Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy.
A few examples come to mind:
When I plop down on the sofa to watch TV rather than do anything productive. There are many nights when I melt into the sofa and curse my fitness, which has deteriorated to the point I can barely lift the remote to switch on Paula’s Home Cooking.
When I super-size my order at the drive-in, even though I’ve been sitting at a desk all day and plan to sit at the sofa all night, eating my dinner and watching TV until I pass out or have a stroke (or both).
When I deny myself a full night’s sleep, instead getting up to answer the food nightmare-induced howls of my young children.
You’d think I’d know better.
I’d think I know better, if I didn’t know me better.
Which is why I’ve come to hate myself, the shiftless bastard. Soaking the sofa cushions in his own drool, ignoring the curses of his wife as she washes those cushions, thinking only, during those moments, how uncomfortable the couch is without cushions and how dare his wife take them from him.
I am filled with impotent rage every morning, when, in the course of administering to my personal grooming, I look into the bathroom mirror and am forced to endure that undeservedly good-looking prima donna staring back.
He’s an infuriating prick, and if I didn’t have such a healthy sense of self-worth, I’d do the jerk in.
Oh, and don’t think I’m not smart enough to get away with it too. I totally could, if he wasn’t so damned lazy.
So it really chuffs me to have to announce that this undeserving paragon of sloth, this indolent Baron of Gluttony, has managed to make the semifinals in a contest.
A book contest, to be exact. And, despite his involvement in the creation process, not a half-bad book, if I do say so myself.
But don’t tell him I said it – I’ll deny it to the grave.
That useless sack of baby vomit.
The book is Marlowe and the Spacewoman. Not hard to figure that out, give it’s the only book he’s got out thus far.
Given the Ian-shaped indentation that has formed in the sofa, don’t expect another one out any time soon.*
If I wanted him to win, I’d tell you to go over to the The Kindle Book Review and vote for the book. But fortunately, since I can’t bear the thought of him winning Shirley Jackson’s lottery, let alone this contest, it doesn’t work that way. It turns out no amount of outside influence can be brought to bear on the judges to affect the outcome.
So he’ll just have to stand on his merits. Since the finalists aren’t announced until September 1st, and I know how bad he is at standing for any length of time, I’m not worried.
—And now, a word from our sponsor: me! My books are available!
Marlowe and the Spacewoman: