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Also, like the cookie jar book, it does that cop-out stretch writing thing. It’s the literary equivalent of like stepping on cocaine with baby powder. In Where the Wild Things Are there are three pages for the following phrases “And he got in his boat and he sailed… And sailed… And he sailed some more.” Is your typewriter broken in a way that only allows you to write that sentence? I’m writing this book. I have a word count from my publishers. I can’t just write the same sentence over… and over… and over… and over again.

When I looked up Maurice Sendak’s credits I was thoroughly unsurprised to find that he never did a single book for adults. It’s not like “Oh, and he also wrote All the President’s Men.”

Here’s the real problem. Whether it’s Mapplethorpe and Piss Christ or a shitty Adam Sandler movie I’m not bringing my family to see it. But I’m forced to read these books. I have to read to my kids, and thus put this toxic waste into my brain, filling valuable real estate that could be taken up with vintage racing cars and porn.

This has been going on for centuries. Slightly after the invention of the printing press, parents were being tortured with this tripe. Not that it always has to be published. Nursery rhymes suck, too.

You’ve got an old woman who lives in a shoe with too many kids and is probably on welfare, babies in cradles falling out of trees, you’ve got three blind mice having their tails cut off with a butcher’s knife and the ring around the rosie song is about the plague.

Then there’s Lizzie Borden. We used to take horrible shit and turn it into nursery rhymes. This chick murdered her family. Adorable. That was apparently novel enough to turn it into a nursery rhyme. Unfortunately, something like this happens every day in Dade County. Do we have a Charles Manson nursery rhyme? Are kids on the playground singing nursery rhymes about that chick who drowned her kids in the tub?

It occurred to me one night when I was playing with So

This little ditty first appeared in 1728, well before the Internet. So this piece of shit spread by word of mouth. How did it catch on? There’s a weird foot fetish angle to it. I’m convinced that this was “written” by a foot fetish pedophile who wanted to get his neighbors to take their kids’ shoes off in front of him. “Hey, I’ve got this great thing you can say to your kids. But first they need to take their shoes off. Yeah, that’s the stuff… slower… slower.”

Also, it is lazy. So the first piggy went to market. Okay, good start. But then the second stayed home? He couldn’t go to the carnival or the castle or something? He literally does nothing? The third one had roast beef, which has to be an awkward conversation with the cows he sees at the farm. “How was lunch?” “Good, I ate your brother-in-law.” Then the fourth piggy has none. He doesn’t eat anything. Creatively, the author just gave up. I want to find this guy and go wee wee wee on his grave.

The fu