No,no,no, you don't understand. I steal books for fun. I'm just like anyone else. I get a thrill out of mischief really. I think in crime, when looking at whether or not something is bad or a subject is guilty, intent is a necessary factor to evaluate. My intent is light-hearted, innocent really. I" seek liberation from a life of normality while hiding the deviant behavior so as to conceal this internal disdain.
My books don't collect dust after I nab 'em. No, no,no. I hide them in different places. I've hidden them in the Whitehouse, My mother's house, this guy named Chris' House, a funeral home, Mount Rushmore and even at the Harvard Library (though I don't have an ID card to enter).
Which book I take depends on my mood. If i'm feeling jolly, I steal Vonnegut. If I feel sad, I steal Kristeva. If I feel bored, I steal Piaget. Of course I don't only steal these authors when i'm in the aforementioned mood. I steal lots of books at a time. The count is somewhere around about 200,000 dollars worth of books. It's an adventure to find a new place to hide each book. Euphoric liberation.