i would rather tear out my own eyes than read another atrocity by ayn rand…

this book left me feeling like i had been violated…on every…level…

ayn rand’s prose is equivalent to nails down a chalkboard…the sound of rubbing a balloon in your hands…the feeling of sand caught in your underwear…a fog horn next to your head…barf in your shoes that you realize a little too late….

i’d go on, but the memory of this book is simply too painful