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SPACEBALLS: THE BOOK by R.L. Stine
When it comes to pop cultural fandom, I tend to live by two rules. Number one: never meet your heroes. They inevitably turn out to be garbage (I’m looking at you Gene Simmons). And two: never read the book adaptation of a beloved movie. For much the same reason. But then I saw my absolutely favourite Mel Brooks film had been novella-ised by the consistently ace R.L. Stine (writing as Jovial Bob Stine). Surely, much like Axl Rose at the LA Guitar Centre in 1986 (long story), this must be the exception to the rule.
It is not.
The only laugh I managed to squeeze from this flaccid snorefest was at myself. I’d fallen for Yoghurt’s greatest trick: Moichandising.
Damn you, nostalgia.
Spaceballs: The Book by R.L. Stine