
Half the time I’m reading, I’m actually not paying any attention. Oh I read every word so it still counts, but I don’t always (ever) know what’s going on. I think about what page number I’m on a lot. And how many pages are left. And how bad my life is and stuff.
Sometimes I come across words that I’m pretty sure are make-believe. Like factotum. That’s not real. You’re thinking of the word ‘totem pole,’ Author. You need to do a better job proofreading. Also, totem pole doesn’t even make sense in that sentence – you should consider reworking that part altogether or change the book so it’s about Indians. I like the Sioux.
My friend said the only way to truly know whether or not a word is real is to look it up in the dicwtionwary. But what the hell’s the point of doing that? You want me to do more reading? For what? I already have the dictionary on my bookshelf – I wouldn’t be gaining anything. It’s my Free Space. That’s what my Bingo friends call it. They’re ridiculous. I’m actually reading a book on Bingo right now, but it’s about the dog, Bingo, and actually his name is “Benji,” not Bingo. It is a book though.
Books are okay sometimes I guess, like when spiders are crawling around and you need to smash their lights out with something or you when you need to lift your stereo speaker off the ground so you can get better sound quality and for fire. But overall, it just seems like something to do when you can’t sleep and you have a huge erection.
I just think you can learn everything you need to know from watching television. I read that somewhere.
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