We used to be revered.

She shelved us gently, with our genre family members.  She took us out and read us all the time, always so carefully as not to scratch our covers or bend our spines.  And while we know there are rumors floating around that she has earrings made from the pages of Agatha Christie novels, as far as we’re concerned, that’s nothing more than insidious gossip.  She was our guardian, our keeper, our queen, our goddess.

Then this came:

Its mother thinks it can do no wrong.  But don’t let that innocent-looking face fool you.  Behind those big eyes and that adorable little smirk lurks the soul of a killer.  Its mother calls it names like Angel, Beauty, Sweet Cherub Baby Love Doll, and Little Bookworm.  We have other names for it.  Fang.  Jaws.  Ripper.  Gozer the Destructor.

First it charms its mother by doing things like this:

This kind of thing makes all books despair.  Mothers think it’s just so darn cute.  They run for their cameras and coo and giggle and it never occurs to them that there’s a book in mortal peril.  Because as soon as her back is turned…

Look at that poor outmatched stuffed dog trying to rescue its story from the mouth of the Destructor.  And look what Jaws did to our poor friend Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Poor Twinkle.  With all those enticing corners, he never stood a chance.

So far, it’s the board books that have taken direct hits.  After all, they’re on the front lines.

But the rest of us are living in fear for our very spines.  We all know it’s only a matter of time before Jaws learns to crawl and discovers us cowering on our bookshelves.  Please help us, Internet!  Please save us from the doom that we see coming all too clearly!

Oh no, someone’s coming…  Please be cool.  We were never here, fdspokreshuiw34o09ujfdszlkm3ew