Robot People Magazine

 The anonymous rating system of Amazon.com allows people (ordinary country folk and mindless urbanites) to voice their opinions on some of the most brilliant and wretched works of art humanity has ever produced. These are some of my favorite ones, presented without editing for full effect.
All opinions are valid. Commentary added to prove otherwise.
 

Fight Club
A revolting film.
Reviewer: kenneth groom from Manchester, England.

Someone said that you either love or hate this film. Well I hated it. and I find it difficult to understand how anyone could do otherwise. It is an ugly, squalid, repulsive film about the dark side of human nature. Everything about it is depressing from the brutish thugs who spend their time bashing the hell out of each other, to the dirty, dank, derelict building in which they carry on their odious activity. And it’s unrealistic.
They would all soon end up in Intensive care with broken noses and their handsome faces reduced to pulp. And why should any handsome bloke volunteer to have this done to them? And suffer the pain that goes with it? It’s not only not realistic, it doesn’t make sense. 
Not only do I hate this film but I find it inexplicable that someone of the calibre of Helena Bonham Carter should be willing to appear in it. It can have done her reputation no good (in my opinion). From the beauty of Merchant Ivory to this pretentious rubbish. What a come down. However, I must admit I didn’t see the whole film; I was so sickened I couldn’t watch any more.
 

Now, this gentlemen isn’t stupid. His spelling is top notch with crumpets and tea. However, I am sure that he will be happy to hear that the divine Helena Bonham Carter did not appear voluntarily in the movie. The director cleverly crossed out “Fight Club” and replaced it with “Pride and Prejudice II” on her copy of the script. He is quite the dastardly villain.

A Clockwork Orange (Movie)
Violent
Reviewer: A viewer from North Carolina
This movie is full of violence every 5 minutes and should not be viewed by anyone. The director of this film, who is now dead, was definitely on some kind of trip when he made this film. It is a total waste of film and should be destroyed. Don’t waste your money or time …
 

So I guess you can’t include “Drink every time something violent happens” in the official drinking game, because it happens too often. That’s a shame. But this destroying things that you don’t like thing sounds like a smashing idea. If we could add booze to it, it be the replacement hip new party thing.

Thank god Kubrick is dead.
Reviewer: A viewer from Seattle, WA United States
I really have a hard time understanding all the raves about this movie. Most of the raves are from men. The type of men who would call “Thelma and Louise” a violent film.
I worked in a theatre when I was in college, and they had a showing of A Clockwork Orange. The audience for these showings was 100% male, most of whom looked like the kind of guys who couldn’t get a date and were extremely angry about it. A Clockwork Orange relieved some of that anger for them, especially the rape scene, which more than a few of them were chuckling at. These are the same morons you find on internet chat rooms - they’re such losers that they can’t show themselves in public. This movie, with its rampant miogyny, serves as vindication for guys who can’t get laid. So does the Howard Stern show. So does Maxim. And so it goes.
The author of the book by the same name was upset with Kubrick’s interpretation of his work - it was supposed to be an anti-rape, anti-violence book, and comes out as a pro-rape, pro-violence movie in the way that it glamourizes both behaviors.
I can’t agree more that Kubrick was “visually brillant” - however, in this case, and probably a few others, he is morally bankrupt.
 

“So it goes” is right. I met one of these rapscallions that the gentelemen is refering to, while walking home. I promptly took out my cane and beat him to an inch of his life. How did I know he was an evil practitioner of “miogyny”? He carried their unholy marker, the vile Maxim magazine. Luckily, I broke his spine before he could call the sacred Thelma and Louise a violent film. Though their arch lord Kubrick is dead, his minions still stalk the earth.
 

American History X
gives skins a bad name.
Reviewer: Christy from tennessee.

OK this is a good movie , it has a good story on rascial prejudice and how our own hatred only ignites violence after violence. But I was perturbed by the use of “skinheads” over and over again , and how they were all presented as shaved headed doc marten wearing nazi’s. The characters in the films were neo-nazis , not skinheads. True skinheads are anti rascist working class people who believe in unity and family support. Skinheads were given a bad name by movies such as this who portrayed all of us skins as people who shave our heads and wear swastikas , and the media also ignited more violence from blacks on skins because they thought anyone who shaved their head and claimed to be a skin was a rascist. This film does the same. Constantly saying skinhead over and over. Now the film is great to watch in terms of it’s message , but it still gives us skins a bad reputation.
 

