Idea 93 - A Gathering Of No One

It's always difficult to see people in horrible crisis, especially children. That's why it pains me so much to see teens, still rich with the potential for cool and sexy lives, strangled by the choking ivy of dorkness. This book will be both a cautionary tale for prospective parents and a melacholy ode to all the full-on geeks out there. You are not forgotten:

Palms pressed to the shop window glass, Barrett peered intently at his fate. His eager breath, thick with the pheromones of tragically non-sexual longing, fogged his view of his inanimate beloved. Beyond the transparent barrier lay a spanking new edition of Magic: The Gathering cards.

"Hey douche," intoned Cal Nathan, a member of the school's well-adjusted elite. His entourage was already in pre-cackle. "Store's closed. Maybe they have that shit at Suck 'R' Us." Now the guffaws came. And could the cool kids be blamed? Magic cards were -- and are -- the equivalent of eating pig excrement in front of a school assembly.

And yet Barrett simply didn't know. Earlier that day, an exchange with his father, Daniel:

"Honey, what's the plan for the day?" Dad was ensconced in Scientific American.

Barrett couldn't hide his glee. "The new Magic cards are out -- I'm so psyched! Gonna go pick 'em up I think!" He nervously wiped aspirated spit from the corner of his mouth.

From behind the magazine's cover image of some type of nebula, Barrett's father said nothing. His son had just enthusiastically admitted to something as self-destructive as cutting, or taking home ec seriously. After a moment, realizing his son had said something, he looked up from his magazine. The front door was swinging shut. The bullet of social suicide was out of the gun.
If this book can help just one kid not get the crap kicked out of him, I'll be thrilled. Thrilled and jealous.

Idea 92 - Ultimate Immortal Legends Of Lacrosse

Holy living crap, I can't believe I haven't done a sports book yet! I love sports! Especially lacrosse! And you know what, I think America's ready to fall in love with lax - and I'm just the person to force them into it:

Very few people know or care that NFL great and scary blaxploitation hero Jim Brown was one of the greatest lacrosse players of all time. In fact, Brown simply dominated "The Little Sport That Didn't" while attending Syracuse in the mid 1950's. Yet he's only known for his football prowess, merely because it's a sport that's vastly more popular and entertaining.

The Brown Era passed, no one noticed, and lacrosse would wait 40 years for a breakthrough talent to not help it break into the mainstream. It was the non-heralded Gait brothers, Paul and Gary, who finally approached Brown's boring mastery of "The Fastest Game With Lacrosse Sticks". As none of us know, the Gaits are synonymous not just for their 1999 Mann Cup (sp?) with the Victoria Shamrocks (sp?), but also for tearing down racial and cultural barriers by returning "The Invisible Game" to the hands of wealthy white prep-school dicks.

Man, there's so much history here -- I could probably spend five hundred pages talking about recent advancements in stick lacing and aquaintance rape. Pre-order now! (That's what I'd be saying if somebody bought this idea.) (still available)

Idea 91 - The Mallardic Proposition: Revelations About Time, Space, and Our Place In The Multiverse

I think space stuff is really fascinating, like that Hawking dude's books and those shows on Discovery Channel about quarks and crap. Turns out there's probably more than one universe, which is pretty fucked up.

What's weird though is that all these scientists supposedly base their crazy ideas on facts, but they're facts none of us would ever be able to understand or verify -- so they could make up pretty much anything they wanted and we'd have no idea. Which stinks like an opportunity to me:

For the simple layman, I'll attempt to summarize my assertions over the last 17 chapters:

According to my ground-breaking interpretation of string theory -- the widely accepted "theory of everything" -- our universe is much like a large duck. Try to keep up.

By astutely observing our universe, scientists believe that we can learn to see its true nature -- much like a typical mouth-breather like yourself learns to recognize a duck floating on the surface of a pond.

