Remember me saying how I loath these self help books ages ago here? I don’t know why, but self-help books bruise my ego by their 20th page. So I end up not reading the whole thing; just a pleasure-hunting skim-through that’s enough to convince me that I’ve split the author’s brains.
Lol, but I do wonder. Self-help means help yourself, right? Why, then, do we need a book or author to help us? The genre speaks for itself, yes?
So I’ve stumbled on this “Self-help For Masturbators”. Yeah, please don’t make me explain this, isn’t that what friends are for? Okay perv, i didn’t pleasure-hunt here. At least, the title wasn’t catchy to warrant my fingers’ gentle touch in search of pleasure points in these pages. But, i repeat again, the title means ‘masturbators’ can help themselves, right? Hence, they don’t need the book. And most of them, of course, do help (pun not intentionally intended) themselves.
Why not just stop and get a thrill elsewhere? This question, addressing both me and the mastubator(s), uuuhm, assuming he/she’s only one in the globe. Me, because self-help’s not my thrill, but good, action-filled fiction is.
Maybe here there’s bait for the new untapped market. I admit, I’d make target audience for “A Self-help For Allergy To Self-help Books”. Even so, being found or seen with such a paperback would, for me, be like pushing down my pants mid-street to rid that itch-causing bug. Doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It just means it’d be less wrong if I’d secured a hidden zone and done the same. Otherwise, having a bug in the pants remains wrong!
So, on to the next thing. Let’s Google ‘how to arrest my ego’. Wait, that’s a self-help search-phrase? Bye
