It’s there if you want it

The terminals glowed seductively with images of playing cards and lewd smuttage. Drawn were the eyes of the indolent and lascivious with both jaws and spines a-slackened.
  Vices aside, were these beings the downtrodden or those denied opportunity?
  For the sake of argument, let us posit that they are.
  What could such hapless souls do?
  They might seek knowledge and edification through the printed word. A library, perhaps.
  Books on almost any available subject. The classics. History and maths. Self-help books. Vocational guides.
  Any of these would be a positive first step.
  But the savvy or cynical reader can see where this is going.
  For this room, in which these wretched sorts stare at screens filled with poker hands, penii, and pudendae, lay beneath shelf after shelf of book after book.
  One million books over their heads. Literally.

  It’s there if you want it.