Idea 100 - Give Me A Book Deal: The Book

My exciting story so far:

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.

Among the 100 highlights (still available at prices that'll make ya smile):

• Idea 17 - Silky Embraces
• Idea 25 - The Year In Novelty Pet Clothes
• Idea 42 - Woodwinds In The Ether: A Collection of Verse
• Idea 64 - Fat Guys In Pastel Shirts
• Idea 21 - Even More Corrections
• Idea 66 - Sock Puppets In Jail

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.

THRILLING NEWS:
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.

Lastly, a big thank you to all the celebrities and readers who've been "spreading the word" about this great project. You're welcome.

Idea 99 - Leon and The Magical Slacks

Who 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.

Imagine a wonderfully shallow fairy tale set in the modern workplace... better yet, I'll imagine it for you:

All the other workmen at the smelting plant were amazed by the beauty of Leon's magical slacks.

"Gee Leon, my workpants are dingy on the outside and scratchy on the inside! How did you find such beautiful slacks?" asked foreman Bob.

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!"

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. "I'm next, cough cough! I'm next!"

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.

Idea 98 - Shining Foreheads of Hope: Men Who Weren't Completely Destroyed By Baldness

One 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.

Patrick Stewart
Beloved Pontiac pitchman, Shakespearean actor, pretend spaceship captain
Stewart definitely put his eerily bald head to work. He used it to hook up with the raven-haired space-woman Deanna Troi on that space show he was on, and as I recall she was the closest thing to hot they had on that ship. Her character was supposed to be psychic, so maybe she could focus on Stewart's soul and not his horrifically exposed scalp.

Dwight D. Eisenhower
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
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.

Marie Curie
Hottie, flirtatious Frenchwoman, discovered something
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.

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.

Idea 97 - Happily Angry: The Conundrum At Work In The Minds Of Girlfriends

I saw a cool-sounding book title in a review I almost skimmed: Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions. 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:

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.

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.

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.

Idea 96 - Nuggets o' Fun

I'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:

Q: What did the limerick say to the haiku?
A: Not sure, but I bet it was dirty!
(Remember, these people are in the middle of crapping, they can't leave!)

Did you know?
70% of all facial tissues aren't used for the face.

Little Timmy was walking down the road with his fishing pole. Mr. Abernathy stopped his van to chat.
"Hey Timmy, how was the fishing down at the creek?" asked Mr. Abernathy.
"I wasn't at the creek," said Timmy.
"Oh -- well then how was the fishing at the pond?" asked Mr. Abernathy.
"I wasn't at the pond," said Timmy.
"Well gee, Timmy -- where the heck did you go fishing, for Pete's sake?!"
Timmy frowned. "Went fishing for brassieres in the girls' locker room. But they were all too small -- had to throw 'em back!"
(The nerve of that kid!)

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.

Idea 95 - Green Is Murder

Holy 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.

Wait a second... something brilliant just hit me... maybe I can split the difference between those stupid things and Super Size Me...

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 was just about fed up.

"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, but I couldn't afford to give up.

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."

I appreciated her concern, but we both knew I had to keep pushing.

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."

Is it possible to inspire yourself? Because that's what I just did. So yeah, I guess it is.

Idea 94 - David And God In The Bathroom

Apparently 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 Are You There God? It's Me Margaret. NO, I DIDN'T READ IT. But I do know that she talks to God about periods. Listen to this:

David's armpit hair had become impossible to hide. Even when he tried hugging his bicep to his ribcage, it looked like he had a Troll doll in a headlock. "Gross!" he cried aloud, revolted by his sweaty garden. "Why me?! The guys in the locker room are gonna call me 'Pube Pits' and 'Triple Crotch!'" His desperate eyes swung wildly around the bathroom. "Scissors! I need scissors!"

"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.

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?"

"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."

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."

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, 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.

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.