I was Ayn Rand’s lover

Posted this on twitter a few minutes ago, but I've just stumbled on the best piece of satirical writing that I have read in ages: I was Ayn Rand's lover by George Saunders.

Seriously, and while I usually prefer 57 page monologues like any red-blooded male who likes his philosophy dispensed in the guise of fiction, you really should take five minutes out of your day to read this little gem. A snippet:

Not many people know this, but I was once Ayn Rand’s lover. That’s right. The year was 1974. I was a fresh-faced seventeen-year-old, she was a prominent international author—and we were lovers. By “lovers” I mean: we were constantly raping each other. Well, first there’d be a long speech. Usually by her. Then we’d gaze deeply at one another, and our souls would begin speaking the only language a man and a woman ever need: the language of mutual self-benefit.

And, after our poor hero gets jilted for a younger, stronger protégé of greater conviction (Paul Ryan!):

[T]here I was, back in my sock-smelling bedroom, listening to “Photographs and Memories” by Jim Croce, feeling like a total dork. Or, as Ayn might have said, a “parasitic whining parasite.”