Friday, January 17, 2014


Over the years I've benefited from a small cadre of deadbeats and couch potatoes who have nothing better to do than to read my manuscripts.  I've benefited from their perseverance, their insights, their coffee stains.  Some of their insights about my manuscripts actually make sense.  And a few of these readers have actually gone on to do greater work, like cutting bathroom tile or gathering dustballs from under the refrigerator.

In essence, my readers have served as a springboard to my great success where, each year, I sell upwards of twenty books and use the plush royalties to purchase cotton balls for my wife.  (What do women use cotton balls for anyway and why do they need so many of them?)

More recently, I've been asked by one of my publishers (I actually have six publishers . . . which sounds absurd, I know) to go in search of academic help . . . scholars who can weigh in on my Greek and Hebrew translation skills and contribute notes like:

Professor Alleycat, who is not a professor at all and who knows little more than how to tie his own shoelaces, has here written a work equal to the weight of two Siamese kittens.  We are certain he was operating on too much coffee when he wrote this academic book and was probably addicted to black licorice.  There's really no way to categorize this book, especially under the Dewey decimal system, but we suggest it be filed under children's literature.  

Dr. Alleycat, who isn't a doctor (but thinks he plays one in real life), has the academic credentials of a weasel and a face and personality to match.  This book has all the clout of a skinny teenager swinging a big hammer at the carnival.  Alleycat doesn't come close to ringing our bell.

Well, but despite these accolades, my readers are important to me . . . and I thank you one-and-all.

And, if anyone else out there wants to read a manuscript from time to time, let me know.  I've got plenty of pages to go around.         

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