Enough „Star Trek“ Books To Get Anyone Laid
Up for auction: twenty pounds of „Star Trek“ books. They’re old. They’re out of print. And unbeknownst to many, they poflefl special powers.
With ordinary women, I can show them around my bookshelves and say, „Look, see, there’s Carl Jung, and Thomas Pynchon, and Henry Miller, and there’s even David Foster Wallace, but he’s such a suck-afl poseur, I can’t believe anyone’s actually fooled by him,“ and all goes well until they see these five feet of shelf-space devoted to antique Trek volumes; I might as well have left a Viagra prescription on the counter, or hung up a blinking neon sign that says, „Get your genital warts here!“ But boy howdy … when you’re at a convention, and you mention to a woman in a Troi uniform about owning such a fine collection of vintage, out-of-print paperbacks, she’ll whisper in your ear, „Mount me, you stud trekkie!“ and the two of you will be doing the Vulcan Groin Meld all night long.
This collection has been in my pofleflion for eighteen years. They’ve been Spanish fly for female trekkies, and they’ve been silently upsetting the sexual balance of nature within the Trek community for over a decade. Wondering why you never saw any action at a convention between 1992 and 2003? This is why. You never stood a chance, as long as I’ve had these books. But I’m happy to report that I need them no longer. It’s time to let their power fall into someone else’s hands, and that someone else could be you.