tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45669117080035863672023-11-16T10:45:34.745-08:00Give Me A Book DealAny idiot can get a book deal these days, including meClancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-27947615223650012872009-09-16T08:17:00.000-07:002015-04-11T18:38:34.077-07:00Idea 100 - Give Me A Book Deal: The Book<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My exciting story so far:<br />
<br />
I've spent nearly nine months leaking amazing book ideas all across the pages of this fine web log. Nearly one a day, which is incredible. And yes, I'm offering every idea for individual purchase to book publishers or anyone else with money.<br />
<br />
Among the 100 highlights (still available at prices that'll make ya smile):<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://ideserveabookdeal.blogspot.com/2009/04/idea-17-silky-embraces.html">Idea 17 - Silky Embraces</a></li>
<li><a href="http://ideserveabookdeal.blogspot.com/2009/04/idea-25-year-in-novelty-pet-clothes.html">Idea 25 - The Year In Novelty Pet Clothes</a></li>
<li><a href="http://ideserveabookdeal.blogspot.com/2009/05/idea-42-woodwinds-in-ether-collection.html">Idea 42 - Woodwinds In The Ether: A Collection of Verse</a></li>
<li><a href="http://ideserveabookdeal.blogspot.com/2009/06/idea-64-fat-guys-in-pastel-shirts.html">Idea 64 - Fat Guys In Pastel Shirts</a></li>
<li><a href="http://ideserveabookdeal.blogspot.com/2009/04/idea-21-even-more-corrections.html">Idea 21 - Even More Corrections</a></li>
<li><a href="http://ideserveabookdeal.blogspot.com/2009/06/idea-66-sock-puppets-in-jail.html">Idea 66 - Sock Puppets In Jail</a></li>
</ul>
I don't want to overwhelm potential money-givers with too many options, so I figured I'd stop -- FOR NOW!!!!! -- at 100 little chunks of genius.<br />
<br />
THRILLING NEWS:<br />
I'm a nice guy. So I'll offer you -- just you -- the chance to buy EVERY SINGLE IDEA AS ONE BOOK. You'll get all of the amazing previews in this blog (already written, no lead time) which you can publish as "Give Me A Book Deal: The Book". Or whatever else you want to call it. I'm flexible. Text me.<br />
<br />
Lastly, a big thank you to all the celebrities and readers who've been "spreading the word" about this great project. You're welcome.</div>
Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-25036641822146497562009-09-14T14:26:00.000-07:002009-09-18T14:35:39.815-07:00Idea 99 - Leon and The Magical SlacksWho says children's books have to just be for children? You? Well shut up then, because I think grownups deserve some patronizing empty-headed fluff too.<br /><br />Imagine a wonderfully shallow fairy tale set in the modern workplace... better yet, I'll imagine it for you:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">All the other workmen at the smelting plant were amazed by the beauty of Leon's magical slacks.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Gee Leon, my workpants are dingy on the outside and scratchy on the inside! How did you find such beautiful slacks?" asked foreman Bob.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Leon smiled a happy smile. "Foreman Bob, I didn't find these slacks! They found me! They chased me through the forest, tackled me from behind, yanked off my other pants, climbed onto my body, and now it hurts if I try to take them off!"</span> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />All the dirty workmen in the sooty factory were crowding around Leon, hoping for a chance to touch Leon's magical slacks. "Cough, cough!" said the factory workers.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">"I'm next, cough cough! I'm next!"</span><br /><br />This story was inspired by that feeling you get when you try on a new pair of pants for the first time, and they just fit perfectly. It feels like you were born to wear them, or vice versa. I think there's magic in that moment.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-34276876898895312472009-09-10T15:16:00.000-07:002009-09-17T15:54:56.419-07:00Idea 98 - Shining Foreheads of Hope: Men Who Weren't Completely Destroyed By BaldnessOne of the things I think about alot is male pattern baldness. Or just male baldness, I don't think it really matters if there's a pattern involved or not. See, as several hundred of my readers know, I have a really nice head of hair. But I'm getting older, so now I spend my mornings staring at my hairline and quietly screaming. What if it leaves me? What'll I do? More than anything, the purpose of this book is to make me feel better about the possibility that I'm gonna be a shiny-headed freak.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Patrick Stewart</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Beloved Pontiac pitchman, Shakespearean actor, pretend spaceship captain<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Stewart definitely put his eerily bald head to work. He used it to </span><span style="font-style: italic;">hook up with the raven-haired space-woman Deanna Troi on that space </span><span style="font-style: italic;">show he was on, and as I recall she was the closest thing to hot they had </span><span style="font-style: italic;">on that ship. Her character was supposed to be psychic, so maybe she </span><span style="font-style: italic;">could focus on Stewart's soul and not his horrifically exposed scalp.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dwight D. Eisenhower</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Beloved West Point junior varsity football coach, guy who orchestrated the Allied invasion of France and Germany as depicted in the beginning of Saving Private Ryan, pretty sure he was President</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hitler wasn't bald. Eisenhower was. Ike was famously enraged by this. It was his order to "scalp them Germs!" which inspired the real-life scalping purveyed by the real-life death squad which inspired the hysterical Holocaust movie 'Inglorious Basterds'. Of course, when you scalp a guy, you make him bald. 