Books Aren’t Toys, Books Are Poop
After the jump, the video that is really making the rounds today, in which a young boy opens his Christmas present only to discover it’s a bunch of dumb fucking books. Personally, I deeply relate to this video because when I was a kid I really wanted this robot that served drinks for some reason? Honestly, to this day, I do not quite understand why I wanted that robot so bad. It had, like, a little tray that sat on its hands and you would enter your 10-digit security code into a remote control that you had to plug into the robot’s face and it would take 8 minutes to bring a half-spilled-everywhere glass of Sprite over to you unless it got stuck on the rug in which case NO SPRITE AT ALL. Dream gift, I’m sure. A couple days before Christmas my dad and I were in the kitchen and he goes, “I know you want that robot, and I thought about it, because I could get you that robot, but I decided to get you something better.” Um, what? That presupposes that there IS something better than the robot. FUCK YOU, DAD, GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN! I was not fooled for even one second. He probably thought I was just some dumb kid, and he was half right, I was very stupid, one example of how stupid I was is that I wanted a ROBOT THAT SERVED DRINKS MORE THAN ANYTHING. But I wasn’t “some” dumb kid, I was “his” dumb kid, which means I knew he absolutely did not get me something “better” and that that year I would find only DISAPPOINTMENT under the tree. And, as predicted, dude straight up gave me a bag of hardcover books, including Anna Karenina and Bleak House. I was 11 years old. This is all true. Also true: BOOKS ARE POOP.
I’ll tell you something else, too: when I got my books for Christmas I GOT BOOKS FOR CHRISTMAS. The end! There was no Wii and giant pile of toys next to the books. Do you guys think that I’ve lived the saddest possible life on all of Earth? Probably, right? Yeah. Pray for me. (Via everywhere. Thanks for the tip, Mans.)