The Horror, The Horror

You may ask, gentle reader, but I dare not say what drove me into that seller of antiquarian texts upon my journey home for a respite...yet, I'll have occasion to regret it for the length of my days. Would that I had never ventured into that dark receptacle of things better left unsaid, the horribly vast and terrifying blogosphere; but greater woe befell me still when I allowed one Stephen Bainbridge to persuade me to purchase the unbecoming, black-clad volume of Lovecraftian nightmares upon the shelf...how I will curse him to the end of all things! For, upon presenting the small, well-crafted tome to the mild clerk, I discovered...it cost thirty-five American dollars...as my screams echoed throughout the deserted stacks, I descended into the darkness in which you find me now, and I present my tale of woe as a firm word of caution to those who seek what they must never find...black was the volume and black is my soul...oh, to feel the warmth of innocence again...curse you, Bainbridge, and your unquenchable curiousity!...