Undead Americans

Today I would like to talk about a segment of our population that has been overlooked, abused, and much maligned in America: zombies. Or as I prefer to call them: Undead Americans.

Undead Americans have given much to our society. They are our villains, our scapegoats, and the cannon-fodder of many a twisted scientist. They have been rekilled by the thousands, if not millions, by everyone from housewives to top-secret government Special Forces teams. And frankly, they deserve our respect and admiration.

Undead Americans exemplify what is best about our country. They are indefatigable and willing to suffer any injury in pursuit of their goals. They will not stop and when one Undead American falls, ten more rise to take his place. Theirs is the strength of unity and purpose and what is more American than that?

Now, I am the first to admit that brains have been eaten. Our alternately-alive brothers and sisters have a terrible, unquenchable hunger for brains. And who can blame them? Brains are tender, juicy, and delectable. The truffle of body parts, so to speak. Undead Americans do not deny us our hamburgers and chocolate malts, why should we deny them their food of choice?

So, the next time you are trapped in a mall or deserted military base and surrounded by hundreds or thousands of Undead Americans, put yourself in their shoes. What would you do? What lengths would you go to satisfy your hunger? And when you are blowing their heads off with a shotgun, do so with respect. After all, if you are cornered and out of ammo, you might very well join their ranks.

Braiiiins,
-Jason

Tag

In my daily review of the news, I came across an article about a school in Colorado Springs that has banned the playing of Tag. Apparently, some children complained of being harassed and chased against their will.

So from what I can gather, Tag is harmful to children. Red Rover is probably also harmful. Dodgeball is right out, as is Smear the Person-Who-Is-Strange-or-Odd-From-A-Conventional-Viewpoint. Tetherball (I happened to be the Tetherball King of my school) and Hopscotch are okay, but only if played from a socially positive perspective.

The thing is, I played all those games. I also played a variety of other games that involved smashing, hitting, running, hiding, chasing, verbal abuse, throwing, and kicking. These activities were conducted in full view and full knowledge of the teachers.

These games made me what I am today and frankly, because this is America, somebody needs to get sued. I therefore propose a class-action lawsuit against my elementary school for allowing and even encouraging these games.

Did you play these games as a child? Did you play them on school grounds? Then join me in suing the pants off of your elementary school!

It is not like these games were an important part of childhood that helped develop physical and emotional skills that we need in our daily lives. The bumps and bruises, hurt feelings, tears, social interaction, winning and losing, none of these things have helped us become normal, well-adjusted people who can cope with the sharp edges of life.

Actually, now that I think about it, I am totally going to sue Pat Johnson. He nailed me in the face with a football in the 5th grade. It is his fault I am single. And smell funny. Well, maybe not the smell funny part, but the single thing is totally all him.

Cheers,
-Jason

Back To Twice a Week

Hey all,

Just wanted to let the world know that Wayfarer's Moon is back to updating twice a week.

So tune in on Tuesdays and Thursdays for more action and adventure!

Cheers,
-Jason

The Manly Art of Cleaning: Part 4

The kitchen is actually the easiest part of the apartment for me to clean. This is because I rarely do anything more complicated than heating chili in the microwave. The kitchen serves more as a soda repository and chili-heating-station rather than a place where actual food is cooked.

Another great idea: a combination refrigerator/microwave/cabinet/trash bin. It could be called BachelorPod (tm, copyright, etc). You take your can of chili off the top shelf, open it with the attached opener, pour it into the bowl on the lower shelf, insert the whole thing into the microwave, grab a soda from fridge and a spoon from another shelf and then eat the now hot chili right from the microwave. Everything is then deposited in the trash. Now if there was only a way to have the chili automatically restocked and the trash automatically emptied, it would be perfect.

So to clean my kitchen, all I really have to do is give the counters a cursory wipe, as I clean up the chili spills as they happen (I am not a complete slob). There is not much counter to wipe, either, as the primary use of my kitchen is to store my mail.

When I receive mail, I open it in the kitchen. Obvious junk mail is thrown in the trash. Important mail, such as the bills and death threats, go on my desk. Everything else which is important enough to read, but not immediately dangerous like a bill, goes on the counter. Theoretically, it will be read at some point, just not right now. Or this year.

My kitchen is therefore 90% mail, 10% counter, which is only used for chili. One does not need to clean mail, so there you go. A quick wipe with a sponge and maybe some sort of cleanser and the kitchen is good for another round.

