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You ever meet those people who claim to have read all the classics? You know, the ones who brag about finishing "Moby-Dick" and "Pride and Prejudice"? I always wonder if they've actually read them or just read the Cliff Notes version. I mean, how else do you explain someone saying, "Oh, 'Anna Karenina'? Yeah, I love the part where she... uh, you know, does that thing." I tried reading some of those classics, and I quickly realized they're not exactly page-turners. I mean, "Crime and Punishment" could double as a sleep aid. It's like, "Dostoevsky, buddy, I appreciate your contribution to literature, but did you have to make it feel like I'm reading legal documents in Old English?"
Maybe we should update the classics for the modern age. "The Great Gatsby" becomes "The Great Gatsby's Instagram Story," and "Jane Eyre" turns into "Jane's Tinder Adventures." Now that's a literary revolution I could get behind.
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I joined a book club recently, thinking it would be a sophisticated gathering of intellectuals discussing profound literature. Boy, was I wrong. It's more like a battleground of egos. First of all, there's always that one person who didn't finish the book but pretends they did. They're like, "Oh yes, the symbolism in chapter seven was mind-blowing." I'm thinking, "Chapter seven? We only read three chapters, Susan!"
Then there's the overachiever who brings a PowerPoint presentation to discuss the book. I'm just there with my notes scribbled on the back of a grocery receipt, feeling woefully unprepared.
And let's not forget the person who suggests the most obscure, avant-garde books that nobody understands. It's like they're trying to prove they're on a higher intellectual plane. "Why read the bestsellers when we can dissect the symbolism in this obscure Latvian novel from the 18th century?"
Book clubs are like a microcosm of society, filled with drama, overachievers, and people pretending to know more than they actually do. Maybe I should start a book club for people who just want an excuse to drink wine and gossip about characters in fictional worlds.
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You ever notice how people treat books like they're on a runway? Seriously, we judge them by their covers. "Oh, look at this one, it's got a sleek matte finish, probably has some deep philosophical message inside." And then there's the ones with those flashy, eye-catching covers. I mean, are they books or fashion statements? I went to a bookstore the other day, and I saw this guy holding a copy of "War and Peace" like it was the latest Gucci bag. I wanted to tell him, "Buddy, it's not a status symbol; it's a thousand-page Russian novel. You're not impressing anyone on Instagram with that."
But then again, maybe we should start judging people by the books they read. Like, if you're reading a self-help book titled "How to Win Friends and Influence People," I'm gonna assume you're trying to compensate for something. And if you're reading "Cooking for Dummies," well, I hope you have a fire extinguisher nearby.
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I love bookstores. There's something magical about walking through aisles of knowledge, surrounded by the smell of printed paper. But let's be real, folks. Bookstores have become the endangered species of the retail world. It's like, "Oh no, there's a new species of Kindle evolving, and it's wiping out the brick-and-mortar bookstores." And don't get me started on online shopping for books. I tried ordering a book online, and they recommended three more. It's like having a pushy literary friend who won't take no for an answer. "You like self-help? How about some mystery novels? Oh, and have you considered a coloring book for stress relief?"
But I do appreciate the convenience of online shopping. I mean, who has time to wander through a bookstore these days? We're all so busy scrolling through book recommendations on our phones that we forget the joy of getting lost in a real bookstore. Maybe I should start a movement: "Save the Bookstore, Unplug the Kindle.
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