Critics, Shmritics

I think The Chicago Chronicle once called me, "extraneous and not quite sane." I recall that The Washington Post called my writing, "jubilant and puissant." I read that The Los Angeles Times mentioned, "Wolinetz has the extraordinary gift of being able to make the totally incomprehensible even more so." And, if I am not mistaken, The New York Times Book Review has noted, "Wolinetz … has … the … biggest … set … of … balls." Despite being worthless, bottom-feeding despicable characters, they possess a certain amount of charm in their work. After all, a novelist with the worldwide acclaim and impact that I’ve had has a certain responsibility to his critics. Right? Wrong. I’m here to tell you critics, shmritics. These so-called critics, these supposed guardians of literary genius, have long aligned against me, jealous of my talent. I can not help this.

Claire Danes once told me, basking in the warm afterglow of monkeylike sexual congress, "There will be those who are jealous of your enormous talent, emphasis on the enormous. Do not heed their catcalls, their envious sneers. Pay no attention to their invidious efforts to minimize you. It is the work that matters, it is about the art. Now, hop back on. Mama’s ready for another ride." I mean no offense to Claire Danes. Claire Danes is a dear friend of mine. Claire Danes and I used to steal Kate Beckinsale’s hair clips on the set of Brokedown Palace and use them to make funny faces. We’d tour Hong Kong under the influence and make exaggerated, overt sexual overtures to the organ grinders. We would join my friend Craig for cotton candy. Claire Danes and I would smoke hashish and then jump on the back of chicken trucks. Then she’d push me off and leave me for dead. Our relationship was tumultuous and passionate. Once more, I digress.

When the critics lashed out against my wonderful mission to maintain the most memorable mammals of the planet, 1971’s Mammalia Mayhem Volume One: The History of the Aardvark, that was the last straw. The following is a letter addressed to the literary community, published in the May 21, 1972, issue of Harper’s Bazaar:

To the "guardians of literature",

When undertaking a task as grandiose as the one that I have undertaken, you are likely to encounter some opposition. Some fueled by a distaste for common literary practice, some fueled by envy, still others fueled by having a crab planted so far up their ass, hemorroids have ceased to be a concern. I suspect that many of you bombastic simpletons fall into one of these categories, most probably the latter. Your categorical and uninhibited dismantling of my book, Mammalia Mayhem Volume One: The History of the Aardvark, is among some of the most careless ever produced. I cite two prominent rumors floating around about me.

With regards to the widely published notion that I have sex with German Shepherds: This is an outrage. My simple comment was merely, ‘I like dogs.’ Your reckless and irresponsible journalism has put my pending engagement to noted animal lover Betty White in serious jeopardy. With regards to the ludicrous assertion that my writing is some how coöpted from other sources, I am angered virtually beyond speech. I’m out of order? You are out of order. This whole courtroom is out of order. I hope, gentlemen, that you could be a little more selective in that which you choose to publish. My work stands alone as the greatest single achievement among the people reading this note. I should hope, ‘guardians of the written word’, that you would be able to tell the difference.

Good day to you.

Geoffrey Aloysius Wolinetz

Geoff Wolinetz cannot be found on IMDb because the Hollywood community refuses to acknowledge the production of his seminal masterpiece Come What May, a gritty psychothriller starring a guy who kind of looks like Billy Baldwin and Erin Gray (formerly of "Silver Spoons"). If he were to be found on IMDb, his name would fall between "Geoff Witcher" and "Geoff Wood." In addition to his imaginary film career, Geoff also maintains an imaginary career as a baron of industry, is lead singer of the imaginary band Kick Ass, Falco, holds an imaginary Olympic gold medal and is an imaginary Pulitzer laureate in the field of journalism for his investigative piece on the albinos of Alaska.