'Nuff said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Marie Curie<br />Hottie, flirtatious Frenchwoman, discovered something<br />Whatever it was that Curie discovered, it apparently caused her to go head-hairless later in life. But "Skinhead Marie", as she was affectionately called, rarely let her repellent appearance drag her into a foul humour -- in fact, she owned a wonderful collection of wigs and drugs.<br /></span><br />Obviously I realize that Marie Curie isn't technically a man, but I figure that once a woman goes bald she's definitely not female anymore either, so it's only fair that I include her in this book.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-17550815211700758642009-09-08T18:04:00.000-07:002009-09-15T20:29:35.870-07:00Idea 97 - Happily Angry: The Conundrum At Work In The Minds Of GirlfriendsI saw a cool-sounding book title in a review I almost skimmed: <span style="font-style: italic;">Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions</span>. Turns out it's all full of amazing sociological experiments and junk like that. Basically, bait for intellectuals. So here's my amazing spin: I figure about 40% of those geeks are male heteros, and I bet I can trap them with a brainy sciencey book about how their failed relationships aren't their fault. Check this bitch out:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In one experiment, we offered 110 girlfriends a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why we hadn't cleaned the apartment like we said we would while she was away for Ladies' Weekend.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Our control group was made up of 106 girls from work who seemed like they'd be cool and not freak out about little stuff like that. Because, I mean, come on, no one's going to die just because I had some other stuff come up and then Jeff came over on Sunday and my mom called later on and she WOULD NOT shut up. So, whatever.</span><br /><br />I don't want to give away the results, partially because I haven't done the research yet. And I generally wouldn't be interested in actually doing the research at all -- sounds too much like work to me (LOL) -- but then again those girls from work sound pretty cool.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-40211203154895418402009-09-04T08:08:00.000-07:002009-09-11T08:14:33.078-07:00Idea 96 - Nuggets o' FunI'm an early adopter, so I always bring my iPhone into the bathroom. But lots of people still read paper stuff while "indisposed" in the "shitter". Aside from magazines and game manuals, people seem to love those cool "bathroom reader" books -- collections of simple puzzles, old-timey jokes, quirky facts, brain-teasers, mind-fuddlers, and so on. I love this genre because a) the quality bar is very low, and b) I can have the book printed in the shape of a toilet (saw one like that at a friend's house the other day -- hysterical! Who knew that was even possible?) Anyway, let's get down to business:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Q: What did the limerick say to the haiku?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">A: Not sure, but I bet it was dirty!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Remember, these people are in </span><span style="font-style: italic;">the middle of crapping, they can't leave!)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Did you know?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">70% of all facial tissues aren't used for the face.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Little Timmy was walking down the road with his fishing pole. Mr. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Abernathy stopped his van to chat.<br />"Hey Timmy, how was the fishing </span><span style="font-style: italic;">down at the creek?"</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">asked Mr. Abernathy.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I wasn't at the creek," said Timmy.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Oh -- well then how was the fishing at the pond?" asked Mr. Abernathy.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I wasn't at the pond," said Timmy.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Well gee, Timmy -- where the heck did you go fishing, for Pete's </span><span style="font-style: italic;">sake?!"</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Timmy frowned. "Went fishing for brassieres in the girls' locker room. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">But they were all too small -- had to throw 'em back!"</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(The nerve of that kid!)</span><br /><br />Jesus, this is easy. Talk about a captive audience! And desperate, too -- I know I've found myself staring blankly at the ingredients on a shampoo bottle, just so I wouldn't overthink what I was doing in there. After that, I usually start singing to myself.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-31246054800008808842009-09-03T15:02:00.000-07:002009-09-10T15:46:03.581-07:00Idea 95 - Green Is MurderHoly God, I haven't jumped on the green bandwagon yet! I had been waiting for 'giving a shit' to go out of fashion, but apparently there's still some life left in the fad. I've been hearing a ton about all these damn DIY projects where people try to live off the land for a year and all that -- then they write non-fiction memoirs and get fucking book deals out of that boring garbage.<br /><br />Wait a second... something brilliant just hit me... maybe I can split the difference between those stupid things and <span style="font-style: italic;">Super Size Me</span>...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">By the 18th day, I could hardly stand to look at an ounce of raw goat's milk cheese from my neighbor's sustainable farm, much less eat an entire pound for breakfast. My cheeks had become sallow and pale, and I had begun sweating a clear liquid that smelled like rotting grass clippings. The emergency herbalist who was overseeing the project </span><span style="font-style: italic;">was just about fed up.