You unbelievable ingrates. I’ve had it up to here with your mockery of the English language. Who do you think you are, Harold Bloom? What a joke! I’ve read more books than you’ve probably seen in your whole lifetime.
What? Did you honestly think I was going to fall for your Instagram posts? Everybody knows those are just for show. Those dusty tomes at the antique bookshop make up a single passage in the novella of your brief, insignificant life. Did you want praise for your ingenuity of spirit? Your Kafka references are appalling to me. You’re hardly worth a pixel on the screen of the countless books I’ve pirated. Epublisher is my fucking name, motherfuckers.
You can laugh at me. That’s fine. We’ll see who’s laughing in twenty years, you pathetic Nineteen Eighty-Whorelover. My face will grace the countless covers of the TLS. What will your mainstream reading bring you? A disappointing sexual encounter with a Christian Grey cosplayer? An overabundance of self-mastubatory verbiage in a Foster-Wallace novel, growing more irrelevant by the second? Just stop it. You’re humiliating yourself.
You’re a regular Enid Blyton. A real Tay Bridge Disaster. Don’t try the whole “look upon my works ye mighty and despair” with me. We all did English literature in college, but I know your sort. Jacking off to Trainspotting, acting like you read the book when we all know you watched the film. You’re a regular Catherine Moreland. I bet the only Abbey you know is Northeranger. What a Nightmare.
Well, alright then. Shrug your shoulders. Unpause your John Green audiobook. Whatever helps you get through the day.
Your day WILL come though. When it does, we will hunt you down. The gulag is waiting, and we have a spot just for you, right between the comic book nerds and the furries.
“I read a book.”
We know you did, kid. I’m writing this to tell you that we see right through you. I’ve seen hundreds of your type pass through here, every single fucking DAY. But I swear, by the Old Ones and the New, you’re going to be sorry you ever tried to outwit me in my own domain, you fecal loving, placenta brained toerag.
Face it, you’re a hack, a fraud and a pseud, and that shit’s not gonna fly here unless it’s over my dead body, you little bitch.