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I am now the proud owner of one very soggy hardback copy of Survivor

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I checked it out, at the library.

Along with quite a few other books, some stuff on figure drawing; human annatomy, mosaic making, human phychology, physics, humorous poetry, Go Dog Go... etc.

And it was time to return. And I put them all in my bag. And I put them in the van, on the floor in the front passenger seat. And I completly flaked out. And I did not return them.

Then, the next day, I decided to return them... because I am very resposible like that, and I love my library privaliges much, and would not forsake them for anything.

I lugged my big blue canvas bag from the van to the drop slot, I was a champ about it.

And as I was all haphazardly, absentmidedly, yet gently I swear, dropping them in the drop box I happened to notice, around the twelveth book to go down or so (the pychology textbook if you must know) how completly swollen and damp it was... as it slipped from my fingers and dropped to oblivion before I could react.


What is this obscene wetness!? Covering the last literary masterpiece remaining in my hand, Survivor?

Oh, Fucking Oregon, you have foiled me again! As I stood there in the misty downpour I realised what a loser I am for leaving my passenger window open a crack overnight.

And my love affair with the written word demands a stand up loalty to walk my shame ridden hung head into the library desk and admitt my guilt.

The total cost of all damaged, ruined, soaked, water logged, destroyed, borrowed books totaling $153+ some cents...

Yet on the bright side I now own a very damaged copy of Survivor... I shall call it emotionally delicate, and it will console me and I will console it through this terrible ordeal of paying off the library mafia for the begging privalige to engage in their sevices once again.

We shall never part.