Laureate of Lewd

“Fact is, you’re an asshole.” My agreeable vegan friend states with unshakable certainty in between mouthful of croutons. “You should write a book about being one. It won’t be a bestseller.”

Bah! Negative Nelly!

My eyes instantly glaze as my entire faculty whoosh past our lunch table into delusions of grandeur: Uncountable royalties! Fame! Fortune! Celebrity! Entire issue of The New York Review of Books enshrining me as the next Gore Vidal! Adoring fans and, ideally, gorgeous-beyond-belief-but-übersmart-superiorly-literate groupies! The Nobel and Pulitzer and the Booker juries and luminaries pestering me with predictable congratulatory late night calls! Sold-out-months-in-advance-standing-room-only reading engagement at Carnegie Hall! Book signing ruckus surpassing the Backstreetboys heyday melee in Madison Square Garden! The entire banana!

“Oh, I forgot.” She dryly adds. “You have the grammatical facility of a stillborn.”

Deflated. Not just my ego but my tumescent arousal.

Women. They get you all worked up, then kick you in the nuts. Attabunch of tease.

That got me into thinking. Considering my glaring impairment on grammar and all this trivial inconvenience about writing with clarity and technical facility and shit. Who gives a toss, right? On a textese generation? Come on! Besides I happen to be partial to the chaos technique, double entendre, vagueness, and the whole convoluted salad.

Yet the discouraging reality shall not dampen my enthusiasm. To hell with Penguin, Vintage, Picador, Knopf and Random House editorial and grammar freaks!

All you grammar Nazis, back off! This is my prime! My apotheosismic moment!

Except for one minor nuisance: since I would be beyond the assailance of jealous book editors, my opus will probably not see the Light of Elendil in traditional book publishing. Out of spite and blinding envy, they'd do everything in their moment of power to prevent my genius from reaching its rabidly starved audience. Not to worry as I have deviced a foolproof plan: I will harness the instant access-instant celebrity potential of the web! Yes! Blogging!

And since this being my blog, I shall not kowtow nor become prey to editorial intrusions!

I look forward to the platinum Blogger Of The Century plaque to double serve as my doorstop.

Excuse me while, I compose myself and begin composing my, ahem, monumental masterpiece. I’m all set for glory!

Bow before thy Emperrrraahhhh!