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"This is disgusting. You're disgusting. Why are you doing this? You're wasting the food these people and animals are working so hard to make. I honestly don't understand the point of this." Sandy was cracking</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">but I couldn't afford to give up.<br /><br />The family was out in the fields, trudging through a sweltering July morning. As I lay on the picnic table, fading in and out of cheese-shock, I was dimly aware that lunch was coming, and with it another 11 pounds of suckling pig and endangered heirloom tomatoes. Thankfully, a cool woman-shaped shadow appeared above me. "Please... please leave," intoned the farmer's wife. "And please don't call me 'the farmer's wife' in your book -- I'm a farmer too. Are you even listening to me? If you keep stealing our food, I'm calling the cops."<br /><br />I appreciated her concern, but we both knew I had to keep pushing.<br /><br />As she walked away, I let out a braying burp that was literally purple. It reeked of beets, bile, and carrob. "I may not survive this," I thought. "But the movement will."</span><br /><br />Is it possible to inspire yourself? Because that's what I just did. So yeah, I guess it is.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-62326366439379849792009-09-01T14:23:00.000-07:002009-09-11T08:17:17.678-07:00Idea 94 - David And God In The BathroomApparently young adults are reading books, which is weird. Regardless, people are making a shitload o' dough off the little tykes, which means I need to grab some of it. I'm thinking of a male version of <span style="font-style: italic;">Are You There God? It's Me Margaret</span>. NO, I DIDN'T READ IT. But I do know that she talks to God about periods. Listen to this:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">David's armpit hair had become impossible to hide. Even when he tried hugging </span><span style="font-style: italic;">his bicep to his ribcage, it looked like he had </span><span style="font-style: italic;">a Troll doll in a headlock. "Gross!" he cried aloud, revolted by his sweaty </span><span style="font-style: italic;">garden. "Why me?! The guys in the locker room are gonna call me 'Pube Pits'</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> and 'Triple Crotch!'"</span> His desperate eyes swung wildly around the bathroom. <span style="font-style: italic;">"Scissors! I need scissors!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Wait, David. I made that funky hair. And I didn't intend for you to trim it. That would be weird." The Voice of God was male, but British.<br /><br />David plopped himself down onto the fur-covered toilet seat. "Oh. Hi God. Hey, didn't we decide that You wouldn't talk to me during bathroom time?"<br /><br />"Don't be a baby," God intoned. "I've seen it all before, pal. Anyway, quit being embarrassed about your pit hair. A lot of guys wish they could have as much as you. Especially guys who have been severely burned."<br /><br />David couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. I guess you're right. It's just that... why won't my... other hair start growing? I look like a Greek statue of a cherub down there."<br /><br /></span>Man, I can't help but think about how valuable this book would have been to me when I was 14. I was about half as tall as most guys<span style="font-style: italic;">, </span>and my voice was higher than my sister's -- it didn't end up changing until my mid 20's. Turns out that one of my testicles hadn't dropped yet. A doctor finally had to coax it out with this little toilet-plunger thing he pressed up behind my scrotum. Nice guy.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-34059886586470872362009-08-31T08:21:00.000-07:002017-04-20T17:02:46.135-07:00Idea 93 - A Gathering Of No One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">"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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">And yet Barrett simply didn't know. Earlier that day, an exchange with his father, Daniel:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">"Honey, what's the plan for the day?" Dad was ensconced in Scientific American.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">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.<br /></span>If this book can help just one kid not get the crap kicked out of him, I'll be thrilled. Thrilled and jealous.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-64619532816566152782009-08-28T12:44:00.000-07:002009-09-08T13:09:18.028-07:00Idea 92 - Ultimate Immortal Legends Of LacrosseHoly 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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Very few people know or care that NFL great and scary blaxploitation </span><span style="font-style: italic;">hero Jim Brown was one of the greatest lacrosse players of all </span><span style="font-style: italic;">time. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">In fact, Brown simply dominated </span><span style="font-style: italic;">"The Little Sport That Didn't"</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> w</span><span style="font-style: italic;">hile attending Syracuse in the mid 1950's</span><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> Yet he's only known for </span><span style="font-style: italic;">his football prowess, merely because it's a sport that's vastly more </span><span style="font-style: italic;">popular and entertaining.<br /><br />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.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> It was the non-heralded </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Gait brothers, Paul and Gary, </span><span style="font-style: italic;">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 </span><span style="font-style: italic;">their 1999 Mann Cup (sp?) with </span><span style="font-style: italic;">the Victoria Shamrocks (sp?), </span><span style="font-style: italic;">but also for tearing down racial and cultural barriers </span><span style="font-style: italic;">by returning "The Invisible Game" to the hands of wealthy white prep-</span><span style="font-style: italic;">school dicks.