Over ten years ago, I wrote something stupid on the inside cover of a Will Self book that I was intending to give to a group of hockey players (a long and uninteresting story for another day). I've been so terrified that someone else would read the inscription that I've held on to the book for much longer than I ever expected to keep a Will Self paperback that I kind of enjoyed but not really.

Maybe all sorts of other books with embarrassing inscriptions will someday end up in a giant book graveyard. Or, perhaps, on the internet:

For Joe, on Christmas
1978. This is the only
book I know that moves
as incessantly as you…

with affectation,
Dwight

P.S. I couldn’t find a Star Wars game.
—inscription, On The Road

I've previously collected some inscriptions written in my own used books.