If I see another adult reading part thirty-whatever in an epic series of kid lit fantasy novels, I’m calling Dateline. I understand that all the post-pubescents trolling through the children’s sections of Barnes & Nobles aren’t necessarily pedophiles. The best way to lure children into your loins isn’t with literature, but with the promise of alcohol, drugs, or any time away from their suffocating parents. And no, before you ask, I don’t have this information because I myself am a sexual predator. As the owner of a tennis shoe factory in the Philippines, it is only profitable for me to know what kids want.
On a related note, please contact your congressperson and urge him or her to vote no on the Pied Piper Act.
Just as every flick of those delicate, emaciated little fingers on the rusty sole-binding machines practically printed the money that flowed into my international accounts, so to does each volume of The Magically Fantastical Fantasies of P. Hardy Littleboy line the coke-filled pockets of the publishing companies. It’s fine when children and their cash-strapped parents are the only victims of this hideous pyramid scheme. If they aren’t spending their money on endless tales of grammatically primitive whimsy, they’re just going to blow it all at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Serves them right for contributing to our overpopulation problem.
You hear me, Al Gore? If there weren’t so damn many of us, we wouldn’t have to strangle polar bears to build our ice castles! It’s simple economics!
But what really twists my dick is when people with college educations buy these books of their own accord. And then they read them! Think about the capitulation of taste one has to endure before making the decision to flip through C.S. Lewis’ Jesus-wanking fever dreams before glancing at the first few pages of Blood Meridian.
Here’s the thing: Unless you’re trying to enter the pants of a sex-starved immigrant whose charmingly limp grasp of English prevents him or her from enjoying anything over a 4th grade phonics level, you have no reason to read the Harry Potter septology. I’ve tried, you know. You want proof?
“‘I’m furious with you, Harry!’ Hermione said angrily.”
Okay, that may not be an exact quote, but since when have I been held to a journalistic standard? If the gist has the ring of truth, it runs.
By the way, I spoke to a guy who said he saw a video of Michelle Obama eating a garden salad topped with crispy fried Caucasian skin. You heard it here first!
I’d say that all the Chronicles of Unfortunate Twilight Spiderwicks aren’t for you, but I’m not sure this is the case anymore. Kids these days are too busy catching Hep C and Supermaning that ho to worry about whether Billy Beasley will finally become a Mind Master and defeat the evil Baron Bloodwrath. It’s you with your disposal income, disposable time, and disposable standards that the commanders of crap are targeting with their disposable stories. Treat yourself like a child, and these people will keep treating you like a child as well.