</span><br /><br />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)Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-12270628679926871492009-08-26T18:44:00.000-07:002009-09-03T19:03:04.466-07:00Idea 91 - The Mallardic Proposition: Revelations About Time, Space, and Our Place In The MultiverseI 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.<br /><br />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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">For the simple layman, I'll attempt to summarize my assertions over </span><span style="font-style: italic;">the last 17 chapters:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">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.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">By astutely observing our universe, scientists believe that we can learn to see its true nature -- much like a typical mouth-</span><span style="font-style: italic;">breather like yourself learns to recognize a duck floating</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> on the surface of a pond.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Our problem, children, is that the true nature of the universe (and all universes) sits "beneath" our currently known plane of existence -- </span><span style="font-style: italic;">like the duck feet that paddle mightily beyond the penetrative limits </span><span style="font-style: italic;">of an idiot's vision and imagination. And so the entirety of nebulae and black holes and neutrons and housepets and quote-unquote gravity</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> is merely the fleeting shimmer on </span><span style="font-style: italic;">a duck's iridescent neck feathers.<br /><br />And it is only I who have seen the </span><span style="font-style: italic;">duck's feet.</span><br /><br />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.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-54410887552635717262009-08-25T14:09:00.000-07:002009-09-20T08:43:49.919-07:00Idea 90 - The Face Crusher: A Graphic Novel In 146 PartsI read <span style="font-style: italic;">The Watchmen</span> 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.<br /><br />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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(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)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"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.</span>"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Next page: super detailed but creepy picture of a male baby with a furrowed brow)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"It wasn't until his dark and foreboding infancy that he crushed his first face.</span>"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Several quick frames of a happy 50's housewife entering a gaily decorated nursery)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Clar-ence..."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(little musical notes near the text so it's clear that it's all sing-song-y)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Time to wake up, my precious innocent little--<br />(her face goes from joy to abject horror in two frames)<br />"--OH DEAR GOD ITS FACE IS CRUSHED!!!"</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />(close-up frame of baby Clarence's eyes, cutely oversized but also tainted with a ghost of exciting darkness)<br />"Gurgle"<br /><br />(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.)<br /><br /></span><span><span>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)</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-67438396551188325382009-08-24T13:36:00.000-07:002009-08-27T14:08:35.908-07:00Idea 89 - Even Better American Short Stories, 2010 EditionI'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:<br /><ul><li>write like you couldn't be bothered to care about the subject, but that it somehow makes you sad<br /></li><li>don't be funny<br /></li><li>avoid action or a plot<br /></li><li>it can't hurt to write about growing up ethnic<br /></li></ul>Bottom line: boring = talented. Some ideas:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"The Sitting Room"</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> 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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Life and Tea"</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"My Mother Is Asian"</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br /><br />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.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-72027391096417541222009-08-20T09:58:00.000-07:002009-08-26T10:24:24.887-07:00Idea 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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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 </span><span style="font-style: italic;">could plainly see that 46 across was the keystone of the entire </span><span style="font-style: italic;">puzzle, but for the life of her she couldn't crack the clue: 'hosiery </span><span style="font-style: italic;">unbound'.<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />Karen's blank, dejected gaze fixed on one particularly empty box which suddenly filled with blood. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">It took her a </span><span style="font-style: italic;">moment to realize that it had come from her own flared nostril</span><span style="font-style: italic;">. Of </span><span style="font-style: italic;">course, she had no way of knowing that at that very instant, tens of </span><span style="font-style: italic;">thousands of people across the country had also sprung a vicious nasal blood </span><span style="font-style: italic;">leak.<br /><br />For most, the first droplets had fallen in line 46</span>.<span style="font-style: italic;"> Others had been unrelatedly punched in the face. </span><br /><br />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.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-29505508518122377412009-08-19T06:10:00.000-07:002009-08-26T06:17:07.631-07:00Idea 87 - Dancing Through Severe Spine Pain -- The Natural WayMost 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.