American Fucking Psycho

American Fucking Psycho //
I have to return some video tapes. //
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‘Baby-Sitters’ Club’ By Bret Easton Ellis: Chapter 1

Kristy
…and Mary-Anne had been talking for about 10 minutes before I stopped totally zoning out, just trying to mellow really on the B-side of this new Beach Boy album. There is nothing more depressing than coming home after last bell at StoneyBrook High, trying to get my room in order for the Baby-Sitters’ Club meeting, and then realizing that you really don’t even give a shit anymore. Like, sorry that you have diabetes Stacey, but do we have to spend half the afternoon discussing it? And yeah, it really bums me out to watch Claudia just snort up half those Pixie Stixs when she is so blatantly trying to get attention to her sugar problem, but every time we try to talk to her about it she says she needs it to focus on her art and that her super-strict Asian parents are coming down on her ass again so what’s the point, really? This whole club is really getting to be a drag but whatever, I started the project and I just know that bitch Marci is waiting for me to like, drop the ball on this whole thing so she can pick up all the money and maybe Mary-Anne’s boyfriend Logan as a nice “fuck you too” perk.

“So, right, what Mary-Anne was saying,” I tried, but my voice was kind of mumbly so I started again and accidentally ended up shouting over Mary-Anne, and she got this look on her face like I slapped her or told her her mom just died (again). Whoops. So much for best friends, right?

“Sorry, I just want to make sure we’re um, all clear on who is going to baby-sitting David Michael tonight, because that should be, our top priority right?” Now everyone was staring at me and I wish I had eaten lunch or at least some of those Jiff/Wonderbread peanut-butter sandwiches Mom made. There was still some organic Farmer’s Market celery stalks that were half-wilting with Hidden Valley in those new melamine plates in the middle of the room, but I was two second’s away from shaking Claudia down for some Snicker’s or something, or maybe just going to grab the Tylenol P.M. in the medicine closet and my hands were shaking and why was everyone just staring at me?

“Yeah…but…David Michael is your brother” said Dawn in that stupid No-Cal way, which, like d’uh, obviously. As if I had forgotten, which I sort of had but that was besides the point. She flicked her L’Oreal model hair behind her head and I swear to god, she may think it looked cute but to me she looked like a friggin’ horse whenever she did that.

“Right. Definitely. Dawn, I know that. But I’m going to the Richardson’s tonight so I need someone here to watch David Michael.” Which fine, I sort of just grabbed the Richardson kids out of the pile which is against club rules or whatever, but it was my club and if I had to spend another night listening to an eight year old talk about his Megaman action figures like that makes him better than me, just because his dad sends him better gifts on Christmas….whatever.

“I’ll take David Michael,” Mary-Anne said quietly, like literally I almost stopped the tape in the middle of “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” (yeah wouldn’t it) just to make sure the noise wasn’t coming from some background noises that Brian Wilson had thrown in there.

“Thanks, yeah! Now, what were you saying about you and Logan?” I was totally dizzy from relief and relished the idea of drifting into a semi-conscious state of Ritalin withdrawal so Mary-Anne could bitch about her boyfriend. Another meeting of the Baby-Sitter’s Club had come to a close.

Like it? Read Ch.2 HERE

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(via rawsalt)

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maddybirbara:

Oh, by the way guys…

God dammit!

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Look at ‘American Psycho’ by Bret Easton Ellis. It was completely misunderstood by the media. And they probably knew why were they doing it, but they just chose to ignore it. When I read it, I didn’t find it cheap at all. I found it frightening, and very moralistic.

— Richey Edwards (via bakephalliccake)

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(via sa-mantha)

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(via bluestbruises)

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American Psycho According to the Author

Whenever possible, I like to find articles/interviews in which the authors of the books I read talk about their process. Since I finished American Psycho today I decided to go out into the vast internet and find some snippets of Ellis discussing the book. This was one of my finds.

“In many ways Patrick Bateman was me…”

Wha-?!

This is a fantastic article. I suggest you all read it.

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In the kitchen I try to make meat loaf out of the girl but it becomes too frustrating a task and instead I spend the afternoon smearing her meat all over the walls, chewing on strips of skin I ripped from her body, then I rest by watching a tape of last week’s new CBS sitcom, Murphy Brown. After that and a large glass of J&B I’m back in the kitchen. The head in the microwave is now completely black and hairless and I place it in a tin pot on the stove in an attempt to boil any remaining flesh I forgot to shave off.

—

American Psycho

I challenge you to find something more disturbing.

(via bschwartz)

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There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it, I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone; in fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.

— Patrick Bateman (via steinmetz)

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Oh to be rich, insane, and misogynistic

Patrick: "Ask me a question."
Libby: "So what do you do?"
Patrick: "What do you think I do?"
Libby: "A model? An actor?"
Patrick: "No. Flattering, but no."
Libby: "Well?"
Patrick: "I'm into, oh, murders and executions mostly. It depends."
Libby: "Do you like it?"
Patrick: "Um...It depends. Why?"
Libby: "Well, most guys I know who work in mergers and acquisitions don't really like it."

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This was the geography around which my reality revolved: it did not occur to me, ever, that people were good or that a man was capable of change or that the world could be a better place through one’s taking pleasure in a feeling or a look or a gesture, of receiving another person’s love or kindness. Nothing was affirmative, the term ‘generosity of spirit’ applied to nothing, was a cliche, was some kind of bad joke. Sex is mathematics. Individuality is no longer an issue. What does intelligence signify? Define reason. Desire—meaningless. Intellect is not a cure. Justice is dead. Fear, recrimination, innocence, sympathy, guilt, waste, failure, grief, were things, emotions, that no one really felt anymore. Reflection is useless, the world is senseless. Evil is its only permanence. God is not alive. Love cannot be trusted. Surface, surface, surface was all that anyone found meaning in… this was civilization as I saw it, colossal and jagged…

— American Psycho (via babyfacedshame)

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The Guardian Book Club: American Psycho

thisisntbradbury:

Write up of the Bret Easton Ellis interview with John Mullan and subsequent Q&A from last week, a very interesting evening.

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