I don’t like used books. There, I said it. Get over it. It’s not like I’m some kind of snob that requires the latest and greatest, the shiniest and newest. I mean, I still have a 1st Generation iPod – which I bought used. I do not consider “used” a bad word. I’ve bought used records, used cars, and used clothes. Hell, I’ve even owned (and worn) used underwear (thank you, Jay and Lorri). But, I do not buy used books. I do not like them. They make my eyes itch and my nose run. Literally. I am allergic to used books. I do not enjoy a trip to Powell’s in Portland. I hate Naked Lunch – simply because I bought it at Powell’s and, therefore, the three distinct times I have started reading this book over the last decade, I sneeze. I don’t like used books.

Additionally, I do not like used blogs. For instance, this one sucks.

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