<br /><br />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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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)</span><br /><div id=":9t" class="ii gt"><br />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.</div>Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-3540557036877057652009-08-18T16:57:00.000-07:002009-08-18T17:27:08.627-07:00Idea 86 -- Sarah Tangle, Undercover Bag LadySleuthing. 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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"The name's Osiris Keller. Now go get a damn job." Keller snarled as he </span><span style="font-style: italic;">threw small change at her bare, weathered feet. Sarah couldn't help </span><span style="font-style: italic;">but smile, and Keller couldn't help but fall in love with her decadent mouth -- severely chapped lips or no severely chapped lips.<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />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.<br /><br /></span>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.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-86005549767367368872009-08-17T16:29:00.000-07:002009-08-18T16:56:09.658-07:00Idea 85 - Baby Cats In Adult Cat SituationsAs 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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-a teacup-sized female hissing at a tiny male "suitor", even though her raised haunches and deeply arched back indicate her willingness to copulate</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-a proud "mama" kitten appearing to nurse a litter of preemie kittens</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-a little calico kitty "pretending" to undergo treatment for late-stage feline leukemia.</span><br /><br />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.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-37715471735004439302009-08-14T11:31:00.000-07:002009-08-30T17:30:55.916-07:00Idea 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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">He had been sniped. From space. By an alien. An alien sniper.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"WHAT THE CRAP?!" Clarence yelled instinctively. Others were screaming now. A homeless woman fainted. No one noticed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Somewhere in orbit, the alien laughed through his shoulder-mouth.<br /><br /></span>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.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-45153198529736596202009-08-13T07:40:00.000-07:002009-08-13T16:41:45.859-07:00Idea 83 - The Boldest BloggerMost 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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Hello Mother.<br /><br />Yes, I'm still writing my 'little diary', as you call it.<br /><br />Mother, it's known as a blog, and it's not </span><span style="font-style: italic;">'little'</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> at all. It's very important to me, and I receive nearly a thousand hits a day.<br /><br />Hits, mother. Visits. Unique-- you know what? I'm not having this conversation."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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.<br /><br />His mother's dismissive, uninterested tone echoed that of nearly everyone in his life. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Bit by bit, insult by insult, they had eroded his will to update </span><span style="font-style: italic;">'SockTalk.net', </span><span style="font-style: italic;">his accessibly snarky account of life in the offices of one of the world's first online sock distributors.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br /><br />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.)Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-78234051619133701752009-08-12T16:39:00.000-07:002009-08-12T16:55:22.658-07:00Idea 82 - In Defense of CowardiceBelieve 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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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".</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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!!!!</span><br /><br />See what I did there, publishers? Fear-based marketing. Once again, you're welcome. (Call me)Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-21148127078197083682009-08-11T20:18:00.000-07:002009-08-12T16:38:35.114-07:00Idea 81 - Everything's Dirty!!! The Fun Guide To Germophobia For KidsI'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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What Not To Lick</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Golly lolly, everybody loves lollipops. Especially staphylococcus. Sure-</span><span style="font-style: italic;">dee-do, this creepy sleeping killer can lie dormant on the surface of </span><span style="font-style: italic;">a pretty candy all the way from a poorly-regulated factory to your </span><span style="font-style: italic;">warm, life-giving mouth!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why We Can't Have Chili</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Super-smarty scientists say that the average square inch of yummy </span><span style="font-style: italic;">zesty chili has been touched by the bare hands of over eleven grown men! </span> <span style="font-style: italic;">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!</span><br /><br />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, <span style="font-style: italic;">Your Little Arms Are Covered In Mite</span>s.<br /><br />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.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-28788724287403972612009-08-10T17:54:00.000-07:002009-08-12T16:38:13.948-07:00Idea 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.