We do understand the impulse. There are certain conversational prompts that subconsciously elicit an automatic response from people. Like when someone brings up whatever jerkoff northeastern college you went to, or the backwater town you came from, you are automatically compelled to identify yourself as one of their tribe. It’s Pavlov’s dog shit — which, by the way, bringing up Pavlov’s dog is on the List as well — or some prehistoric caveman response system. It basically means don’t stab me with a rock and rape my family, except in this instance you’re talking about belonging to some dickhead author’s cult of personality (Authors.) and not where the best place to hide from dinosaurs is.
Knowledge is power, right? When you let the person you’re talking to know that you’ve gathered information they aren’t necessarily privy to, you’re trying to come off like some Heart of Darkness motherfucker returned from parts unknown with news of the mysterious. But instead you’re just a dude who’s been all the way to Border’s and back on a mission for Oprah. Magellan with a kindle over here.
Save it, we all know the book was better. And we all know you’re a douche, but you don’t have to come right out and show us every chance you get, do you?