I feel strongly that some books should be put down for their own good. Every now and then some really terrible books show up in my apartment building lobby. So far I have arranged for the recycling of many a romance novel and religion 'non-fiction.' I really think it's better for everyone in the end of those books are given a noble death via shredding. They will resurface in products like toilet paper, which is the best place for them. Today's gem is a book about sex and god. The author seems to believe that god is the missing element in today's sexual culture. My initial instinct is to set the book alight and scatter its ashes over some porn magazines. But I am more than that. I am the angel of death. In CSI terms, I suffer from delusions of grandeur and possibly schizophrenic hallucinations.
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