The Reviewerator (A review of Snow Crash)

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The Reviewerator doesn't deal in "likes". Likes were a currency of a pre-hypernet economy that had critically undervalued reviews of cyberpunk novels, pizza delivery, and a US president who could argue tax policy with eight golf balls in his mouth. (The candidate who tried nine died swiftly during the debate. His death was one of honor in this new hypernet world.)No, the Reviewerator does not need your "likes", your "comments", nor your approval. He does, however, need the small aerosol pistol taped to the bottom of his laptop. It sprays potpourri, which for some strange reason, those who are not hip to the hypernet economy are fatally allergic to. 



The Reviewerator types this review faster than the top speed of the new Mercedes sonic cars. It's said that one of these new sonic cars can make from New York to Seatle in three "seconds". A "second" as a measurement is also a relic of the pre-hypernet economy. The Reviewerator knows that this review can travel back in time, to a time when the "internet" was still considered revolutionary and that virus that was (anti)social media, i.e. pre-hyper tribalism, was still trying to be understood by small pre-genetically enhanced human brains. 


The Reviewerator DGAF what the consequences of this breach of the Non-Time Travel Through Book Review Accords (the NTTTBRA for short) does to his credit score. What he GAF about is that his review rocks like the clone of Tim Curry singing "Sweet Tranvestite" with background music from the hybridized clones of Megadeth and Black Sabbath, sonic waves so rad that the President's head explodes throwing eight golf balls at the various ambassadors to the Hyper-Supertribalized United Nations of the world.



The Reviewerator speeds toward the end of this review without stopping ask "how" or "why" questions -- the illogical stop signs of a pre-hyperdigitized age.



The Reviewerator reviews books. Period.



Thanks, Neal Stephenson. 

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