The Day I Found Out I Was Banned From The Library

 . . . and that day was today.

No, I’m not kidding, but not banned in the way you are probably thinking.  I did not stage a vivacious flash mob in the lobby, and I didn’t do an interpretive dance version of Stephen Kings “It” for the 3 – 5 year old Saturday Morning Reading Corner.
 . . . that anyone can prove.

No, I found out that I can’t look at the very words you are reading right now, and neither can you.

I passed on picking up the laptop from Liz’s house this weekend because I thought it might be nice to sit in the nice, quiet library and maybe type up another rambling rehab a thought provoking, humorous blog post.

. . . but no, it was not meant to be.

 Apparently I may be considered obscenity, as is Google and my Gmail account and any and all of YOUR blogs too.

Don’t know where they could have got that fucking idea.

Remember back in the day whenever you needed knowledge about anything at all, the answer was always, “Go to the library”?  The library was the Google of the pre-internet era.  It was that or 2 years and $1900 later, you too could own the entire Encyclopedia Brittanica set that was obsolete and out of date by the time you had the whole thing.  So all you needed to know, you could get at the library.

Apparently, that’s still true today.  You can still find everything you need to know at the library … if they think you need to know it.

Why is that?

Because little Johnny Jackass decided to illegally download the latest Flo-Rida album at the library.

Because Jimmy Jerkoff thought it would be cool to rub one out at the library so his mom didn’t see it in his browser history.

Is it censorship?  Maybe.  If it is, it’s selective censorship (but isn’t all censorship selective by nature?)  There is a reason I point out the selective nature. While the library is protecting you and I from both my self-righteous opinion and my liberal tossing of the f-bomb (as opposed to the tossing that has been banned by the Athlone Institute of Technology Library), some things seem to have slipped through the cracks (that statement will be hysterical in a minute).

There is a musty fingered waiting list for one of the 25 copies of the 50 Shades of Grey DVD’s.  (Told you that shit was gonna be hysterical, but that’s why I’m banned.)

“But Eric!”, you squeal with delight, “We can take the DVD back to the privacy of our own home”! *shudder*

Point taken, so let’s go with it being yet another case of the many being punished for the deeds of the few.  The janitor had a small biohazard spill in one of the computer cubicles, so instead of punishing the choker of the chicken, we’re not going to let anyone go anywhere on our beloved internet except the Food Stamp application website and the YouTube channel of Billy Graham reruns.

Johnny “I’m an upper middle class white boy gangstah” Jackass managed to download a bootleg copy of Hot Tub Time Machine 2, so instead of monitoring for excessive bandwidth use, we’ll just cut you off from everything except finding out how far down the 50 Shades waiting list you are.

While we’re at it, I heard there may have been a couple of DUI’s last night, so let’s ban cars and have all the vehicle manufacturers focus on public transportation so our dumb asses can be told where to go and how to get there because we, the general public, apparently don’t have sense enough to tie our own fucking shoes.

Which, given the level of intelligence I encountered at McDonald’s this morning, may actually be true.  (Click that link only if you are prepared to join a very long debate on the validity of the $15 McDonald’s hourly wage.)

No, because of Spunkmaster Flash, the internet challenged that have to depend on the library for internet access are denied access to legitamately excellent writers.  They don’t get to read Lizzi’s quest for global compassion and liberal spreading of glitter.  Women trying to escape abuse and are looking for advice can’t benefit from the experience, strength and hope of The Sisterwives.

They are denied the healing power of laughter from JeffAlysonKathrynSarah and so DAMN many others that you can find over there on my sidebar.

(There are SO many more of you, please forgive me as if I tried to list you all, it would double the word count of this post.)

Someone trying to find the encouragement to get sober might miss the very thing they needed to hear in some of my own posts.

I suppose I should thank the library.  I should thank them for giving me something to vent about and thus validating this blog as being what I have always claimed it to be, my own personal therapy session.  All I wanted was a nice, quiet place to vent my frustrations and perhaps help another human being or two or a hundred, or at the very least, maybe provide them with a much-needed laugh.

I can’t do that, though, because I might say “fuck” or post a pic of Tom’s nuts or, God-forbid, talk about Beth Teliho’s Vagina.

 

Tom’s nuts.

So instead, I pulled up a chair at Starbucks, drank far too much coffee and typed most of this post on my 1st generation iPad that isn’t supported beyond iOS 5.1.1 and crashes if you look at it funny.

  I’m lucky despite the fact that I don’t always portray that on here.  I still got to vent and get my word out whether you agree with it or not.  Not everyone has that advantage and today’s world isn’t making it easy for those without it to obtain it.

So stop by your local library and get on one of the computers they provide for “your convenience”.  If you can’t access your own work, stand up and tell them to quit being a dick or you’ll be forced to masturbate to Billy Graham YouTube videos just to prove a point.

It won’t work, but damn, what a blog post you’ll have!

Namaste Motherfuckers!

(I’ve had waaaaaaaaay too much coffee.)



Don’t forget your chance to win a copy of Surviving Mental Illness Through Humor, an anthology put together by Alyson Herzig and Jessica Azar, featuring a ton of writers you have come to know and love.  It’s too easy to miss out on!  All you have to do is click the ‘SMITH’ link above (or just go back one post and you’ll be there) and leave a comment.  That’s it!  Easy!  You can even drop F-Bombs!  Fuck the library!

 

The Illustrated Guide to Playing With Your Meat

Smiling Pig

I know why you’re all here.  It’s not my wit and charm or my rapid-fire sense of humor.

No it’s not, stop lying to me.

You’re all a bunch of pigs and you read that title and your little pig brains went all “PORN!” and you clicked right on in here.  Pigs, all of you.  That’s exactly what this post is about . . . 

Read the rest . . .