Friday, January 15, 2010


He couldn’t help but notice that things started to turn for him as soon as he no longer gave a shit. Writing novels being a solitary venture, it’s not unusual to feel that it’s you against the World. After all, there’re all those literary agencies and publishers and magazines and they’re all run by really smart people who are extremely knowledgeable and well-read and well-educated and very-important-close-personal-friends-of Doprah and Henry Kissinger, and then there’s just you-little-you-little-unpublished-you, but then once you get published it’s even worse because then you’re no longer a potential-hot-commodity-with-unrealized-earning-potential you’re the guy-whose-first-book-sold-how-many-copies? That’s not very many. And that story this past summer in new york mag (what a rag) do all magazines these days aspire to be like PEOPLE™ (it seems so) the world went down hill when US NEWS & WORLD REPORT started accepting ads and what’s next the BULLETIN OF ATOMIC SCIENTISTS? And the conceit of this particular article was that publishing these days is more cutthroat than ever what with the conglomeration of the world into one big corporation reflected of course in publishing my pet peeve where random house-knopf-scribners are all owned by some Japanese conglomerate (and renamed BOTTOM RINE PRESS™) or else by some German consortium of high-powered businessman who’ve abandoned aryan racial purity for lots and lots of moolah but isn’t this taking the aryan ideal to its logical extreme just substitute money for race and why not I mean that’s one god we all worship (at least we damn well better or we’re fucked) and if I say I’m better than you because I’m part of the master race and you’re chaff then that pisses you off and you might eventually get your allies together and D-Day my NAZI ass but if I’m filthy-fuckin-rich then you say WOW! because that’s what we’re here for isn’t it to make money (and lots of it) our objective measure of success its platinum bar so to speak ourbankaccountportfoliohousecarboatplane summerhomewife (in that order) and you gotta give ‘em credit they’ve taken a business that’s subjective by definition (remember art, does that ring a bell?) and made it objective, which means of course that if ya got a Doprah’s Clubhouse bestseller then you’re-the-shit in like flint, and did ya ever watch her Doprah that is when she has yer average-middle-america-housewife on the show with some terrible problems she wants to share with 30 million others and she Doprah will be merciless! Get over yourself, girl, and get on with your life! (APPLAUSE! The “Doprah nod” en masse) and then when she’s through with ‘em she calls in Herman Goerring Dr. Phil to finish ‘em off and he lays into these poor dysfunctional bastards on national tv showing the entire civilized world how fucked up they are You gotta get over yourself, girl, and get on with your life! (tough love my ass, Bully! yet applause Dr. Phil bestseller-huge-advance-whopping-fees-big-bucks-for-lectures-seminars-workshops-consulting and is Dr. Phil a real doctor or does he just play one on tv?) But then when Saint Doprah has her friends on her celebrity buddies watch her genuflect-kiss-ass-suck-up treat ‘em like royalty-and-the-beautiful-people-they-are and it don’t matter if they be dysfunctional as hell, but she’s not really doing this what she’s really doing is shamelessly worshipping the god money on national tv with her rich parishioner pals like that plastic-blonde-Barbie-clone-money-makeover-bitch who shows us why it’s our fault we’re not millionaires like her and Doprah and in a way they’re kinda like the Bodhisattva after he achieved enlightenment he left nirvana right to help the rest of humanity get enlightened too and isn’t that Doprah’s sacred mission as well to help the rest of us poor-middle-america-dysfunctional-codependent-mortgage-paying-motherfuckers to break out of our financial samsara? You be poor it’s ya own damn fault, bitch! I mean, all ya gotta do is buy that blonde white bitch’s book a’ight? And why you wit him when he beat you? You gotta say Get yer ass outta my house, muthafucka, and don’t you come back! (APPLAUSE) Ain’t ya got no self-respect girl? Ya gotta get over yourself, girlfriend, and get on with yer life! (APPLAUSE) And when we return from a commercial break we’ll all remember our spirit! (heartfelt smile filled with warmth for all humanity) And I almost forgot, I’ll let y’all know what book to be readin’ for next month’s Doprah’s Book Club™ (and a million writers out there hold their breath)