Why I Shouldn't Read Books
By Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz

There it was, at the bottom of the page, last line in a chapter about the first documented serial killer, a woman who poisoned men for money in ancient Rome:

As punishment for her crimes, the beautiful Locusta was raped by a specially trained giraffe and then torn apart and eaten by wild animals.

And after reading that, I was expected to snap off my light and go to sleep. I was supposed to wake the next morning, go to work and not Google the phrase "raped by a specially trained giraffe" because I am smarter than that, and if caught, I'd surely be fired and for good reason.

But, of course, I did just that, and soon discovered that the beautiful Locusta was not the only woman raped by a specially trained giraffe in ancient Rome, nor were giraffes the only animals specially trained to rape. In fact, according to Roman Times and Events, (another book I should not have been allowed to read) professional bestiarius Carpophorus trained leopards, lions, wild boars, jackasses, and zebras to do just that.

Back then, Roman women actually volunteered to be raped by wild animals to make money for their families and likely because they didn't fully understand what they were being asked to do, likely didn't think about what being raped by zebra would actually be like, but by then it was too late.

At my job, I answer phones, send emails, and I get paid.

At Carpophorus' job, he trained giraffes to rape women.

And for this too he was paid - handsomely, because he was the only one who knew how to do it. It was an industry secret only he knew. Other bestiarii tried it, and the donkeys would look at them like, What the fuck? And the giraffes would roll their eyes. And the lions would just eat the women, probably. And all the bestiarii would go, How does Carpophorus do it?

But Carpophorus wouldn't spill his secret, not for anyone, and that's how he became such a famous bestiarius, the only one recorded by history, the only one whose name appears in these books I shouldn't be allowed to read, because it's Monday, and I should be writing poetry about the shiny new year or my pink-cheeked nephews, or even the way winter can punch your stomach so empty breakfast tastes as good as parental acceptance.

But no, instead, I read library books I picked up out of boredom, innocent-looking books that have filled my head with things that serve no purpose except to make me look like the world's creepiest conversationalist, exclaiming over morning coffee, (over morning coffee!) that you wouldn't believe what I read this weekend about the coliseum in a book that should have been titled A Sadist's Guide to History, and then proceed to blather about something awful, like amputees being forced to fight each other to the death with their only weapons being their replacement limbs, or that the coliseum's exits were called vomitoria, derived from the Latin word for "a rapid discharge," from which English derives the word vomit, and isn't that funny?

And why, no, it isn't. And this is why I shouldn't read books, or at least strictly limit the books I'm allowed to read, like just cookbooks, or books which feature on their covers puppies wearing bright red hats, or maybe just dictionaries, although I'll have to rethink that last one, because after my coworker told me he'd just seen Bruce Springstein at some giant New Jersey arena, I piped up:

Hey, do you know that the word "arena" means "sand," and they call it that because back in ancient Rome, sand was the best way to soak up all the blood from public killing? I'm not kidding! Look it up in the dictionary! It's fact! I know this because I read about it in a book, not because I actually soak up blood with sand. Ha ha ha… ha ha ha… yeah…

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Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz is published or forthcoming in McSweeney's Internet Tendancies, Rattle, Pank, Barrelhouse and Monkeybicycle, among others. Her latest book, Words in Your Face: A Guided Tour Through Twenty Years of the New York City Poetry Slam, was published last year by Soft Skull Press. For more info, visit her website at www.aptowicz.com.

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