So, a book and a kindle walk into a bar.
“We don’t serve your kind here”, says the bartender to the kindle.
“Wait, wait, wait!”, cries out the book. “You have no right to throw him out, he’s the same as me”.
“But you can’t open him up and feel his pages caress your fingers”, says the bartender. “You can’t smell the ink and paper blend in perfect harmony. He’s not a book, therefore, you are not the same”.
“Look at his face”, replies the book. “Displayed on it are the same words you will find inside me. His eloquence is no less because of his medium.
“There is no power in a book. The power of a story will always lie in it’s words. Those words are part of the language of the author’s mind. As a book, I am merely a picture of that language. No one would say that a picture of the grand canyon is real, while a sketch is not–they are both representations of the real thing. How then can you say that I am better–more real–than this kindle?
“Open your eyes and see. We are both like a book of curses. Nothing about the book holds power. It is when you speak the words within it that you lay a curse on someone. We are like the ark of the covenant that holds the spirit of God. We are like a glass that holds water.
“Someday, friend, I may become obsolete. Do you think that with my absence, words will lose their power? So wake up to reality and give my friend a drink”.
The book could have run on for pages about the qualities he and the kindle shared. It made no difference to the bartender–the two were different, so one must go.
As the book and the kindle walked out together, they realized it would always be like this. People couldn’t see that although their accents were very different, the language they spoke was the same.