You are all the most awesome fucking readers ever. I’m going to buy you all dinner, take you away for a spa weekend, and give you all happy endings.
Your feedback and critiques were beyond helpful and all spot on. It’s easy for me to sit down and write 100000000 words, but limit me to 3 paragraphs and I become a fragmented train wreck.
“I have made this letter longer, because I have not had the time to make it shorter.” ~Blaise Pascal
Thanks for reeling me in.
Round 2…here we go, same deal…weigh in, I can take it.
xoxo to all of you.
As a self-deprecating recovering alcoholic, I often wear a very tight tee-shirt emblazoned with a bulls-eye, the fabric of which is woven from a magical blend of inappropriate humor, fearless observation, filter-less living, empirical wit, and irreverent sarcasm.
The Monkey’s Off My Back But The Circus Is Still In Town is a collection of comedic short essays. As a direct result of my deformed emotions, numerous character defects, desperate narcissism, and poor decision-making, I will undoubtedly save at least four people in the world. Serious time and agony can be avoided with the cliffs notes of my personal misfortune in hand. I say what people think, or don’t think, but in a way that will make you snort-laugh in spite of yourself. I will ultimately laugh at anyone’s expense, just as I laugh at my own. It’s my special way of showing love; it means that I like and respect you enough to laugh at your shit, too. We are all flawed and fucked up and at times are perfect targets for the butt of a great joke. I will capitalize on that–I guarantee it–the result will be warm tears running down your legs.
To the people of the world, I say, “You’re welcome.”
My stories are 100% true, self-narrated encounters, unbelievable occurrences, and opinionated observations that have taken place throughout my 41 years, 28 of which were peppered with high-functioning drug and alcohol abuse. I got sober November 9, 2011; the fog lifted, and I began vomiting my life. Now when someone asks if they can buy me a drink, I just say, “No but I’ll take the 8 bucks,” like I learned in finishing school. As an egomaniac with an inferiority complex, the best way to describe my writing style would be this: If Chelsea Handler and Jenny McCarthy had a baby with David Sedaris’ semen who was then raised by Augusten Burroughs, I would be that fucked-up baby.
Sincere thanks for your time and consideration. I’ve included an outline, table of contents, and sample chapters for your review. I’ll be waiting around like a meth-head in a standing still contest for your reply.