It was a happy day when I found a brand new phonebook on my porch, shortly after moving into my new house. "Wow," I thought, "this really validates my existence." I had become a permanent resident, no longer a migratory student, shifting from residency to residency, with no time to appreciate the perks of phonebook ownership.
Shortly thereafter I found a new phonebook on my porch. This one was fatter, and from another company. "Sweet," I thought. "Two phonebooks are better than one."
When a third phonebook showed up, from yet another company, I began to get worried. Did someone find out about my phonebook fetish? Seriously, who really needs THREE phonebooks? It’s pure hedonism to own so much information.
Then came phonebook #4. "Look, even more friends!" I exclaimed, nervously picking it up and adding it to the growing stack.
When phonebook #5 arrived, I became disillusioned with the universe. "If there is a God, why are there so many phonebooks in the world?" I cried angrily, shaking my fist at heaven. And what had *I* done to deserve all these yellow pages when so many people in this life would literary KILL to have a phonebook of their very own.
Yesterday I received phonebook #6. I have become numb to it now. It's like nothing they can do can hurt me.
Now I'm stuck with six phonebooks and I think to myself, "Where do we go from here?" Phonebooks have very little worth as information finders, what with the internet and all. It's not that books in general are out, it's just that these particular kinds of books have outlived their usefulness. Can you cuddle up to a fire with a phonebook? Can you read one in a waiting room to pass the time? Can you take one to a rest home to entertain the elderly? Yes, you can do all of these things. But would you want to….
There's got to be some practical use for these phonebooks. If I were a hobo, I could burn them over a trash can for warmth. If I was skilled at origami, I could make hundreds of amazing creations. If was a bored sadist, think of all those yummy, self-inflicted paper cuts! And if I was filthy whore, I could, um, sleep with them, I suppose.
But no, I'm just an average guy with a mountain of useless information. I guess I could chuck their yellow asses in the garbage, but what if I die and find out that God was really a gigantic tree all along? I would have to account for genocide, and surely I would panic and blame society. Giant Tree God would see past my lies and banish me to some concrete hell. Honestly, I'd rather not take my chances.