old days but he didn't want to get out. What for? he asked Polo. What was the point? His woman - his ex, he should say, didn't want anything to do with him, and maybe it was better that way,...and Polo didn't know what to say.

Polo would spend hours watching the river's seemingly still waters and the dragonflies skimming across its surface, tossing rocks and chewing tender reeds to curb his craving for a cigarette, for a stiff drink to abate the whirlwind of black thoughts, ethereal yet sharp edged, that swirled around his head like a blur of moths around a lone light.