james patterson

is the worst thing ever. he puts his name on books other people write, and they sell massively. i don't know how. he--and his ghostwriters--don't know how to write a sentence. i suspect he's illiterate.

if this doesn't make you want to rip your eyeballs out, maybe you shouldn't be reading this blog:

'This sucks!' Iggy shouted suddenly, his voice echoing off the glass storefronts. He punched a telephone pole in front of him, hitting it accurately. He winced, and I saw the scraped skin and bloody knuckles.
'I'm sorry, Ig-' I began.
'I don't care if you're sorry!' Iggy shouted at me. 'Everyone's sorry! That doesn't matter! What matters is that we find where we belong!' He walked angrily away from us, his boots kicking up stones in the parking lot. 'I mean, I just can't take this any more!' he yelled, waving his arms and heading back to us. 'I need some answers! We can't just keep on wandering from place to place, always on the run, always hunted...' His voice broke, and we all looked at him in shock. Iggy hardly ever cried.
I went over and tried to put my arms around him, but he pushed me away.
'We all want answers, Iggy,' I said. 'We all feel lost sometimes...'

i hate his writing, i hate his dumb face. i hope he gets eaten alive by his "co-authors."