The End is Nigh

 In case the Gentle Reader is unaware of this fact, allow us to inform you that the bookselling industry is by no means the golden goose it once was.  Indeed, there is very little money to be made in mongering the corporeal manifestations of the acquired knowledge of millennia in these days when it is so readily available gratis on the Interwebs.

For that reason, the National Institute of Literary Trends will soon be shuttering its doors, at least as a brick-and-mortar institution.

This has resulted in many trials for us here, of which the need to seek out new employment is almost dwarfed by the drama, bitching, and vandalic abandon our patrons have been plaguing us with in the wake of the momentous News.

One particular side effect has been the elimination of all shits from our interactions with the aforementioned patrons and in our handling of that of our stock which is of negligible value.

In short, we just don't care anymore--and it's beginning to show.

Not sure what is more depressing: 

1. Somebody wrote this book

2. Whatever sad person wrote it also thought that people would want to read it

3. A publisher agreed that people would want to read it and spent money making it available to the public

4. THIS IS AN ENTIRE SERIES OF ARSE-GREASE MADE LEGIBLE

Quotes added.

404: Shit not found.

In case you missed the reference.

Fuck your bullshit gender prescriptions.
Also, not only is the book on the right sexist, it's also racist.

Thank god we can stop pretending these are worth anything.

 

Not even our pack of highly-trained Bookshop Hounds can track down any shits.