And there you have it. I think I will start a business called Manly Cleaning. I come to your house, glance around, and say something like looks good to me and leave. All it will cost is a can of chili.

Cheers,
-Jason

The Manly Art of Cleaning: Part 3

I have a small confession to make. I do not really know how to clean a bathroom. It was not one of my chores as a kid and as such, no one has ever instructed me in the proper methods.

I therefore rely on the following method:

1. Acquire some sort of wiping utensil. This can be a cloth, a sponge, a t-shirt, an old magazine, whatever.

2. Acquire some sort of cleansing agent. An actual cleanser probably works best, but spit, gasoline, or the water in the pan under the fridge will do just fine.

3. Spread cleansing agent liberally on all surfaces. Sure, put it in the toilet, in the sink, and in the shower, but do not forget the mirror, under the sink, the toilet paper roll, or the actual toilet paper. If it has more than two-dimensions, it needs cleaning.

4. Rub vigorously.

5. Rinse with water. This will get rid of the residue and help put out the fires.

There, now the bathroom is perfectly clean. Tip: Be sure to offer the fireman something to drink before they go. They will remember you and be eager to return the next time you clean your bathroom.

Next: The Kitchen and the Conclusion!

I Need Some Milk. And Eggs.

Today I would like to address a topic that I find rather irksome: quests in WoW that send you to the exact same spot you were just in. I am not talking about multiple quest givers each wanting you to do something in the same area, I am speaking of completing a quest and then going back to the exact same spot for the next quest.

One of my characters is in Felwood and just completed the Well of Corruption series. You first need to fight your way to a particular pool and test the water and then fight your way back out. That is all well and good. Then you need to go back to the very same spot and do something else and of course, fight your way back out again.

I find this not only irritating, but boring as well. WoW has generally good quests, so the bad ones really stand out.

Eventually, there will be a quest like this:

Grothgar the Hideous: Say, , I seem to have misplaced my keys. Could you go down to the bottom of the Black Pit of Slashing Razors, fight your way through the Incontinent Poodles and Insurance Salesman, and retrieve them for me?

Me: Sure!

An hour later, after two deaths.

Me: Here are your keys!

Grothgar the Hideous: Great, here is 20 copper for your troubles. By the way, Im also missing my reading glasses. I think theyre in the room next to where you found my keys.

Me: I have to go back? Sure.

An hour and a half later, but only one death.

Grothgar the Hideous: Well, youre gonna laugh at this one, but these are my wifes glasses. Mine must be in the next room over, the one with the Butt-Fanged Rodent.

Me: Isnt he an Elite Level 60?

Grothgar the Horrible: Sure is!

Me: Joy.

Three hours later, after getting a group and wiping twice.

Grothgar the Hideous: Those are the ones! Heres 5 silver for a job well done! You know, my gout is acting up and I need my pills. If you could go back down and fetch them for me, that would be spiffy! Theyre in the nightstand next to Phil the Horribly Beweaponed.

Me: Why the hell is all this stuff down there? Fine!

Four hours and an incalculable number of deaths later.

Me: There! Happy?

Grothgar the Hideous: Wonderful. Heres a magic item you cant use! Hey, if youre not busy, the dog needs to go walkies. However, he will only poop on the carpet of Bartholmandingis the Insanely Under-Conned. If you could just drop back down into the dungeon, that would be super. Theres some Boar Meat in it for you!

Me: Im going to stab you now. Not sure when Im going to stop.

So if you happen to be a designer writing quests right now, stop and ask yourself: Is returning to the exact same place really that fun? If the answer is yes, next time you have to go grocery shopping, buy one item. Return home and then go back to buy one more item. Repeat. If you still think its fun, you probably need professional help.

Cheers,
-Jason

The Manly Art of Cleaning: Part 2

As luck would have it, my vacuum does not pick up cat hair. It does not even move it. This means I need to rake my floor to get the cat hair. I am not kidding. I have a sponge mop with no sponge attached. I rake the floor with the edge to ball up the cat hair so I can pick it up.

After 30-odd minutes of raking, I had a bag of cat hair and had broken a sweat. Vacuuming at this point is sort of a ritual. There really is not much to pick up, so it is more about making the neat lines on the floor. A floor has not been cleaned unless there are lines.

Mmmmm, lines.

I should invent a kind of carpet that has lines built in. It would always look freshly vacuumed. Granted, it would probably have to be made with concrete, but that is a small price to pay for having a perfect floor.