Our problem, children, is that the true nature of the universe (and all universes) sits "beneath" our currently known plane of existence -- like the duck feet that paddle mightily beyond the penetrative limits of an idiot's vision and imagination. And so the entirety of nebulae and black holes and neutrons and housepets and quote-unquote gravity is merely the fleeting shimmer on a duck's iridescent neck feathers.

And it is only I who have seen the duck's feet.

See, I just made you feel like you're not smart enough, which is the whole reason people buy books in the first place. And so what if the whole thing is made up? Who's going to object? Leading astrophysicists and cosmologists? Bullshit.

Idea 90 - The Face Crusher: A Graphic Novel In 146 Parts

I read The Watchmen recently -- pretty entertaining, and I found it a fun challenge to convince myself that it's as important as people say it is. I think I could pull off something similar, as the key seems to be making it ridiculously long, and I've got nothing but time since I got fired from my volunteering gig.

I'll need a hero with a dark past and questionable morals (but not Batman, The Punisher, The Crow, or Halle Berry's chilling Catwoman). Enter Clarence Melon: The Face Crusher. To make sure it's long enough, I'll need to start... at the beginning:

(Over cool drawings of deep space, nebulas, and cosmic explosions, some intro text appears on those banner things look like they're sort of peeling up from the page)

"Clarence Melon was born of infinite darkness. More specifically, his dark and brooding subatomic building blocks were formed at the beginning of time, during The Great Bang. Over the eons, they were violently rent asunder a billion trillion times -- a fact he would eventually bear like a jagged quantum cross in his dark and interesting heart."

(Next page: super detailed but creepy picture of a male baby with a furrowed brow)
"It wasn't until his dark and foreboding infancy that he crushed his first face."

(Several quick frames of a happy 50's housewife entering a gaily decorated nursery)
"Clar-ence..."
(little musical notes near the text so it's clear that it's all sing-song-y)
"Time to wake up, my precious innocent little--
(her face goes from joy to abject horror in two frames)
"--OH DEAR GOD ITS FACE IS CRUSHED!!!"

(close-up frame of baby Clarence's eyes, cutely oversized but also tainted with a ghost of exciting darkness)
"Gurgle"

(the next couple frames are a sequence of dramatic close ups of his baby cheek, then his baby shoulder, then his baby elbow, forearm, wrist... and then on the next page, a hugely overwrought full-page frame of his fist, which is convulsively gripping a large crumpled doll head. Its face has been crushed, of course -- its dented nose has been flattened against the back of its skull. Clarence's first.)

There you have it, folks. The birth of a franchise. The big theme will be about how Clarence is always walking the line between good and evil while crushing people's faces. By the way, if you know how to draw, text me. (Quick)

Idea 89 - Even Better American Short Stories, 2010 Edition

I'll often pick up those cool "Best American Short Stories" compilations, mostly so I can look smart without having to focus on anything for too long. I figure I can come up with a competitor, or at least force my way into the original, as long as I stick to the formula the editors seem to look for:

• write like you couldn't be bothered to care about the subject, but that it somehow makes you sad
  
• don't be funny
  
• avoid action or a plot
  
• it can't hurt to write about growing up ethnic
  

Bottom line: boring = talented. Some ideas:

"The Sitting Room"
Boston, 1935. An Irish immigrant family sits in mildly tense silence. They are in a sitting room. The youngest boy scratches his dirty fingernails across his patched short pants. The grandmother glares at him. Time passes.

"Life and Tea"
A middle-aged man changes a tire. He thinks about various types of tea, and the depth of his analysis subtly reveals the lack of purpose in his life. A crow squawks in the background, although the man ignores it.

"My Mother Is Asian"
A thirty-something Asian-American woman quietly chafes at the extended, nonsensical Maoist rants purveyed by her non-specifically ill mother. Several fluttering, tentative hints within the text seem to possibly indicate that the woman may or may not wish her mother dead.

You know what, I'm thinking about changing that last one -- the whole death wish thing might be too exciting. Maybe I'll just end it with a thing about how the woman's mother never approved of her choices in home decor.

