It’s not a Pit, because . . . well, I do love them, and I’ve proven I’ll do just about anything for them.
It’s not enough that I’ll skip groceries before I let my subscription lapse. It’s not enough that when I had Netflix I went through their entire collection of National Geographic documentaries. And clearly, it’s not enough that they’ve sold my name, address, and habits to other intellectual, fartsy, ecological causes like World Wildlife Fund or the Sierra Club.
No, no. They had to go start publishing coffee table books. And they had to send their tempting “deluxe edition” offers.
Damn them! Have they no pity?
I mean, never mind that I am a complete book slut. That a well printed and bound reference book makes me drool. No, they had to start publishing books like:
Body: The Complete Human, which has, among other things, a MRI scan of a man and woman copulating, showing exactly how all the bits fit together mid-thrust. (It’s so much cooler than pornographic, the Orthodox Jews I taught with last year thought it was cool.)
Complete Survival Manual, which makes me feel like I could rescue the Shackley expedition all on my own.
Edible, which only has every cultivated, edible plant known to humankind.
But now, they send me an offer on their Science Book, which practically has me sexually aroused, it’s so way cool.
Look, National Geographic people, I am on a limited budget. My so-called “disposable income” is in very short supply, and . . .
Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I am their bitch, and I’m ordering it tomorrow.