The Gashlycrumb Tinies by Edward Gorey
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
"N is for Neville who died of ennui."
The Gashlycrumb Tinies is a work of utterly fantastic macabre hilarity. It's one of those books you cackle maniacally over while flipping through it after a run-in at the local Mega-Mart with some snot-nosed brat screeching and howling because Mommy wouldn't let him get that ridiculously expensive new toy or some treat with 20,000 grams of sugar.
And it never loses that special ghastly charm. Quick, simple, and simply hilarious, it's enjoyable no matter how many times you revisit it. Because really, even if you're someone who generally adores children, I dare you not to snicker darkly over such abecedarian dactylic delights as: B is for Basil assaulted by bears; and T is for Titus who flew into bits.
I dare you.
Go. Read. Laugh. You won't be sorry. (And if you are, then I implore you, please, venture out and find yourself one of those elusive yet magical things known commonly as a Sense of Freaking Humor.)
Kobra Kid, signing off.
[You can't stop the signal.]
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