Idea 88 - Another Word for "Evil"

I've never trusted crossword puzzles. They always seem like they're mocking me -- I can practically hear them laughing while I desperately attempt to decipher garbage like "world waist, never bitten". What the hell could that be?! Whatever, I don't even care. But I do think it's high time that someone exposed these asinine attention-traps for what they really are. Solve this, America:

Cruising at 35,000 feet, oblivious of an exultant sun cresting the distant horizon, Karen stared glumly at an empty row of tiny insulting boxes. She could plainly see that 46 across was the keystone of the entire puzzle, but for the life of her she couldn't crack the clue: 'hosiery unbound'.

"Is it 'loose leggings'?" she asked her oblivious neighbor, who could only roll his semi-drunken eyes. "No, dammit, that's 21 letters too short." She rubbed her nose angrily, an unusual itch serving as a welcome outlet for her puzzle-related frustration. "Recently pardoned pantaloons? Fuck."

Karen's blank, dejected gaze fixed on one particularly empty box which suddenly filled with blood. It took her a moment to realize that it had come from her own flared nostril. Of course, she had no way of knowing that at that very instant, tens of thousands of people across the country had also sprung a vicious nasal blood leak.

For most, the first droplets had fallen in line 46. Others had been unrelatedly punched in the face.

Oh, I can't tell you how cathartic this is. I've always thought that the contorted language of crossword clues felt Satanic, and I can already tell that putting the facts to paper will be positively orgasmic. I'd also like to lay into Sudoku, but that feels a little racist.

Idea 87 - Dancing Through Severe Spine Pain -- The Natural Way

Most people don't know that I was hit in the back with a javelin when I was 17. Yep. I was at a regional high school track meet in '93, working in crowd control. Some toddlers had run into the long jump landing pit, so I was yelling at them, and then all of a sudden I was impaled from behind. Some kid had chucked his jav' way left, and my spine paid the price. I never thought I'd smile again.

But then I discovered "Expressive Dancing", a therapeutic artform in which one whirls around and gestures in a way that both expresses and relieves the sensation of horrific physical injury. I'd be a dick if I didn't share it:

For real bad spine pain, like hit-in-the-back-with-a-car-type spine pain, you're gonna need to REALLY whirl around. Imagine that your hands are on fire and you need to put them out with the wind. (Bonus: accurately imagining your roasting hands will also help distract from your crippling, unending spine pain.) Once you're fully in dervish mode, try hopping from foot to foot, raising each knee as high as you can without blacking out. (Due to your spine pain)

I learned alot during my 71 months of recovery, especially after they removed the javelin, and I'm really excited to share my learnings. One thing I'm extra jazzed about passing on is this trick for paralyzing your tear ducts so you never have to burden your loved ones.

Idea 86 -- Sarah Tangle, Undercover Bag Lady

Sleuthing. Mystery. Female detectives. Homelessness. If these themes intrigue you, it's because you're like everyone on the planet. Oh, hello can't-miss book, nice to meet you:

"Can you spare some change, Mister -- I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name." Behind Sarah's filthy dreadlocks shone an eye keener than a caffeinated owl's. Now it peered up at the man who had killed Agent Barnaby.

"The name's Osiris Keller. Now go get a damn job." Keller snarled as he threw small change at her bare, weathered feet. Sarah couldn't help but smile, and Keller couldn't help but fall in love with her decadent mouth -- severely chapped lips or no severely chapped lips.

"This is my job, Mr. Keller. And while it brings me in frequent contact with disgusting vermin who don't deserve to live, I find a certain pleasure in making sure they never see the light of day again."

As much as Sarah enjoyed toying with him, she saw a flicker of suspicion in Keller's murderous eyes. So she peed herself. It was the only way to maintain the illusion.

If you thought that was weirdly hot, wait til Chapter 14, when Sarah has a dangerous encounter with either a homeless Russian spy or just a homeless guy who thinks he's a Russian spy.

