Just so you know

This site is being repaired or reconstructed or renovated. 

Whatever you want to call it, I'm trying to make it look a little more presentable in case Oprah, or Heidi Klum happens upon it. After all, I wouldn't want to hurt my chances of having someone important discover me just because my website looks like it was designed by a guy in prison. 

For the record, it was designed by a guy in prison (not me, my cellmate) but that shouldn't colour your opinion of it's quality. Feel free to look around and help yourself to anything in the fridge. Except the beer. That's mine. And please... leave a comment or two. It's the polite thing to do.

Caution

We hope you enjoy the rich aroma of our expertly-brewed Columbian coffee.

Please be advised that the contents of this cup are extremely hot. 

If large heat welts appear on your hands, you won’t be holding things for a long time. If your head catches fire, DO NOT pour the contents of the cup on your head. Contents are flammable. Also, do not panic the other patrons since business has been slow lately and we can use all the customers we can get. Call the fire department and remain inconspicuous.

Please be advised that the coffee beans used to make this beverage may have come into contact with mouse droppings, rat droppings and other things that the crime lab can’t identify. 

If you added sugar to this beverage, we suggest you lie down because, ha ha... that wasn't sugar. 

Consumption of this beverage may result in the use of a colostomy bag. If you are currently using a colostomy bag, thank you for coming back.

If anal bleeding occurs, maybe you should try drinking the coffee through your mouth.

If you get an erection while drinking this beverage, that’s sick. You’re in a coffee shop, man.  If you are a woman and you get an erection, you didn’t fool us. We saw your Adam’s apple when you walked in.

If this coffee suddenly tastes like cabbage, see your physician. If this coffee suddenly tastes like physician, see your cabbage. 

We hope you enjoy your beverage and we look forward to seeing you again.

Visualizing success

Motivational speakers believe that a sure way to become successful is to visualize your success before it actually happens, so now, every night as my head hits the pillow, I close my eyes and imagine what my life will be like when this book gets picked up by a publisher, endorsed by Oprah and sells hundreds, if not thousands of copies. 

 

I am ready for that kind of fame.

I read once that Jim Carrey wrote himself a cheque for one million dollars before he became famous, visualizing the day he would cash it.  Ripping a page from his book, I have tattooed a bar code on my buttocks that rings up a total of two million dollars and seventy -five cents when you scan it. This simple, yet painful procedure decreased my net worth by $100 but has increased my self-worth by much more. I have yet to figure out how I will cash my ass in but that's a detail I can work out later.

I have also begun visualizing beyond the apex of my celebrity when I am washed up and nothing more than a footnote in annals of entertainment history. 

For instance, right now I see me entering rehab for the fourth time, scowling at the paparazzi who clamor over themselves to get a shot of my crotch as I exit the taxi cab. 

I also see me leaving the rehab center the very next day proudly telling the press that I am cured of my addiction to pop tarts. I do admit that there is still work to do on my obsession with porn and affinity for crack but, c'mon man.... one crisis at a time. 

I see me writing a book about these struggles being careful to leave out the part of my life where I sat in exile with a trio of glaze-addicted midgets who were protesting the destruction of another Krispy Kreme (too traumatic, plus the little ones need their privacy).

But most of all, I see me on the cover of Time magazine, voted transvestite of the year after an epic selection process in which I narrowly beat out Paris Hilton and Clay Aiken for the coveted award.  The ensuing controversy that happens after judges discover I am not a transvestite but just "some guy wearing his Mother's dress" creates serious controversy and earns the attention of Hollywood heavyweight, Martin Scorcese, who casts me in his next picture, taking me from washed-up writer to has-been actor overnight.

What more can anyone ask for?

R.I.P.

Now that Joe the Plumber has a book coming out, I think I can finally put an end to this year-long dream of having my manuscript published. If an unlicensed, tax-evading, toilet dwelling bald guy takes precedence in the publishing world over me, an unemployed, alien-evading, rehab dwelling writer-guy, what hope is there?

On the surface, I have done everything right. I have learned a new word every day to improve my vocabulation (today it was ‘alas’). I have consumed enough alcohol to develop a level of cirrhosis that rivals history’s best writers. And I have even gone thong-less for 27 days straight in the hopes that renegade paparazzi would capture my “talent” and publish my exploits in Writer Monthly creating the kind of buzz that would make cash registers sing.

 But alas, it was all for nothing.

It seems as if publishers would rather hear about the trials and tribulations of cloggy u-pipes than the intrigue and excitement of mannequin stalking.

 What gives?

What do I have to do to get noticed? Do I have to start wearing my fuzzy Alf fanny pack again? Do I need to exchange my plastic I Dream of Jeannie slippers for something less comfortable but more conservative?  If you think having incompatible nipple colours would be enough in this day and age to set you apart from the crowd, think again.

If I owned luggage, I’d pack my bags and pursue my dream of becoming the world’s first pregnant man. What? Thomas Beatie did that already. 

Damn! One more dream that has  twirled down the drain of life.

Building the brand of me

As someone who "claims" to be a writer, I have recently implemented various techniques in an attempt to make myself appear intelligenter so that pedestrians who walk by me will know right away that I have more substance than famous writers like Suzanne Somers or Dr. Oz. 

Through crafty subliminal manipulation, my hope is they will rush out to buy my book (which does not exist yet) and not the literary trash of my contemporaries. 

As a regular reader of this site and someone who I have called Mother for the last 46 years, I will let you in on a few tricks of the trade that I have developed to help me attain  the aforementioned goal.  

First, but not least, I have Crazy Glued my forefinger and thumb to my chin so it looks like I am in perpetual deep thought. As many of you are aware, deep thought is a sure sign that someone is thinking deeply which, expressed another way means they are educated. 

(As an aside, this pose only works if you look up towards the heavens and flutter your eyelids meaningfully. Looking down conveys a sentiment of disapproval for someone's shoes and that is not the image we are going for here.) 

One word of advice to potential copycats: when you are using Crazy Glue be certain not to scratch anything until after you have washed your hands. I have it on good authority that skin is very sensitive in the genital area. Plus walking around with your hand stuck to your baby maker is unacceptable in almost every social circle I can think of.

But I digress. 

The second thing I do to let people know I am a writer without actually telling them involves alcohol.  No surprise here but, historically speaking, writers are drunks and I happily count myself among the scribes who lack in the healthy liver department. Of course, drinking a lot requires cash which is something I am in dire need of so I have become accustomed to licking wayward beer bottle caps I find on the street. It takes a lot of energy and time but the cost savings in these economically-depressed times are well worth the effort. Perhaps a book will come out of that hot tip?

Finally, I invested what little money I have in a t-shirt that says "I am Dr. Oz". 

I know I don't look like Dr. Oz, nor do I have his "alleged" experience, but anyone who isn't playing with a full deck or watched an episode of Oprah in the last five years won't know that. (I am talking to you prisoners.) By using his name, people will know I am a successful writer and doctor right away.  

To aid in the illusion, I have also acquired a plastic stethoscope from the kid next door which I wear around my waist. This adds credibility when I ask the above-mentioned pedestrians if they would like a "sidewalk physical". Although no one has accepted my offer to disrobe, I think it is only a matter of time before I snag my first subject.  Maybe if I had rubber gloves instead of my Bob the Builder mittens, I could seal the deal.