Friday, March 24, 2006

wussup, nutjobs. Well, I gotta book fer sale. It costs you the same thing it costs me, $12.82 plus shipping, at least for now. I ain’t even seen it yet, but mine’s on order, first one off the presses, I’ll let you know how it looks. Hopefully not all fucked up. It’s the best, or worst, or most antithetically mediocre, depending on your perspective or taste, of my inane ramblings and occasional blinding flashes of brilliance from the first 2 years of this possibly not useless excuse for a corner of cypberspace. Drop bottom price good until I decide I can get rich off this shit, or I see it in its physical form and determine it is the literary equivalent of king solomon’s mines, or, actually, like the embodiment of chris kaman’s hair, you know, like priceless yet so ephemeral that its hard to get a grasp on it, so, maybe, yeah, no matter what it will always be so cheap? Or else I’ll get greedy and build a skyscraper and call it whalercorp. Lots of different options. Anyway, instead of “come to my seminar,” I’ll leave it at “buy my book.” Or don’t. I get zero in money yet infinity in satisfaction of being on top of your shitter available for perusal in case aunt ethel feels the need for mental stimulation in the middle of dropping the kids off at the pool.

And, oh yeah, a million thanks to Jamie for helping me through technical difficulties in getting the thing properly aligned, jargonated, and essentialized in a literal physical sense. Your free copy will be sent post haste, Mr. Boud. If you don’t have an aunt ethel, I heard it makes a great coaster or crooked table leveler. Mahalo, aloha, ovaltine.