Where the Wild Things Are is a 1963 book written by Maurice Sendak. Basically, the book is a picture book about a boy named Max who gets in trouble and has to go to bed without supper. While in his bedroom, he imagines going to a world of strange and ugly creatures and he becomes their leader and then gets homesick and comes back to his room. Recently, it was optioned for a movie, putting this story on the big screen. The book is beloved by everyone.
Let me posit this: MOST OVERRATED BOOK EVER. I know this is sacrilege amongst almost everyone but it sucks. Okay, it doesn’t suck, it just really is overrated. Let me explain, it is not that the book itself is bad. What bothers me is just how much everyone loves it. And it’s not just that they love it, it’s that they fucking love it. People waited in hours in line for the movie premier of a book that has 10 sentences in it. I was at a party the other day where someone was getting a fucking tattoo of Max and the Wild things on his arm. It’s not even that, it’s that everyone was into it. They thought it was cool. Fuck. I need to go punch a wall now.