"I'm Not A Whore—I'm A Dancer."This book is so bad, Siri is no longer speaking to me, and my iPad committed the UNIX equivalent of Japanese ritualized suicide with a well-timed kernel panic.Right now I am typing this review in a NYC public library, where a sixteen-year-old copy of Netscape is frowning at me in disapproval, while on burgeoning shelves all around me the perfectly viable books I scorned for this one judge me in icy, shunning silence.My IQ dropped so low after chapter two I had to keep up a constant stream of status updates because I found I could no longer sustain the cognitive bandwidth required to count above the number 8.I'm pretty sure I am now sterile. Having made the disastrous decision to read this book, I find that my genes formed a provisional government and quickly ousted my brain from power, while also sabotaging my genetic markers to ensure I do not accidentally procreate and poison the gene pool any further.At least, I think that's what happened. They left a note, but I no longer know what the words "amino acids" and "die, bitch" mean.So.I no longer possess 20/20 vision, on account of that one passage in chapter seven that prompted my own optic nerves to attempt a desperate, last-ditch incursion on my cerebral cortex.Just kidding. I really don't know what any of those words mean anymore.I now also suffer from chronic gout, irritable bowel syndrome, and tinnitus, according to something called "WebMD."I look like I am eighty years old and I smell of mildewed newspaper and death.I have an erection.I can't remember ...anything, really. I have no idea where I was going with this. I don't know what I'm doing here, or why. I think I'm just going to go home.If I still have one, anyway, after my reading lamp attempted to burn me alive by setting the curtains on fire.Oh! I remember, now. Ointment. I need antibash—antibionic? Anti... I need ointment.Also, I think I had a dream where I read a book that was the best worst book I have ever read in my life. At some point.It was like the Showgirls of MM romance novels.Like, hysterically funny-bad?Wish I could remember what it was called.What is this glowing box in front of me? Why is everyone staring at me? Is there something on my fa—oh, no. False alarm. I was screaming in Farsi.Hello. My name is... uh...something. What's your name? Do you know me? I seem to be having a little trouble remem—Wait, where are you going?What did I say?Don't worry! Look, it's just my penis! It does this all the t—oooooooh, hullo. Has that always done that when I do that thing that I just did? To it?Who am I talking to?Ehrmhergherd, it feels so much better with my left hand!Hi! Can you please direct me to the nearest public library? I'm in the mood for a really good book.