So I managed to finish vacuuming. The floor was immaculate. Well, lacking any obvious toxic waste at least. I am sure that once my back is turned, my cat will immediately repopulate the area with hair. This is all part of the circle of life.

Tomorrow: The Bathroom

Page update schedule.

Page 34 will be posted this Thursday August 24th.
We return to our regular Tuesday/Thursday page update schedule with page 35 on Tuesday August 28th. We'd like to thank everyone out there for their patience while we've been getting our - er - stuff back together. In the mean time here's an image that I've been working on for my brother and sister in law. It's almost done guys - honest! :)

- Leigh

The Manly Art of Cleaning: Part 1

As those of you who read my blog with any regularity know, I am not fond of the act of cleaning. Cleanliness is good. Cleaning is boring and tedious, being sort of the Uwe Boll movie of chores.

So, much to my surprise, I decided to clean the apartment.

I started with vacuuming. As has been stated before, I hate vacuuming. I do not know why, other than it was one of my chores as a kid. Relatively speaking, vacuuming is easy. Or rather, it should be.

I own a cat. She is a tiny little ball of psychotic fur that does not like anyone but me. She also sheds. Constantly. All year long. It never stops. So, as you can imagine, there is a lot of cat hair everywhere.

Note: If you are allergic to cats, do not enter my apartment. You will die. Instantly. If you wish to kill someone who is allergic to cats, send them to visit me. My body removal fees are quite reasonable.

Tomorrow: Lines on the Floor

Who Clicks on These?

Like everyone else with a computer and an internet connection, I get more than my fair share of spam featuring porn, Viagra, and the occasional piece that is completely incomprehensible.

Now, I imagine that sending this stuff out must be dirt cheap and that they only get one hit/sale for every million-ish emails sent. The question is then, who actually clicks on this stuff?

Think about it. Who buys discount male enhancement drugs? If I ever need to purchase such a product, I am not going to click on a random web link. If my happy parts are involved, I want a prescription drug, prescribed by an actual doctor. In fact, I want a whole surgical team at the ready, along with at least three specialists, a helicopter, 50k in small, unmarked bills, and the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, just in case.

Here is the actual text of an email I received the other day:

gladly Hellman probative customizable
lightens evident aligns classed propagating ascending rungs superfluity insisted outfit Luftwaffe enders role

I have no clue what they are selling, but apparently it involves the German air force (Luftwaffe).

So, who would read that and think Wow, a bunch of random words and a link! That spells quality in my book! Not only that, somebody is clicking on the link, someone is actually purchasing the product! Why?

It boggles the mind.

Cheers,
-Jason

Educational TV

So, has anyone noticed that educational TV seems to becoming a lot less educational?

I am talking about the Discovery Channel, History Channel, and The Learning Channel. While I watch pretty much zero network TV, I do flip between these on a regular basis and have noticed a trend.

What is the newest show on Discovery? A reality show about Lobster fisherman. What is the show that seems to be on most evenings? Deadliest Catch, a reality show about crab fisherman.

Discovery is not alone here. History has Ice Road Truckers. The Learning Channel has American Chopper (which I admit to enjoying – I like seeing the bikes being built), Miami Ink and now, LA Ink.

Granted, these shows are a minority among those being offered. The History Channel alone has so many WWII shows that I keep expecting Nazi Germany: The Shoelaces of the Third Reich to show up. The Discovery Channel also has that perennial favorite: Shark Week.

You know what I would love? Besides being fed fajitas by supermodels? If the History Channel and Discovery Channel combined forces to produce Nazi Shark Week. I do not care if it was about actual Nazi Sharks (der PanzerTigerhai), Nazis being fed to sharks, or the forbidden love between a Nazi and a shark. Nazi + Shark = television greatness.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I realize that these networks need viewers as much as anyone else. I also realize that reality shows are the thing right now. Could they just, you know, try and make them a bit more informative? Human Weapon is a good example of a show that provides entertainment (people hitting each other) with information (how hitting people in one way hurts more that hitting people other ways).

Barring that, they really need to go with Nazi Shark Week. Or American Chomper, a show about building motorcycles while being attacked by sharks. Or Miami Inked, where they try and tattoo a squid.

Cheers,
-Jason

A Technical Question

There seem to be a lot of technical people reading, so I have a question to pose to you.

My TV does not like to change channels anymore.

I have a Tivo hooked up to my cable box. Generally speaking, when I change the channel with the Tivo remote, it only works 1 in roughly 10 times. The cable remote also only works about 1 in 10 times as well. The numbers on the cable box change, but the actual channel does not (the numbers come up on the TV as well).

