A Parody of James Frey's A Million Little Pieces

Via Moorishgirl, a parody of James Frey's A Million Little Pieces, called A Million Little Lies. There is an excerpt from the book (published already!) at USA Today, and the the funniest bit I thought was at the end:

The combination lock is still dangling from my left earlobe, and it hurts like a [mofo]. I wonder whether Lorraine noticed it, and, if she didn't, whether she's a good psychologist or psychiatrist or whatever. Then again, maybe she noticed it and didn't want to say anything. Maybe she is both maternal and tactful. That is a good combination. That makes me think of the combination lock again, and in some ways I am thankful. I realize that whoever plunged that thing through my lobe could have done worse. Much worse. I've heard stories. I've lived stories. I've made stories up. When I get out of the shower, I think I see a shadow, but I'm not sure. Then I think I see bugs crawling up the wall, and I think the walls are breathing, expanding and contracting, closing in on me, but that's too Lost Weekend, so I ignore it. I cross to the mirror, with a towel hanging loosely at my waist, like a hula skirt. The mirror is fogged up and I am glad because I don't want to see my face. I don't want to look into my own eyes for the simple yet heart-tugging reason that I haven't had the courage to look into my own eyes in many years. I do not want to see The Real Me. The Real Me is a coward. And a liar. But I have my good points, too. My prose, for example. And the way I use "and" repeatedly in very long sentences to create the illusion of breathlessness.

Aaargh! Here come the bugs! I am lost. Here come the Black Men in White, with their Big [Effing] Syringes. Afterward, I wake up and hurl and find my way to The Lounge. I guess I'm early, because I'm alone, and I take a few moments to review my Life of Privilege.

Who am I?

What happened to my hopes and dreams?

When did everything begin to go wrong?

Wait. I am all over the place. Let's focus: Are there three or four key elements in my young, privileged life that shaped me and defined me, and do any of them have the Weight of Tragedy?


Anonymous said...

lol...this is quite funny.
however the review in usa today goes a little boohoo in the end towards frey:

"And there's something mean-spirited about mocking Frey, who made a mistake and paid for it. Frey did so much damage to himself that parodying him seems, well, excessive."

i dont whats mean-spirited abt it..well its satire..much greater men and women than frey have been satirized and parodied. he shld consider it an honor.;)

electrostani said...

I agree -- while Frey is an easy target, I don't see why we shouldn't have at him.

It's a little like saying, "Oh, poor Tom Delay, we shouldn't make fun of him." No -- the fall of the high and mighty is exactly what satire is for. Jay Leno was still cracking Bill Clinton jokes well into 2003.

Here, the satire is only partly about the "truthiness" problem in Frey's story. It actually gets most of its punch from the satirist's (close) approximation of Frey's bad writing style.

Anonymous said...

Heh heh- you wrote "truthiness." :)

Yes, my sense of humor is that simplistic.

Anonymous said...

This is the one to read:

A Million Little Pieces of Feces: The Fake Memoir That's So Much More Fun Than James Frey's
by Python Bonkers


Anonymous said...

u r all unsensitive and cynical. give th e man a break, he wrote a great book and
went through a bunch of crap 4 it. back off him, tht is by far one of my favorite books ever

Anonymous said...

Bunch of crap threw this, this was probably nothing compared to what he really went threw, I don't belive anyone could actually understand his mind. Not to mention the book was great, there is no comparison to any other book writting with such style. Not to mention fear and anxiety, And bite me for saying so, you melignent swines

Anonymous said...

good work whoever wrote this. james frey is crap