It’s like playing Trivial Pursuit with Lieutenant Has-Been.
It’s like waiting till the coast is clear to read Barthes.
It’s like an avant-garde feminine napkin, somehow.
It’s like an acceptance letter to a brothel.
It’s like showing up with an agenda at the roller rink.
It’s like seeing your sister’s batteries for the first time.
It’s like using pliers to turn the pages of this book.
This book, like sunrise over a Kelvinator.
This book, like an erotic salad bar.
This book, like a deathbed for the English language.