Idea 85 - Baby Cats In Adult Cat Situations

As even the dumbest among us know, cats + anything sets the Internet aflutter. Then you've got those ultra-popular posters where toddlers in formal wear do grownup stuff, like propose marriage and kiss. If I can combine the two in a crowd-sourced photo-book, I'll definitely be able to retire before I die. Get ready to gush over setups like:

-a teacup-sized female hissing at a tiny male "suitor", even though her raised haunches and deeply arched back indicate her willingness to copulate

-a proud "mama" kitten appearing to nurse a litter of preemie kittens

-a little calico kitty "pretending" to undergo treatment for late-stage feline leukemia.

By the way, I want these to be very classy like those romantic toddler posters, so I'll make them all black and white. And also like those posters, I'll add a transcendent touch of emotion by softly colorizing one key element, like the bouquet that's in 90% of them. In the first one, the colorized part will be the male's emotionless green eyes. In the second one, it'll be mama's little pink teats. And in the last one, it'll be the syringe.

Idea 84 - Alien Snipers

"Write what you know." That's what they say, right? Well I've seen pretty much every movie and TV show about aliens, including "Aliens". And when I'm playing video games, I almost always choose the sniper character -- and let's just say that if the war in Afghanistan was fought on Xbox, all the Afghani solidiers would be like "Damn, where is that guy? Oh wait there he--" and then they'd be gone. Feel me:

In one moment, Clarence was walking his mindless way to work, still waking up, literally whistling Dixie. In the next, the head of the guy next to him had a huge hole in it. A clean hole. A cauterized hole. A deadly hole. After an absurd pause, the man's body slumped to the ground, a marionette with no puppeteer.

He had been sniped. From space. By an alien. An alien sniper.

"WHAT THE CRAP?!" Clarence yelled instinctively. Others were screaming now. A homeless woman fainted. No one noticed.

"Get down! Get behind something! Find a helmet!" A meter maid had snapped into action, hollering directions at the panicked citizens who seemed focused on waving their arms and running back and forth.

Clarence couldn't help help but notice that a) the meter maid was hot, and b) her uniform was tight in all the right places -- and in some of the wrong ones.

"Meter maid! Let's band together!" As she snapped her head toward him, her chocolate syrup hair whipped around in slow motion. They locked eyes. A hint of relief touched one corner of her mouth, then the skull of a nearby skateboarder suddenly became a wind tunnel.

Somewhere in orbit, the alien laughed through his shoulder-mouth.

Okay, so I just freaked myself out. What if there WAS an alien sniper? Who would be safe? Could he shoot through buildings? Anyway, if somebody publishes this I could post the news on any gamer message board and this shit would sell out in about 11 seconds.

Idea 83 - The Boldest Blogger

Most of you weren't born yet, but there was a time when blogging didn't even exist. And then came a time when we bloggers were reviled -- considered laughably vain and shallow, just because we felt that our non-astute observations were worthy of other people's time. The outlook for our kind was dim -- until Harrison Tangiers came along. That's right, Harrison Tangiers. The Johnny Appleseed of bloggers:

"Hello Mother.

Yes, I'm still writing my 'little diary', as you call it.

Mother, it's known as a blog, and it's not 'little' at all. It's very important to me, and I receive nearly a thousand hits a day.

Hits, mother. Visits. Unique-- you know what? I'm not having this conversation."

Later that day, Tangiers' on-screen index finger shook as it hovered above the "publish post" button. Was it really worth it? Why commit oneself to so much ridicule? What if my boss finds out? A silent tear escaped his clenched eyelids, only to die a tiny death on his Alf mousepad.

His mother's dismissive, uninterested tone echoed that of nearly everyone in his life. Bit by bit, insult by insult, they had eroded his will to update 'SockTalk.net', his accessibly snarky account of life in the offices of one of the world's first online sock distributors.

