The authoress currently resides in a studio apartment above Sal’s Diner in New Brunswick, New Jersey. On Saturdays, she enjoys a long walks down New Brunswick’s’ brutally urban streets, which she regards as a cheaper, more visceral Brooklyn. Maybe it’s the ancient Italian men in the lawn chairs chain-smoking Camels; maybe it’s just the pollution. As you are reading this, she is probably sitting down to enjoy another cup of Sal’s shitty coffee and a thick stack of syrup-laden pancakes because to write is to suffer immensely and she has found that eating things that are completely lacking nutrients, ironically nourishes her soul.
After a long and wildly prolific career as an extra in 50 Cent music videos, she penned a series of graphic and experimental prose poems, including the cult-classic, This Isn’t The Notebook, Bitch, which confronts her marriage to literary wunderkind, Nicholas Sparks. At the age of 67, Repole-Sparks is back with All Your Novels Are the Same, a shocking expose of their tumultuous relationship. Penned entirely by hand and stained with crocodile tears, her latest installment is a tasteful and raw account of the challenges posed by the creative process.
The Repole-Sparks reside in North Carolina near a body of water of some kind, where circumstances beyond their control inevitably try to push them apart. However, much to the relief of their adoring public, they always seem to find each other again.
Whitney Repole is the author behind the two worst selling novels in American history, Pun-fully Yours and Harambe: The Beginning of the End of the Most Powerful Nation in the Known World. Her third novel bears a mind-numbing resemblance to the first two and belongs on display at Wal-Mart, next to the bargain trashcans and imitation FitBits. Voldemort Was Misunderstood & Other Collected Stories, is best described as one big long infomercial for the Devil, if the Devil were actually a jaded Literary Arts graduate shoveling down semi-burnt scrambled eggs whilst contemplating the pitfalls of Netflix, her student debt and whether or not her Instagram shows her truest self.
Story has it that after Panel, the authoress stumbled into Moe’s and Joe’s only to find Kanye West slumped over one of the back booths. She promptly offered him her Briny Melon Gose in the hopes that the musician would be revived by its soothing summery notes, which made her feel like she belonged in a room full of people drinking IPA’s, even though she knew herself to be an imposter. West began to protest, “We all know Sweetwater had the best gose of the year,” but Repole quieted him by shoveling $1 popcorn down his throat. They began to make out theatrically. Whitney called for the bartender to play “Wolves.”
It was 4:30 P.M.
It was the morning of her eleventh birthday when her fake Hogwarts letter arrived. The product of her parent’s late April Fool’s joke, Repole was forever changed by the treachery and the shock of being a normal human. Growing up in the shadow of her Muggledom, Repole has since penned a series of abstract novels that deal with her journey to be recognized as a witch by the magical community. Called a “raving lunatic” by some and a “convincingly naïve young woman” by others, the authoress currently lives in a Yurt in the Scottish Highlands, apparently on border that separates the hypothetical Hogwarts’ castle from the world as we know it. If she dies, she will be survived by a large flock of rather tame barn owls and a surprisingly large collection of household brooms.
After a 10 year hiatus, the critically acclaimed and controversial cook-book writer is back with another collection of hard-hitting recipes: Vegans Are Quitters: The Carnivore’s Guide To Winning. In collaboration with cultural icon, Guy Fieri and Food Network bad girl, Ina Garten, “Vegans Are Quitters” explores the hidden potential of unexpected meat sources such as the delicate and unexpected ‘Pigeon a La Mode’ which unfolds down the back of the throat like a wet sheepskin blanket and the challengingly chewy New York City Gutter Rat Pie, that scurries along your taste buds, sprinkling culinary waste and a plethora of Dark Age diseases as it is digested. The authoress divides her time between her miniature horse farm in Northern Maine and the Tuscan villa she shares with the ghost of Mario Batali.
Just when you thought it was too bad to get any worse this literary parodist who some have called “about as inspirational as the Bubonic Plague” is back with another one of her depressing, anti self-help books! Screw the life you’ve always wanted, now it’s time to slide slowly into the downward spiral you’ve always found to be deplorable. In How To Lose Everything You Hold Dear In Five Easy Steps: A Journey to Self-Loathing, the authoress expounds upon the perils (and delights) of gateway drugs, hook-up culture, the quest for the perfect candid Instagram, Seattle’s Underground Orca fighting ring and SmartCars. Repole’s comments on her work could not be included in this bio due to the fact that her mouth was full of Taco Bell’s Crunch Wrap Supreme when she was asked for a quote.
After spending three years with a family of traditional Vikings in Greenland, Repole has released her a prose-documentary, More Than Just Wood, whose genre itself redefines the 2016 Literary Scene. This genre-bending work excavates the secretive and often abusive relationship between Vikings and the trees they used for their “knarrs” or cargo ships. Repole is a modern day Lorax, giving voice to the thousands of trees that were abused and carved without regard for their feelings.
Repole lives in a log cabin in the Adirondacks with a retired Canadian lumberjack. When asked if she found her choice of home to be ironic, the authoress responded, “American trees may still be standing but they died a long time ago. The Pilgrims killed their natural spirit,” before grabbing an ax and retreating into the forest.
North America’s most indestructible and shameless Doctor of Literature is back with this year’s most purposefully overlooked work of academia, a dramaturgy entitled, Iambic Pentameter You Sneaky Sonofa. Over the course of the book’s 687 tightly kerned pages, Repole mangles the beautiful soliloquies and complex, linguistic pyrotechnics of the Bard with unmatched gusto. As far as theories go, most of hers are about as truthful and fact-based as Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop rants. Repole has made extensive efforts to further the rumor that the work was indeed done entirely by quill. Upon further examination, aforementioned quill was discovered to be just a curiously thin stalk of purple asparagus. We humbly suggest that the good Doctor retreat back to whatever non-organic grocery store she came from! The pretension of some people!
A great and terrible fire ravaged the authoress’s Oklahoma estate. Admist the ashes, the rubble and piles of strangely fire-retardant Cosmic Brownies, a rookie fireman unearthed a safe. Inside the safe was a finished manuscript (it doesn’t matter how it opened it, just keep reading). The fireman checked to see if anyone had noticed his discovery. Strangely, he was alone (the logistical probability of this is grossly unimportant). The manuscript was entitled, What Toby Keith Whispered In My Ear. The rookie fireman had a choice to make. He felt that he had prepared all his life for this moment (in reality he had bounced around from one ambition to the next and this whole fireman thing was probably a phase). The rookie fireman pulled a match from his jacket pocket (Why would a fireman have a match in an already burned down building? Because he had bad taste in irony? Because he always wanted to be prepared in case there was an Apple Cinnamon candle that needed lighting? Because the jacket wasn’t his?). The rookie fireman struck the match and brought it to the edge of the manuscript. Somewhere in the distance, “Beer for My Horses,” began to play softly. The rookie fireman shivered involuntarily at the beauty, of course.