Yeah, it really let the ball drop after the long string of uplifting skinhead movies like The Littlest Skinhead, Skinheads in love, The Skinhead King, and Casablanca: Remade version in which every character is a skinhead.

Of Mice and Men: dont read this book!,
Reviewer: An Amazon.com Customer
My english teacher read this book outloud to us. It was the worst thing ever. I feel asleep every day he read it because it was so boring! It seemed like it took forever to finish so dont read this book unless you want somthing really, really boring!
 

Was it totally the worst thing ever? One time my teacher like bored me to the extreme. I hate books! We should start a club!

When I was a young man, probably six or seven years old, I remember sitting in a sterilized hospital waiting room with my mom and my dad and my extended family. I know now it was actually a hospice, but I didn’t know what that was back then. ]

Anyway, we were sitting, waiting to get word about my great grandfather’s rapidly-failing health. He had Alzheimer’s and dementia and a score of other ailments that actively worked against him. The situation was sad for everyone other than me. I remember sitting there; not really getting what was going on but knowing I should be sad, so I seemed sad. I think I knew, even back then, that making my parents need to comfort me distracted them from my great grandpa’s inevitable end.

Finally, the doctor came out. He was dressed in all white, and at the time he looked to me like he was in a white tux like James Bond or something. It was all very fascinating. He said something quietly to my grandpa, and my grandfather’s head needed, but his eyes were glazed with tears. One tear rolled down his rough cheek.

It was the only time I had ever seen my grandfather cry. It still is. I think that single tear cemented in my head the true importance of this situation.

Apparently, what the doctor had told my grandpa was that my great grandpa was very close to passing away, and he requested to see us. We all rose solemnly and shuffled into the dark room.
The only light on my great grand father was the soft glow coming off the lamp next to his bed. The light was not at a flattering angle, making every crevice and wrinkle in his face look like a canyon in a mountain. I remember how no one cared. Appearances had never meant so little.

We all told him we loved him. One by one he called out to us, wishing us the best. The sadness hung in the room like fog. Finally, he came to me, and summoned me to his side.

Slowly I walked across the floor to his side. I knew very well these could be his last words, and it tore me up in side. I loved him. I was good to all of us.

His breath was heavy by this point. It sounded like it would get stuck in his lungs, and he had to force it out. Between heavy breaths he told me his dying words.

“Jimmy,” he said to me, getting my name wrong. “Always remember: There’s more than one way to fuck a deer.”

Then he died, quietly.

Needless to say, I was confused. I was six or seven after all. I barely knew what that meant. I knew what I deer was, but it was a very awkward car ride home as my confused and angry parents tried to explain it too me.

The family all decided to ignore his last words. They were just the mad ravings of a delusional man on his death bed after all. They decided that what he said to me didn’t mean anything. That his last words to me were nonsense. Even when I was young, this made me feel slighted.

Eventually, the will was read. My grandparents were given the majority of his money, which was ample. My aunts and uncles were given various prized family heirlooms. My parents inherited the old cabin in the woods were he spent his winters.

I used to play in that cabin all the time while I was growing up.

I met my first girlfriend near that cabin during summer. We had our first kiss there. I had my first tragic breakup there. All the time, I never got those words out of my head.

“There is more than one way to fuck a deer.”

I spent many years trying to decipher the metaphor. Finally, I decided that he was trying to tell me not to give up when I faced a problem. There is always another way.

I used this metaphor for years. When I couldn’t get my head around a homework assignment in college I would just try to look at it from a different angle. When I got bored in life or a relationship, I would try something new, to keep the relationship the same, and yet fresh.

These words, while ignored and discounted by my family, rejected for inclusion on his tombstone, served me throughout life, and really got me to where I am. The words may have been embarrassing to others, but they changed my life for many, many years.

