For those of you who only stick to Facebook, Twitter, and eBay for your Internet needs (aww aren’t you so cute in your little safety bubble?) you may only be familiar with Craigslist in passing. Craigslist can best be described as a rough “meet up” connections website whose display format never made it past 1997; either the creators of the website are creative geniuses or they simply cannot be assed to pick a font other than Times New Roman for their creation. On Craigslist you can do a variety of local things in your community — assuming you live in one of a handful of densely populated places in the United States — ranging from selling an old dresser, finding a DJ for a party, or finding work in the adult porn business. Craigslist truly has it all, and if it dispensed food stamps then I’m fairly certain every impoverished family in every metropolis in the country would be all over it.
I read a lot of books on a lot of different subjects. If you asked me what my favorite kinds of books are, generally I’d tell you that I enjoy reading literature on reptilian biology, media criticism, and the occasional humor compilation. That’s what my bookshelves consist of: one for sarcastic quips on everything, one for critical (and sometimes satirical) analysis of media, and one for an assload of books on dinosaurs, dragons, reptiles, and anything else that would make you believe my nickname “Dracophile” was earned and not self-appointed. It goes without saying one of my favorite stores to shop at is Half Price Books, a chain of second-hand retail stores that sends out coupons every so often and whenever I get them my inner Jew comes out and I go out and buy a fifty pound stack of books that I won’t finish off until, well, the next time they send me coupons I guess. If all I ever buy are installments of Roger Ebert’s Your Movie Sucks Shit Through A Straw and crusty old copies of PlayDragon then nothing can really explain what the hell I was doing in the cat section where I inevitably found the subject of today’s article.
It would be less insane if it were in 128 languages.
Maybe during my mindless meandering throughout the store I was subconsciously looking for a copy of I Can Has Cheezburger to use as emergency toilet paper, but I cannot be certain. Regardless my search landed me upon a copy of 128 Ways To Say “I Love You” To Your Cat, an advice book that is about as retarded as it sounds. Every single page of this book is full of life ruining “advice” so mindlessly bizarre and insane that the ONLY person capable of writing this is what you would literally define as “crazy cat lady” and to be honest that same archetype is the only demographic this book could possibly be marketed to. Well, crazy cat people and Internet humorists, I guess. This book does not contain 128 ways to show affection for your cat (which according to the scientists at Cracked do not love you back at all whatsoever), it instead showcases 128 different ways for you to become socially retarded (even more than you already are), irreparably damage relationships, or die alone and surrounded by fifty cats that will most likely try to eat your rotting carcass because, as you know, that’s what true love is (and every voraphile’s wet dream come true). Apparently the author has fooled one too many people with this advice, because the copy I purchased was clearanced out at one dollar which means people were obviously getting tired of this furry fortune cookie; this book was written for me, I was meant to find it in that Half Price Books.