After what felt like months, Tangiers made a fateful choice. "They won't break me," he muttered, unaware that he was speaking aloud. Those words would famously be reported by Joan Middleton, his co-worker and sometime poker buddy. "They won't break me."

When Harrison opened his eyes, the tip of his index finger lay on the left button of his ergonomically architected mouse, although he claims to this day that he has no memory of depressing it. And so that historic post, "Somebody In Here Smells", was committed to the nascent Web as if by the hand of God herself.

And who today, in the age of Gawker and HuffPo and this very site, could possibly argue that God was at work that day? I mean, if God exists. (Probably not.)

Idea 82 - In Defense of Cowardice

Believe me, it takes real gumption to buck social imperatives and run screaming from a fight. I've personally backed down from more challenges than you have the guts to imagine, including parenthood and Brazilian stickfighting. And I think it's high time for somebody to cautiously stand up for those who always lose bowel control at the first sign of trouble. Of course, I'll do so anonymously. Check it:

In the animal world, those who are desperately unwilling to fight for territory, social standing, or attractive mates are naturally de-selected from breeding. Yet hundreds of millions of human wusses survive to this day -- for proof, just visit at any large gathering that ends with "-Con".

So can we quietly surmise, then, that cowardice has been selected as an essential part of the human condition? That, in fact, the continued survival of the scared-est is a testament to our hesitant importance? Or do we wonder, with noticeable frightened shivering, whether our extermination has simply been delayed -- that perhaps the collective cocky-people consciousness will soon notice our cowering presence and violently "noogie" us out of existence?

Oh shit. Oh my God. We're doomed! This is gonna be just like high school! RUN TO THE BOOKSTORE! The complete version of this book is packed with tips for surviving the coming waves of weakling-cleansing!!! RUUUUUUUNNNNNNNN!!!!

See what I did there, publishers? Fear-based marketing. Once again, you're welcome. (Call me)

Idea 81 - Everything's Dirty!!! The Fun Guide To Germophobia For Kids

I've known a lot of people with serious dirt/germ-related anxiety issues over the years. And yes, I've tried "positive berating" to help them understand how stupid their worries are, but they never change. So I figure that if these freaks aren't going to fix themselves, they'll have to explain their weirdo behavior to their kids. You got it -- it's excerpt time:

What Not To Lick
Golly lolly, everybody loves lollipops. Especially staphylococcus. Sure-dee-do, this creepy sleeping killer can lie dormant on the surface of a pretty candy all the way from a poorly-regulated factory to your warm, life-giving mouth!

Why We Can't Have Chili
Super-smarty scientists say that the average square inch of yummy zesty chili has been touched by the bare hands of over eleven grown men! Imagine eleven Daddies -- fixing oily cars, pulling ticks off of sick dogs, screaming into their fists -- then grabbing chili by the handful and throwing it into your mouth. Tell your friends!

I think you get it, and I don't have room in this space to go on further, but if you want I can email you my favorite chapter, Your Little Arms Are Covered In Mites.

NOTE: I don't have the energy to google it, but I'm sure that Baby Purell exists, in which case I accept their sponsorship in advance.

Idea 80 - The List (part 1)

People keep Tweeting me, and they're all asking the same thing: "What were those keys to success that you mentioned the other day at lunch?" See, I've developed a simple list of one-word concepts that are crucial for winning in life, love, art, and business, and I'll often mention them to people over sandwiches or whatever. The List is actually part of a much larger system that includes a lot of breathing exercises, but I'm considering releasing just The List as a very short book because people hate reading.