<br /><br />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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-POWER</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-ACCESS</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-DELIVERY</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-INTENTION</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-OBJECTS</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-FOCUS/FOCUSING</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-TECHNIQUE</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-FIRE</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-CONVICTION</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-ATTACK!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-INTENSITY</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-SHOE-IN</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-PROCESS</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-THUNDER</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-PLANNING</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-VIBRANCE (SP?)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-CLARIFICATION</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-POWER (YES, AGAIN)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-APPROACH</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-DELIBERATE (LONG "A")</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-REACHING</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-CO-OPT</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-MASTER AND/OR MASTERY</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-DESTRUCTION</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-(BE) TENDER</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-DAMPEN</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-SOARING</span><br /><br />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.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-71474180851376946142009-08-07T16:18:00.000-07:002009-08-12T16:37:52.048-07:00Idea 79 - My Friend Jeff: The Unauthorized Biography<div><span style="font-size:15;">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?</span><div><span style="font-size:15;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size:15;">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":</span></div><div><span style="font-size:15;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:15;">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.<br /></span></div><div style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:15;"><br />---<br /><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:15;">"Oh shit." Jeff stared glumly toward his faded and ill-fitting shorts.</span></div><div style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:15;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:15;">Kelly quickly glanced toward her zit-ridden passenger, then followed his gaze downward. "What the heck is... Oh my God, gross! GROSS!!'"</span></div><div style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:15;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:15;">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.<br /></span></div><div style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:15;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size:15;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>"OH MY GOD!!!! JEFF!!!! GROSSS!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!"<br /><br />---<br /><br />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.<br /></span></div></div>Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-73227094637677158032009-08-06T06:10:00.000-07:002009-09-20T08:41:25.631-07:00Idea 78 - The Sexy Heiress With The Sexy Battleship TattooHere'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:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Into a haze of languid clove smoke, she disappeared like a dream at edge of sleep.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> "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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> "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?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> "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."<br /><br />Robert was confused and aroused in equal and considerable measure.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Robert was suddenly overwhelmed by that accidentally-wore-my-younger-brother's-pants feeling.<br /><br /></span>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.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span>I think we shall. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-18531579618546172782009-08-05T07:51:00.000-07:002009-08-12T16:28:00.410-07:00Idea 77 - Angling For DisasterIt seems like film producers and sheltered intellectuals alike all love those extreme adventure memoirs, like <span style="font-style: italic;">Into the Void</span> and crap like that. And yeah, maybe I haven't climbed anything or sawed off/eaten any crucial body parts. But what I <span style="font-style: italic;">can</span> do is take a very pedestrian "adventure" I've undertaken and make it enthralling via my word-magic:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br /><br />Wow, what a cliffhanger! It feels just like that movie, Cliffhanger.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4566911708003586367.post-9386846548110156462009-08-04T17:29:00.000-07:002009-08-12T16:27:30.222-07:00Idea 76 - The Game Of DeathMaybe 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!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lucas and Sanji swore viciously through gritted and braced teeth. They had nearly finished the third level of MomKiller 3D.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"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 </span><span style="font-style: italic;">shriek of delight had been a dark portent of deteriorating penmanship and carelessness with matches.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I can't wait!" hollered Sanji. "Then let's turn gay!"</span><br /><br />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.Clancy Merkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13227066552068350199noreply@blogger.com0