Library of Congress Accidentally Builds Gulags Across America, ‘We Thought We Were Ordering Bulk Tents for a Book Fair’

WASHINGTON, D.C. — In a development that scholars of governance and absurdity will undoubtedly dissect for decades, the Library of Congress has admitted to inadvertently constructing a sprawling network of gulags across the United States, citing a clerical error in which officials believed they were procuring “bulk tents for a book fair.” This reporter, having explored topics ranging from Olympic scandals to Wall Street’s meme-stock manias, finds this bureaucratic blunder a singular case study in the perils of unchecked administrative zeal.

The calamity began, per Library officials, when a procurement officer—whose identity remains shrouded in the fog of government anonymity—misinterpreted a requisition form for “temporary structures” intended for a “Celebration of Literacy” event. Instead of canvas pavilions festooned with literary cheer, the order triggered the erection of fortified detention facilities in 37 states, complete with barbed wire, watchtowers, and what one whistleblower described as “an unsettling number of padlocks.” Historical parallels to Kafka’s The Trial are unavoidable, though Kafka never envisioned a dystopia born of a misclicked dropdown menu.“

We deeply regret the oversight,” said Library spokesperson Marjorie Tuttle in a statement delivered with the gravitas of a funeral dirge. “Our intent was to foster a love of reading, not to architect a nationwide archipelago of despair. We’re researching how ‘book fair’ autocorrected to ‘forced labor camp’ in our system.” Tuttle’s earnest delivery only amplified the surrealism, as if a typo could plausibly summon concrete bunkers from the ether.

Analysts, including this correspondent, have traced the error to a broader cultural malaise: the conflation of bureaucratic efficiency with actual competence. The Library’s procurement system, a labyrinthine relic of the dial-up era, reportedly processed the order through a vendor named “GulagRUs,” which officials assumed was a quirky startup specializing in pop-up libraries. Instead, satellite imagery reveals compounds stretching from Topeka to Tallahassee, each equipped with what appears to be a mandatory book club syllabus featuring Atlas Shrugged on repeat.

The public’s response, as explored on platforms like X, ranges from incredulity to memes likening the gulags to “Goodreads gone rogue.” One user quipped, “I always knew overdue fines were a gateway to tyranny.” Yet the scholarly lens demands we consider the implications: what does it mean when the nation’s repository of knowledge mistakes a literary festival for a Stalinist cosplay? Historical parallels to the Roman Empire’s administrative overreach come to mind, though even Nero never blamed a fiddle for an inferno.

The Library has pledged to dismantle the gulags, though early efforts were hampered when a contractor mistook “deconstruction” for “deepen construction,” adding moats to several sites. As this reporter continues researching the intersection of incompetence and ambition, one truth emerges: the Library of Congress, entrusted with preserving America’s intellectual heritage, has instead gifted us a masterclass in absurdity. Citizens are advised to avoid any “book fair” invitations until further notice, lest they find themselves cataloged under “Inmate” rather than “Reader.”