At some point during the lengthy, drug-induced coma that I sometimes refer to as "my high school years," I briefly regained consciousness and found myself eye-to-eye with what appeared to be a three-headed, English teaching dwarf. Before I could fall back into my customary stupor I realized that this evil shrieking dwarf would say anything to trick me into wasting what was left of my mind with books and reading and other school related stuff. Although I managed to fend hem off, the sheer terror of the experience stayed with me even until now. What follows are just a few of the scabrous untruths with which he tried to lure me down the twisted path to hell.
The first one was "literature will enrich your life." With the possible exception of instruction manuals for playstation and guns, 99.9 percent of everything you'll read is either obvious, completely useless, or absolute sh#t (including this essay).
The second one was "writers are valuable contributors to society." Actually, writers are a bunch of self absorbed, neurotic wankers, who spend most of their time bitching about the success of their peers and cursing the vast invisible conspiracy that keeps the world from recognizing their greatness. The tiny handful who have any talent quickly squash it and stumble through the rest of their lives trying to hide the fact that behind the witty remarks and bigger that life personas they are as petty and insignificant as the rest of us.
The third was, "reading can provide a lifetime of enjoyment." It's like this. You can go out and search for buried treasure, smuggle dope, hunt rhinos, and solve a murder; or you can read what some guy wrote about some other guy who did. All I know is, last time I looked, The best seller lists weren't exactly overflowing with the spellbinding stories of a guy who hung around in book stores.
The fourth one was, "books will transport you to incredible worlds of fantasy and imagination." So will drugs!
The fifth