So here's part of the now-famous List for your blogging pleasure. The right way to use it is to recite the entire List, in your head, mentally, just before important life events like interviews or telling your spouse that you want a divorce. Make sure you think in all caps, and loudly. Here we go:

-POWER
-ACCESS
-DELIVERY
-INTENTION
-OBJECTS
-FOCUS/FOCUSING
-TECHNIQUE
-FIRE
-CONVICTION
-ATTACK!
-INTENSITY
-SHOE-IN
-PROCESS
-THUNDER
-PLANNING
-VIBRANCE (SP?)
-CLARIFICATION
-POWER (YES, AGAIN)
-APPROACH
-DELIBERATE (LONG "A")
-REACHING
-CO-OPT
-MASTER AND/OR MASTERY
-DESTRUCTION
-(BE) TENDER
-DAMPEN
-SOARING

For the rest of the List, you'll have to buy the book. Or follow my Tweets -- I'll be revealing two more words every day for the next 8 months as a teaser for the full list.

Idea 79 - My Friend Jeff: The Unauthorized Biography

I think it's kinda bullshit that it's only famous or interesting people who get biographies. What about the everyday heroes who slog through this life without ambition, interests, or any important deeds worth noting?

Plus, me and my buddy Jeff always totally rip on each other in really funny ways, and I always thought it'd be hysterical to publish a dense tome about all the dumb embarrassing shit he's done over the years. He'll be so pissed, but he'll have to laugh, you know? Here's a snippet from Chapter 3, "An Adolescence More Painful Than Most":

Perhaps Jeff's most horrifically lame exploit occurred early in his disastrous sophomore year in high school. Despite his virulent and sizable acne, he had somehow scored a ride to the big Steve Miller concert with Kelly McCarthy, one of the Junior class's most nubile and socially important young women. Historians uniformly agree that only reason this came to pass was Jeff's mom's friendship with Mrs. McCarthy. What follows is an attempt at reconstructing this extraordinarily repellent event.

---

"Oh shit." Jeff stared glumly toward his faded and ill-fitting shorts.

Kelly quickly glanced toward her zit-ridden passenger, then followed his gaze downward. "What the heck is... Oh my God, gross! GROSS!!'"

As the historical record shows, what had occurred had been gross indeed. Jeff had drunk far too much Bud Dry during the concert's early stages, and was now paying an unholy price for his pathetic light-weightedness. For when Jeff awoke from a brief blackout while riding home with Miss McCarthy, he couldn't help but notice that he was sitting in a gloppy orange pool of processed pizza, thanks to his overly relaxed colon.

"OH MY GOD!!!! JEFF!!!! GROSSS!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!"

---

The best thing was that she pulled over right then, right on the highway, kicked him out of the car, and drove away. Totally left him there. Funniest thing ever. Seriously, nobody tell Jeff about this book until it comes out, I want to see the look on his face, he's gonna freak.

Idea 78 - The Sexy Heiress With The Sexy Battleship Tattoo

Here's one for all those sad people who get erotic fulfillment from books instead of mobile porn. I've been checking out the racks at airport shops, and it looks like all I'll need to draw the suckers in is a mostly black cover with an ethereal, youthful female form, mostly draped in shadows, with just a hint of rebellious body ink exposed on one ivory shoulder. Also, look at the title: you'll notice I used the word "sexy" twice. That was on purpose. I'm always thinking:

Into a haze of languid clove smoke, she disappeared like a dream at edge of sleep.

"Was she real?" Robert asked, his own voice foggy in his thudding ears. The erotic rock concert had just ended. But Robert was desperate for an encore -- a private encore, featuring her and her alone.

"Oh yes, she's very real. And that picture of a battleship on her back? That's a tattoo." Alexander knew so much about her. But how? "Her father is a wealthy importer/exporter." Alexander regarded his martini as he spoke, stirring it lazily with a slender and long-nailed pinky. "No one knows who her mother is, but many suppose that she must have been some type of contortionist."

Robert was confused and aroused in equal and considerable measure.

In his mind, the prow of the battleship roared mightily over a creamy shoulder blade, slicing the wet wind in two as she pounded, rhythmically, across a silken gossamer sea. The ship's imposing cannons rose ominously, exposing their darkened caverns. Each would soon bloom with unimaginable heat.

Robert was suddenly overwhelmed by that accidentally-wore-my-younger-brother's-pants feeling.

