By: Samuel Bontin

Illogical Thoughts by Someone Too Young to Think is the first book of author Robert Mynatt, a young writer with few pretentions of his writing ability, and who happens to write for Taboo Jive as well. Illogical Thoughts is the inception of a fledgling career that is sure to blossom into many more books.

So, you might be wondering, what is the book about and why should you buy it? Well, to begin with, Illogical Thoughts is a random compilation of short stories, each 100 words, and none of which have any real connection with the next story other than they were written by the same author. They are stories just for the hell of it, not trying to boggle you down with any great meaning.

Of course, 100-word stories can usually be read into and interpreted in many ways, but from what I’ve been told, Mr. Mynatt had no universal intentions of implying a deep, philosophical meaning to his stories, but just happens to like to write a lot.

The two main reasons you should buy this book are: 1.) It’s affordable. 2.)  The stories are actually genuinely good (that probably should be the #1 reason).

We’re sure that you won’t be disappointed, but just in case you are, Robert has give us permission to publish five of the stories from the book in this article. So, here’s a free glance into the mind of someone too young to think:

Chronic House of Cards Syndrome, a condition that occurs post-Parkers-Brothers-Monopoly, broke George Liptom in two, creating an empty fragment of a child touched by both physical and psychological pain derived from a nexus of crippling isolation, self-absorption, paranoia, and the overwhelming anxiety of potentially landing on Boardwalk or Park Place after a recent hotel development, which eventually led to drug abuse, a host of sexually transmitted diseases, chronic inflammation of the bladder, and premature death. George’s story eventually led to federal legislation to demolish the architecture of all card houses. George’s mother could only muster up these words, “…gingerbread houses.”
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My sister’s eyes are laser-trained on my left arm with a rusted axe hovering above her head. I’m laying on my tropical felt futon in a premium Demerol-Red-Label haze feeling like a philosophical centipede swimming in green Jell-O.

“I’m having doubts,” she says.

“And I’m not. Do it!”

My eyes roll into the back of my head, and I don’t notice her sweating apprehension. She trembles and her vision goes blurry.

I show her prints about the cybernetic arm to allay her. By cutting off a part of me, I tell her, I’ll be able to do so much more.
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David Vintner realized he was clever at a young age. He grew up isolated and full of angst, rationalizing his alienation as a logical necessity for pure individualization. But after four years of contemplation, David Vintner decided he didn’t care about his individual.

He took up a fascist ideology and read Schopenhauer. He contemplated himself a blob to ruin his cleverness. But even that sounded clever.

Instead, David knew the only way to achieve ignorance was to bash his head into cement surface repeatedly until said process degenerated his cognitive functions significantly. He called the process Will of the Eggplant.
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I grew up anxiety ridden. Perhaps it derived from a psycho-lingual schism in brain function to comprehend normal social situations, but I wouldn’t be able to say for sure. Early on in my life I developed an exoskeleton-like barrier to shroud myself in. I called it UPR, or Unable to Personally Relate. It was a projection of my awkwardness around others. It caused me to question why people laughed at me, gave me a searing physical pain whenever I conversed with anyone, and disallowed empathetic attitudes. There’s not really much else to my life. Just random chatter in incomprehensible mouthfuls.
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“I think I hate everything about you,” a stranger said to another stranger.

The bewildered stranger looked up from her magazine, unable to discern why a stranger was confronting her with abhorrence in a relatively tranquil tone. The stranger stood there, waiting.

“Did you hear me? I said I hate everything about you.”

“Yes, but why?”

“Simply look at yourself. You’re absolutely detestable. Everything you represent is approximate to a crime against humanity.”

The stranger didn’t know how to respond to the stranger. She was stunned. She felt like a chalice filled to the brim with wine being tipped over.

To buy, click Illogical Thoughts by Someone Too Young to Think. And for you Kindle users.