Not Another F***ing Vampire Book—is the title of a college-oriented fantasy novel, written for the next generation of young adults.
Or, you know, people who still live with their parents but occasionally try their hand at adulting.
It is the story of a young man somewhere between the ages of still-has-marketable-sex-appeal and broke-degreed-and-stupid who one day wakes up with the ability to suck the ink out of books.
He also thinks he’s a philosophy major, so he asks his professors whether or not books are still books if they lack actual content.
This greatly puzzles the professors, who were not aware that students actually used the library for anything besides sexy times in the stacks, socializing, or printing out memes using the school computers.
In any case, instead of finding a solution to the problem, and because they didn’t want to miss happy hour, they come up with a “working theory”: booklessness-lessness, which states that even when all the ink is sucked out of the pages of a book, its remains may still be classified as a, uh, book.
“I don’t really know much about any of this,” says Professor Mackle-less as he arranged mirrors and crucifixes around the yet-untouched copies of A Picture of Dorian Gray, garlands of garlic circling his neck. “But I know a book when I see it.”
For whatever reason the theory is quickly being adopted by legions of e-book readers, but that’s probably because they don’t read anything anyway.
Meanwhile, school is cancelled but everyone still goes into debt trying to pay off their student loans.
The protagonist manages to make his way through the entire PN-PQ section of the library, which makes the humanities students terribly irate when they realize he left them exactly zero biographies.
He does not offer any explanation for his strange dietary preference except to say, “Guys, c’mon. The author has been dead since, like, the seventies. Get a grip.”
The novel is told in first person heterofricativomniscient, and its salient points include lots of fandom-approved shirtlessness, TOMS © shoes, black coffee, and a mail-in rebate that will get you a buck off the price of admission to the book’s underfunded, independently produced movie adaptation.
On the back of the ticket are some keywords you may use to locate precisely the movie’s website on the Internet, but I believe the developers wrote it in Web 2.0 so it’s probably full of spammy pop-ups.
So, unless you want to meet singles in your area or follow-this-1-rule: obey, you’d be better off returning to your normal internetting routine, like watching flash videos on Albino Black Sheep.
Confessions of a Young Deconstructionist Vampire is written entirely in extremely bad French by an American in her mid-thirties who got her translation degree from Google, her inspiration from Stephanie Meyer, and her iced skinny mocha-latté vanilla from Starbucks because where else right?
The translation of this brilliant debut will be published in America sometime before the next Rapture, but most definitely after the next full moon.
