Killed by a book

This will be your fate when you nicely  try to take a peek  into my room, comment about how nice my reading backlog looks from afar, asking me to hand you over one of the books, borrow it, and after ten seconds return it with an expression of disgust on your face. And as if you're not yet done with your self-expression, you say you don't want it because they're boring. The hardbounds, with all its volumes, will definitely flung themselves at you screaming to take away your life by endless papercuts and bludgeons.

If only you could exert extra effort to just keep it to yourself, you will not suffer the above mentioned.

So that you readers can have a blight insight into this predicament, allow me to list the books in my reading backlog:

• Weekend Wodehouse by P.G. Wodehouse
• Saturday by Ian McEwan
• The Journey Inwards (I forgot the author)
• a book about the Korean war (I have not touched it, yet)
• 3 issues of the theosophical digest
• Youngblood 2.0

I apologize to you if the only definition of an interesting reading material you know is one regarding aliens, science fiction and puhlease, vampires. I find them enjoyable to read, too. Honestly. But, por pabor, the last thing that you should ask me, His kingdom come, is whether I instead have a copy of the Twilight book after handing you the collated works of young essayists in Youngblood. The next thing you know,you'll be running for your life.

I understand that these kinds of books/reading materials require a higher level of appreciation. That's probably why you showed apparent disgust when I said I prefer books studded with words that enrich my vocabulary, without minding the hassle of opening a dictionary everytime I encounter one. My fault, probably, is not telling you beforehand that if ever you want books with simple language and straightforward symbolisms if ever there are, you cannot get that from me. Don't get me wrong. I read a lot of popular books, but I don't OWN them.

I'm glad my copy of The Prophet was lost.  If it ever reached your hands and in your audacity, vilified  it beyond consideration, labeled it boring and inscrutable, then it's your problem that you look like a man yet you're as intelligent as a trilobite.

You can insult my face and my social status, but I have low tolerance for people who insult my English, my music preferences and the books I read.

Don't get killed by a book. You know you don't want to.

You know who she is? She's Iphreeta, the demon goddess. And she's ready to unleash her wrath on you unworthy mortals.