In 2020, a very dumb person had what they thought was a brilliant money-making idea– late ’00 Buzzfeed-style lists in the form of books written in several minutes in a language they didn’t speak! That person was 1900🌭 favorite, Mario Corelli, author of 101 THINGS TO MAKE HER WET! And it worked! I gave him $6.99 for 101 THINGS FOUND IN THE HUMAN BODY: STORIES REALLY HAPPENED EVERYONE HAS GONE ALIVE.
On the cover, Mario chose to print his name in white ink on a white background, demonstrating the kind of incompetence that goes beyond mere stupidity. You don’t think, “nice try” when you read a Mario Corelli book. You think, “haha this dumbass Atari 2600 is trying to come to life.”
The first page of this medical oddities book is a botched sales pitch and the next one is the words, “SCISSORS IN THE ARM.” That’s it! The whole book is that– the names of objects with no context or citation. I’m not saying Mario is lying. This might be a real transcription of a Google search he made, and someone, somewhere, presumably got stabbed in the arm with scissors. I’m saying this is the upper limit on how bad you can be at writing a book. If I held a pair of scissors over my arm and stabbed myself every time someone wrote a worse book than this, my biography would be called THE MAN WITH THE 101 SAFEST BODY PARTS and every page would say “ARM.”
Whoa, doctors found a ROD FROM FENCING IN THE TORSO? That honestly seems like it would be among the most common fencing accidents. This is going to sound like Mario Corelli’s sex book, but after thousands of stab attempts over the course of many years, it had to have eventually worked, right? This is like being amazed that Shaquille O’Neal’s penis got stuck in an airplane toilet. It was only a matter of time, you fu– hey, you know what? I don’t think running this book through my scanner is properly capturing the majesty of Mario’s incompetence. Let me see what I can do in Photoshop.
That’s better. Ridiculous, amateurish, and ambitious far beyond the creator’s means. These are visuals befitting Mario Corelli’s catastrophic yet museum-quality idiocy.
It is only page 7 and I have no goddamn idea what Mario is talking about. SPIKE FROM THE MALE CHEST? Was someone hospitalized battling a porcupine? Was this exploding man shrapnel? This is such terrible storytelling. Imagine being at a party where someone says, “My buddy is an x-ray tech and he sees all the crazy shit people put in their bodies. Oh, here he is right now. Dude, you need to tell them the story of the guy with the thing? It’s nuts, wait ’til you hear this.” And then his friend says, “SPIKE FROM THE MALE CHEST,” and leaves. That’s more than a bad story. It’s more like random gas escaping a dead body. I think someone at that party is doing some kind of Weekend at Bernie’s Thing. Fun!
So there were multiple teenagers with paper clips in their jaws? Were they piercings? Did they all go down on the same office supply manager? Was their father a stapler? Wait, he only said one paper clip. Was it one big paper clip, and these kids were all hung up on it like fish? Because the police never made those details public. Keep your hands where I can see them. How do you know the victims were found hanging from a giant paper clip, Mario Corelli?
“You will never believe the patient I had! They swallowed a watch battery!”
“Wow! I had a guy come into the ER last week who got hit by an artillery missile.”
“Um, do you mean an alretry missile?”
“Yeah, y-yes. Alretry. That’s what I said.”
Imagine you were the mayor of a small town welcoming TV’s Kevin Sorbo to your local pickle festival. You reach out to shake his hand and just start projectile-shitting your pants. It’s blowing out the top of your waistband and the bottom of both your legs while you cry, and at the same time you open your phone to accidentally show him pictures of yourself burying the body of your missing wife. You scream, “Fucking do something, Lorenzo Lamas!” Well if that happens, Kevin Sorbo can now say, “This is almost as bad as the time Mario Corelli was trying to communicate a medical miracle of survival and all he typed was “CEMENT.”
Like a lot of these stabbing implements, I think I know how a KITCHEN KNIFE could get into the human body, but how did the HINGE get in there? Did someone fuck a door? Eat a door? We should also consider Mario thinks HINGE is the English word for something else, like “dildo” or “sandwich.” In fact, he might have thought HINGE meant “kitchen knife” before immediately forgetting about it and doing another kitchen knife one. At this high-end level of stupid, nothing is impossible.
See? Do you see!?
The last three stories in this book have been HINGE, KITCHEN KNIFE, and HINGE. Fuck the idea of this being bad for a professional author. If your horse was this dumb you’d shoot it.
