So it’s aphorisms you crave, is it Mr. Geary? Well here’s an aphorism for you: Geary tends to blab about nothing in particular, and absolute Geary tends to blab about nothing in particular absolutely.

Terse enough for ya, Mr. Geary? Has my wit the guile, the cerebral wherewithal to find a place in your book, sir, or is it not on par with the intellect found inside this hardbound travesty?

We’ll get down to it, then. If I were so compelled to, and I assure you I am not, describe ‘Geary’s Guide to the World’s Greatest Aphorists’ in one word, it would be ‘schplech.’

It is forgettable, unremarkable, a farce of words and phrases and names of antiquated British men whom I’ve never heard of.

I think.

I’m not positive, though, Mr. Geary, as I have not yet actually read your book. But that, sir, is beside the point.

A cow once said to me, while I was tripping on acid in a field in upstate New York, that once the wheat is gone the beef shall commence.

Sound familiar, Mr. Geary?

Of course it does, or at least it should. You see, Mr. Geary, the brilliant aphorist that he is, planted a chip into the brain of every bovine on the eastern seaboard that taught each beast how to say aphorisms in four different languages, English included. He did this four years prior to ‘Guide’s’ release, hoping to transfix and the general public and dupe them into believing that aphorisms are in fact cool.

Well, Mr. Geary, they’re not. They’re just not.

But, Mr. Geary, as a result of your grand hoodwink, you’ve been in my head ever since. And though I’m sure your book is fantastic, not just schplech, I cannot be its champion.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

And I’m not going afford you the pleasure of fooling me a second time, Mr. Geary.

Again, for the record, I have never read, nor do I intend to read (curious, is it not, that ‘read’ can be used twice in the same sentence, each use meaning something entirely different from the other), ‘Geary’s Guide to the World’s Greatest Aphorists.’ Perhaps this review, not Geary’s masterwork, is the greatest farce of all.

review by Terrence Doyle