I love Amazon for a lot of reasons.

or

The Tale of a Woman and Her Big Fat Ass

Oh, Amazon.

You bless my day.

You raise me up

even if I ain't down.

Oh, Amazon,

You da bomb.

The rest of the typing should be in a normal font. This color may be too light, however.

I love not having to get up off of my big fat ass to go to the library or book store, having to drive through the icy winds and torrential storms and/or blistering heat waves, leaping into my 175 degree Farenheit 17 year old car with the crumbling ceiling that is falling to pieces, rotten spongy yuck blowing around and getting into my eyes, with faded black ripped up pieces of ancient fabric whipping into my eyes due to the missing passenger window, all duct-taped with ripped and useless plastic...and Amazon lets me do that.
I love heaving myself out of my big fat easy chair to get the mail (just because it's there) and discovering that something arrived sooner than expected, which is exciting in and of itself—but mainly because I believe it means one may stop all work for at least a half an hour to browse through the exciting new arrival, because—after all—hard-earned money was spent on this purchase, and so it should be shown proper respect. And if the half hour should turn into an hour, or, let's face it—the rest of the day...well, that just proves my theory that books are good for relaxation purposes, and good relaxation is hard to find sometimes these days. For me it is. Or not. Sometimes.
I love Amazon because even when none of my friends are around, Amazon is always glad to see me, and not only that, but even if I'm being an absolute jackass on the day in question, Amazon never tells me to shut up; it greets me, it's thrilled to see me—I know it is because it tells me so...and it likes to show me special little golden treasures and it even wants to talk and show me more and more and more things on and on until I practically want to vomit. But dammit—what else are friends for?
I love Amazon, because if Farmer Bob, my loved one, wants me to type a quick email for him, I can point to the spinning whirling search thingy and say, "Ohhhhh. What a shame! I'm in the middle of a complex search—wish I could stop, but if I do, well, it will waste a lot of time..." And he goes away. I just smile knowingly, sitting on my big fat ass.

Please order your books from here, because I will get pennies with which to feed the poor starving worms in my laundry room.*

*See Da Blog

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