So someone got naked and stuffed their own clothes up their ass? That’s not so strange. That’s how TV’s Kevin Sorbo would deal with the situation if you started violently shitting yourself.
Mario Corelli might be the most uniquely stupid person alive. He somehow knows what INTESTINES are, but not where they come from or how fascinating it might be to find some inside a human body. I don’t have a cute joke for this– it’s truly deranged in a way too slippery for me to understand. It’s like declaring yourself the guitar of Ohio. The fuck you are! You’ll never be!
This was from a botched gender reveal party where the parents ate the fireworks and revealed their baby was a ladder.
Sure, tractor forks sound pretty serious, but what is Mario talking about with THIRD HAND? Is he counting the two the victim already had, or do they have three hands in their body cavity but only the third one is medically dangerous or noteworthy? There weren’t two other entries for human hands earlier in the book. Wait, unless he thinks HINGE means “human hand?” That’s probably it.
Hahaha Mario is just putting together sounds and hoping they mean something in our language. “PERINEUM FOOT! CHEESEBURGER WRENCH!” What the shit is a DOOR HEATER? Does he mean a house fire? Hold on, wait. Does he think he’s listing Home Alone traps?
“These X-rays are alarming!”
“What is it, doc? What did you find?”
“You already know, you coward. You bitch ass failure. Don’t make me say it.”
“Please… I don’t understand, doctor. Tell me.”
That sounds terrifying, but at the risk of making light of someone’s head-amount of cancer, where else did Mario expect them to find it? Like, let’s take a step back and remind ourselves this is a book about doctors finding astounding things inside the human body to “DISCUSS FOR HOURS” and this motherfucker wrote “a whole bunch of cancer” with no further details.
Oh, I get what happened here. Finally, Mario manages to tell a coherent story.
Wait a second. I think these two pages are also telling a story.
“Can you get the tree trunk out of me, doctor?”
“Doctor? Buddy, I’m not a doctor. I’m a carpenter. I have no idea how to get that tree out of you. But you know what? Hold still and let me see what I can do.”
60 KILOGRAM BELLY? Is Mario just talking about someone with a big belly? Or someone who sat way too hard on someone’s big belly? And isn’t being inside a human body the natural state of a surgical suture? I think Mario might have mixed up his “objects found in body” notes with his “stomach stapling surgery” notes, but again, these words could be his way of saying “pizza” and “door heater.”
With a gulp, you are thrown down a slippery dark tube. You land with a splash and find yourself trapped within grotesque, wet walls. You see a CHISEL and a UNICYCLE.
If you start chiseling through the lining of what must be the stomach, turn to page 58.
If you ride the unicycle, turn to page 59.
Your new chisel ruptures something squirty and important. A pained groan echoes all around you. A surge of fluids flushes you into the intestines. “Wait, what are intestines doing in here!?” you think, before then thinking, “My only hope is to follow them to the butthole.” After a journey that feels like weeks you find the exit blocked. The man who swallowed you also got a BOTTLE stuck up his ass. YOU ARE DEAD.
Fuck it. You decide to spend your final moments on a unicycle. You pedal into the next chamber and find BOWLING! There’s bowling inside this guy! He had bowling inside him all along! YOU WIN.
Mario Corelli has been sitting on the story of doctors discovering a tiny creature piloting a human body for 66 pages! Amazing! Or maybe someone’s dick broke off in a flight attendant! Still amazing!
There was a time when I would see “SHEPHERDESS” and think, “What could that mean!? Did someone jam a Bo Peep doll up their dick hole? Was there some kind of nightmarish mixup at the lamb chop packing factory?” Now I see it and it’s almost a comfort. Like a senile grandparent retelling the same wrong details in an old story. Let’s let Mario Corelli’s incoherent idiocy wash over us.
Yeah, “LARVA OF FLIES” and “20 COIN.” Maybe doctors found maggots and about three dollars inside some guy, or maybe this is the first book written entirely during a taser attack. The joy is in the mystery of it.
Sure. “PLUG. SEVERAL PLASTIC CAPS.” Random words you may or may not understand with no details. You’re doing a great job, Mario.
Okay, CHOPPING BOARD. Why not. Wait, what? GOLDEN TOOTH IN A BAG? That’s not random nonsense. These doctors are dissecting a fucking leprechaun.
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