Sorry, I should have made it clear that this excerpt was Not Safe FW. What can I say, my talent for stroking that most erogenous of human organs -- the genitals -- can get a little, shall we say, out of hand at times. I think we shall.

Idea 77 - Angling For Disaster

It seems like film producers and sheltered intellectuals alike all love those extreme adventure memoirs, like Into the Void and crap like that. And yeah, maybe I haven't climbed anything or sawed off/eaten any crucial body parts. But what I can do is take a very pedestrian "adventure" I've undertaken and make it enthralling via my word-magic:

The bass struggled mightily, whipping its entire 14-inch body against the line that threatened to pull it into my straining 10-year old arms. It was at that moment that I first cursed the Gods. They had listened to my prayers -- my endless requests to land a largemouth as big and heavy as a small Nerf football -- and cursed me to my present torment by delivering exactly what I had asked. Those pricks.

I knew that the fight could last up to three minutes. And I knew that either the mighty bass or I would be dead when it was done. Or my line might break. Or the lure could just pop out of its gaping toothless maw, which could open as wide as an inch and a half and slam shut hard enough to snap a wet saltine in two.

As the the very lifeforce drained from my rail-thin frame, I was dimly aware of my hardy fishing partner Ian, who was catching tiny sunfish and putting firecrackers in their mouths. My fellow adventurer simply didn't know fear.

Wow, what a cliffhanger! It feels just like that movie, Cliffhanger.

Idea 76 - The Game Of Death

Maybe I can make some money by stoking panic and hysteria. But what kind of -- oh wait! I could goose the snoozing dragon of parental concern about video games!

Lucas and Sanji swore viciously through gritted and braced teeth. They had nearly finished the third level of MomKiller 3D.

"Dam*! Cr#p!! Chr&$@t's an@s on a jumped-up sh%*garti€£s!!! You shot that old woman in her @$$! High-five me!" Sanji had been a Hindu altar boy until this past Christmas, when his kind but negligent parents purchased a sin-filled Play-Station. That morning, his blood-curdling shriek of delight had been a dark portent of deteriorating penmanship and carelessness with matches.

Lucas spat out Funyun flecks as he screamed chilling instructions. "Get those ding-€@&ing explosives!!! We'll head to the crap€^*%ish PTA meeting and take our fat $&@nus#%ard parents hostage!!!

"I can't wait!" hollered Sanji. "Then let's turn gay!"

All we need is some simple banner ads on leading "mommy blog" CafeMom.com. Once word gets out, parents will buy up the whole first run just to burn them in the town square and shake them angrily in front of local news cameras.

Idea 75 - The iPhonebook

Okay, so this one's such a shoe-in that it'll easily fund all my children's college educations, even the ever-expanding gaggle of "Illegitimies" who keep popping up.

Basically, if I write anything at all related to the iPhone, I'm going to get what I cal "viral buzz", which equates directly with sales (duh). And I don't blame the masses for slavishly fawning over the iPhone -- I've got one myself, and I would literally exterminate an entire pet hospital full of sad handicapped animals if it was somehow necessary to protect my touchscreen lover. Granted, it gets horrible phone reception, but whatever.

All I need to do is make the book physically large enough to explain the exorbitant price (which will draw Apple fans like spiders to a baby's ear). So here it is:

Wait for it...

Literally the phonebook, but for iPhones. I'll just reprint the yellow/white pages -- hundreds of editions in their localized entirety -- but add a nicely designed cover, like a photo of the iconic "walking fingers" traipsing across the surface of a 3GS, set against the quintessential black background. Holy shit, it's so compelling it's like mind control!

Huge upside: no actual writing required. Maybe just a preface about how Windows Mobile phones 5ukk ba!!zz, to get the attention of the early adopters/fanboys.

Possible buzz partnerships: Keyboard Cat, LOL Injureez, Engadget Mobile, Cute Granneez, Yellow Pages if they still exist (not sure).