The Best Book on the Planet-And It's Mine! ALL MINE!

The Tomboy and I were in Barnes and Noble the other day and as we walked past a bin of marked down books I saw it. It was like a revelation. It was like (for me) finding Quivira or Cíbola!

There it lay before me, shining in the overhead fluorescent lighting, or maybe it was putting forth its own light, like a beacon, calling to me from among the mounds of "Changing a Light Bulb for Dummies" and "South Beach Diet" books.

I reached for it, seemingly in slow motion, nearly panicked that someone else would walk by me and snatch it up before I could get my hands on it's glossy cover.

I picked it up carefully, basking it its weight, its perfect covers, opening it and stroking the pages. I hugged it to me taking in the smell of its crisp clean pages.

I knew that in my hands was the epitome of great literature and it was mine. (Well, it would be after I paid the mere $9.99 + tax that would forever after make it my own.) Over the years I have dedicated my life to reading the works that are contained in this book. It is a collection of brilliance. I have read many, many of the wonders that this book contains and read them cover to cover.

How could it be that this book had found its way to the clearance bin? What travesty of justice caused the book to be......oh I can barely bring myself to type the words......MARKED DOWN. **SOB** It is a disgrace to great writers everywhere. I mean if this could happen to THIS book it could happen to ANY book.

It was very difficult to hand the book over to the cashier, who I might add gave me the strangest look when he went to take it from me and I couldn't release it. He tugged harder, nearly pulling me over the counter. I was so afraid that something would happen to it. I winced when he scanned it, gritted my teeth as he bagged it, held my breath when he finally took my money handing me my change and then, at last, the bag that contained my prized find.

And now, as I sit here typing, it is snuggled next to me. I only have to turn my head slightly to gaze upon its colorful dust jacket, knowing that within the binding lies the answer to some of the worlds most puzzling questions.

Yes, that's right. I found this copy of "Mad for Decades: 50 Years of Forgettable Humor from MAD Magazine". Ah, yes, there is a God, Alfred E. Neuman be thy name!

And yes, I do know that you are laughing at me right now and thinking what an idiot I am. But, hey, we all have to believe in SOMETHING.



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