Wednesday, November 14, 2007

I love you, "I Love You, Beth Cooper"

I Love You, Beth Cooper is the greatest 80's high school movie that's actually a book which has not been made into a movie... yet (Chris Columbus' production company has the rights.)

While delivering his high school valedictorian speech, ubernerd Denis Cooverman uses the opportunity to profess his love publicly for head cheerleader Beth Cooper. The book follows the aftermath of that bombshell in all its hilarious, bloody (literally bloody) glory -- a night in the life of Denis and his movie-quoting (probably gay) best friend Rich, Beth Cooper and her two cheerleading cohorts, and Beth's 'roid rage asshole boyfriend Kevin and his two douchebag thugbuddies.

Formulaic? A little. Too witty for its own good? Sometimes. Eminently readable and thoroughly enjoyable? Yes. Fuck yes. I really can't do author (and former Simpsons writer) Larry Doyle's words justice, so I'll let some of the book speak for itself:

The human brain is an amazing organ, versatile and loyal. Denis's five-pounder , which could recall Klingon soliloquies with queasy accuracy, could also creatively misremember recent events if it felt its owner needed a break. Rest assured, the brain had an unedited master of the scene in question and could evoke it at all, as it would later that night and seventeen years from now, with Denis walking down the street feeling pretty good about himself until his brain sucker-punched him with evidence to the contrary.


"She invited band people," Rich shouted back. "She invited mathletes--but not us!"

Valli Wooly invited no one. She had disinvited just enough people ("I have to keep it small") for word to get around. She wanted everybody to be crashing, so that they would all feel unworthy and she could eject anyone at any time. She was that much of a bitch.

And one more:

Beth Cooper's butt.

He saw it for only a moment.

At 2:32 a.m. on June 4th, in the two-thousand-and-seventh year of Christ (Our Lord).

A Monday.

It was more than perfection: more round, more bouyant, more everything you could want in an ass. It had a single, perfect flaw: a birthmark, on the right cheek, exactly where it would be if Cindy Crawford's face were a butt.
I'm done.


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