One day, when me and my wife were staying in the cabin for our third wedding anniversary, my father called me and asked me to try to clean out the attic, because he wasn’t going to be able to before winter, and didn’t want animals making nests up there. Of course, I agreed.

I was almost half done when I found a box of old photo albums. They showed incredibly horrific images of my great grandfather fucking deer. Oh god was he fucking them. It wasn’t a metaphor for anything. He really wanted me to know that fucking a deer in just one regular way over and over would get boring.

He had the deer in positions that didn’t even make sense. I didn’t know some of them were physically possible. He even had little deer SM tables and racks. He fucked them every which was he could think of, and it turns out he was very, terrifyingly creative.

After vomiting, and having the whole meaning behind my life shatter on top of me, I called my dad.

“Oh, you found those huh?” He asked. “I thought I tossed those.”
“WHAT?? You knew?” I screamed.

“Yeah. Everyone knew. That’s why we didn’t want his last words to you recorded. We all knew he had a problem.”

What really made me sad was that all this time I had been interpreting his words as a metaphor, I just happen to be fucking a deer. My wife was cool with it. But it was getting boring. I had applied the metaphor to everything in my life BUT deer fucking. I had wasted twenty years of potential wild deer fucking and instead fucked it in the same boring way every time.

WHY HAD I NOT LISTENED TO HIM?

By Lev “Asimov” Shtrikman

Me: I’m really angry at you about the birthday present you got for me.

Her: You didn’t like the earphones? I got them because you always said that you hated noise pollution.

Me: No, the earphones are great. They have a really good bass kick and the noise cancellation is phenomenal and- No no no. It’s the other present.

Her: I didn’t get you anything else. Are you mad because you wanted more presents?
Me: No! I’m mad because you killed my fish.

Her: It was their time.

Me: You always say that! You killed my fichus too! Stop killing my things!

Her: Okay, I’m…sorry? The thing is… I’m going to level with you.

Me: Yeah?

Her: I’m not really supposed to hang out here with people, you know? And so, I have to do a little business while I’m here to make it seem legit. But don’t worry, your fish have gone to a better place.

Me: You told me last week that that place didn’t exist!

Her: Oh shit! I did? Huh.

Me: You were drunk and you told me the whole “secret about the afterlife” thing. By the way, should I be worried about that? Should I not know?

Her: Nah, don’t worry about that. I tell people all the time. Well, they die right afterwards… maybe you should. Oh wait, wait. No. I told this Filipino guy a couple of months ago and he’s still alive.

Me: Oh.

Her: Went crazy though…

Me: What? Why?

Her: Well think about it. Oh Shit! Wait! Don’t think about it. Seriously, that can permanently mess you up.

Me: What the hell? Now it’s like I have a mine field in my mind and I’ll constantly have to sweep for the mines that cause crazy to happen! That is not a good girlfriend thing to do! Don’t put evil in my head any more!

Her: I promise not to put things in your head anymore.  Can you do something for me, please?

Me: What?

Her: Can you get more fish? For this little get together, I’ve had to… evict your upstairs neighbors into a… deluxe apartment in the sky?

Me: No problem, they’re only fish. But wait, didn’t you kill my dog too?

Her: Oh come on! That was before we were even dating. That doesn’t count.

Me: Oh fuck! My grandfather! How could you?

Her: Hey, do I get angry at you for fucking that slut in High School? You can’t change the past. Well, at least YOU can’t.

Me: You can change the past?

Her: No, I’m sorry. I was trying to be funny and lighten the mood. I can’t unkill your grandfather in exactly the same way you can’t unfuck that skanky bitch with the huge thighs and the fucked up face.

Me: Those are not equal! Stop equating them.

Her: Look, I’ve got a couple of minutes left. Let’s make up so we don’t leave angry.

Me: Okay. You are pretty damn hot.

Her: Thank you.

Me: Like, if I had to picture the person who killed my grandfather? I wouldn’t have thought they’d have such great tits.

Her: Why would you say that? I can kill you! Do you have a me-wish?

Me: Me-wish?

Her: Death-wish! God, you’re stupid. We’re over. I never want to see you again.

And that children, is the story of how I became immortal.