We need to ban books!
I’ve been given the privilege this week to come on here and speak out against the indecent media our younger generation addictively consumes. As a mom of four kids and a recent Geneseo graduate (class of ‘90), I advocate that our little darlings should not be allowed to read. The story you’re about to hear isn’t pretty, like my fellow Parent Teacher Association (PTA) member who hasn’t been pulling her weight in our carpooling system (and trust me, she has a lot of weight): Susan. Susan, if you're reading this, your little Timothy is walking home next week; #sorrynotsorry.
My baby girl, little Everleigh Paisley, arrived home for her college spring break with a book in hand. I was ecstatic to see my flower take a liking to growing her mind outside of the classroom—a much better hobby than the DUI she brought home last year. Seeing her excited to read only reaffirmed that I was an amazing mother. Even so, it wasn’t easy getting my hands on that book. Whenever I inquired my little bug about what she was reading, she’d turn a crimson color and scream at me to—as most kids probably say nowadays—“Crawl back to the pit of hell you spawned me from;” she’s always silly like that.
Unfortunately for Everleigh, her instinctual book-closing whenever I entered the room only made me more curious: Was my baby embarrassed to enjoy the art of literature? She never liked it in the past and even shamed others for it—getting suspended once for “verbally assaulting” another student wearing a Harry Potter sweater in high school. I scolded her in front of that “hippy” principal, but I later took her out for ice cream in celebration of standing up to the proliferation of witchcraft in our entertainment; that’s the daughter I raised right there, not whatever came next.
After four days of her being home, I needed to know what the big whoop was about. It was only natural that I took shameful measures to find out about this enigmatic book, like stealing it while she was asleep. I never thought I’d be able to understand my little Everleigh after I heard her brag about shoplifting lipstick from our local Target—we live in a suburban mansion in Cape Cod listed at over five million dollars—but I soon found the thrill I’d been seeking.
Initially, I hoped this book might help me relate to her again. I mean, I do my fair share of reading; my bookshelf is flooded with manuals on raising children (and husbands, hehe!) and old letters from former lovers—Susan’s current and ex-husbands included. To my complete shock, when I opened this book, my brain malfunctioned from the sheer quantity of obscenities on the page. Not only that, but scenes where the male character’s fingers travel to places that make the female moan through quotation marks—THE HORROR! Naively, I hoped this page was a mere artistic accent to the intellectually stimulating novel my daughter was reading, yet after reading page after page of morally questionable sexually explicit scenes, I knew the rot of our world has traveled from television into our books.
I immediately caught a glimpse of the author’s name: Colleen Hoover. This woman audaciously made her book cover art unsuspecting and innocent, filled with pastel pink flowers and misleading reviews. Excuse my language, but I don’t think that drawing flowers on your book means that it should teach our beautiful baby children to deflower!
I rationally burned my daughter's porn disguised in a tutu, and I suggest you all do the same. Everleigh is currently banned from reading all books and must repeat this specific phrase: “Words written for me should never make me horny.”