Because You Can't Burn an Ebook

Are you a fucking maniac?

Do you think liberalism is a plot to destroy Christmas? Do you need a new TV because you doused your old one in holy water to protect it from Lady Gaga's Super Bowl performance? Did your parents name you "Deplorable"?

Or maybe you're the type of identity-crazed pseudoliberal who's inclined to think someone like me ought to be preemptively kicked out of the literary canon on the basis of being a person of achromaticity experiencing cockhavingness—before I even get a chance to be excluded on the basis of unpopularity?

If you answered yes to any of the above questions, I need your help. Would you please consider boycotting my book? It's called Barn Again: A Memoir, but it's really a novel. (If you think fiction is devil-work, this is the book for you to hate!)

Pay special attention if you're a legislator from Arkansas: you'll probably want to ban my book from your schools because Barn Again promotes, among other evils, anti-authoritarianism, cunnilingus, and craft beer.

The hottest trend in boycotts is to actually buy the product you're boycotting in order to make a statement, so here's a suggestion: order Barn Again through my website and request a signed copy inscribed to—get this!—not yourself or like your grandma or something, but Donald Trump. Because I hate Donald Trump, maybe with more nuance than other Trump-haters but still hate, and if you make me make out the inscription to him, oh God that would show me!

Or you could take a selfie where you're holding up my book and flipping off the camera, and you could give it a funny caption like "fuck u AG I just bought your book & now I'm about to throw it in the trash next to my New Balances BITCH!"

You can save some money by just paying $0.99 for the ebook, which is itself a fuck-you to me because I hate ebooks, but that wouldn't be much of a protest because you can't burn an ebook.

You could always choose the more traditional but currently unfashionable style of boycott where you simply refuse to buy my goods, but if you go that route it is essential that you make a big and annoying deal about your boycott and make sure it trends on Twitter. Otherwise your effort is wasted!

If a group of maniacs in the late nineties hadn't tried to get the film version of The Tin Drum banned from the public library in Joplin, Missouri, I might not have even heard of Günter Grass until I got to grad school; yet if I hadn't gone and read The Tin Drum because so many maniacs were pissed off about it I might not have pursued literature and writing and thus never have gone to grad school. I don't make a ton of money off my degree, but my life would be so much poorer without it. You can make a difference in another misfit's life just by making a big enough stink to get my name in your local newspaper!

It's difficult for a writer such as myself—agentless, unfamous, lacking the resources to take writing retreats to the fucking Hamptons while I struggle to achieve recognition—to get noticed, and I can't think of a better way to grab attention by the pussy than by getting boycotted by a bunch of deranged ideologues, which is where you come in, by calling me a gutter-mouthed cultural elitist and telling your friends and Fakebook minions that I'm a godless devil trying to destroy the world through vocabulary.

(Obviously—I mean, it might not be obvious to a lot of people, which is why I'm compelled to include this parenthetical, tongue-not-in-cheek note, I'm being facetious. I don't want to be boycotted. I'm sure it would be good exposure, but it's not the type of experience I want to court. I'm mainly just mocking Starbucks boycotters and tennis-shoe-burners while trying to appeal to some of the people who, whatever their flaws, are less prone to over-reaction. Maybe one or two of them will read some of this, probably not this far, and think about buying the book. A long shot, I know.) Getting back into character:

Gut-thinking fit-pitchers of America, you've made this country an increasingly shitty place in which to live. Here is your chance to do something positive.