However, if I go to the cable guide (not the Tivo guide) and highlight and select the channel there, it changes fine.

I have pulled and reattached all the cables, but that has not helped. Can anyone give me any advice on what I could do to alleviate this? Should I switch the cables out? Do I need a new TV? Should I sacrifice a chicken?

Thanks,
-Jason

Day 4

Day 4.

I think, perhaps, I am going mad. I sit and stare. I wait. Ever waiting. Ever staring. Nothing happens. The green light does not glow. I know not what to do, so I do nothing. I sit. I wait. I stare.

There is noise from my window. Sounds. Voices in ebb and flow. They do not know. They would not understand. Even if I told them, they would look at me with confusion, as they do not speak English. I think to draw pictures, to illustrate my woes, to give some form to the terror that grips me. But alas, the crude two-dimensional stick-figures with large, bulbous heads I draw are woefully inadequate to convey the three dimensions of madness I feel. I draw a horsey, which could be mistaken for a dog. I call him Hubert.

Still, the green light does not illuminate. It glows not. Ixnay on the lowgay. Unable to restrain myself, I reach for the mouse. I click, slowly and carefully at first, and then faster and faster yet. A bead of sweat drips from my forehead to the keyboard. And yet, I lose. I have never been good at Solitaire. I play a game of FreeCell and my nerves are soothed by my victory. I rock at FreeCell.

I return to sitting, to staring. In a sudden mad frenzy, I seize the mouse again. I click frantically on anything, everything. Folders open. Movies play. I am unamused. I have seen them all. Even the whimsical antics of a water-skiing squirrel brings no smile to my lips.

There is a sudden spasm of lights. My breath catches and I sit upright, every organ intent on the small black box upon my desk. Even my gall bladder leaves off its ceaseless creation of stones to percolate with hope. The lights fade and I would weep, had I the tears left.

I check my mail. My dial-up connection crackles and spits. After an agonizing minute, an offer for cheap Viagra appears. I hesitate. I could attempt to visit a site, perhaps a webcomic. But dial-up is slow, so agonizingly slow. I could, I think, open a site and then eat dinner, with the hope that it would appear by the time I return. But such a thing would only bring the desire to visit other sites and I have not enough food for such an endeavor.

You understand now, perhaps, the source of my madness?

There is a Tauren in Un’Goro crater who waits for the skins of some of the Great Apes of the region. In Paragon City, a scientist has been kidnapped and it is I who must rescue her. There are movies to download. Sites to surf. And here I sit, the green light of my DSL unlit. Impotent. Flaccid. Limp. Other words that make men uncomfortable.

I think I will watch TV. Yes, my cable is still connected. It might stay the madness. It might bring a moment of joy. I collect Hubert, my only friend, and pad to the living room, where the soft glow of television waits to envelope me.

I just hope I remembered to pay the cable bill.

Cheers,
-Jason

Houdini - Part 3

At long last, I cornered Houdini. We were about 20 yards apart, his black eyes staring into mine. His wool was tangled and matted, but he stood proudly, facing his foe. I do not know what I looked like, but I imagine that at that moment, the rocket ship on my chest gleamed.

It was then that I realized something.

I would like to say that it was some fundamental truth of the universe. Something about how sheep and boy were both equals in the eyes of nature and for that one brief moment, Houdini and I were brothers.

No, it was that Houdini probably outweighed my by a good 60-odd pounds and that even if I managed to somehow subdue him, I had no way of getting him back by myself.

Houdini then farted and wandered off. I kid you not.

Had I been older, I would have said something appropriate (like shit), but I just sighed and looked around. I then realized that I was roughly three-miles from where I had started the chase. The ridge I had chased Houdini down paralleled the main road. There were mileage markers at appropriate intervals and I could clearly see the surrounding terrain.

It took me an hour to pick my way back to where I had started. No one was there, of course, as they thought I was lost and were looking for me (I was not lost. I knew exactly where I was). I started walking home and after about fifteen minutes, the pickup roared up and my mom leapt out, to simultaneously hug and chew me out.

I related the story of chasing Houdini, which my dad found hilarious. We went home. My mom made me French Toast and dad called all the neighbors about our missing sheep.

Long story short. A neighbor noticed Houdini, walked up to him with a rope, collared him, led him into a pen, and then called my dad. He was back before noon.

A few months later, Houdini was sold at the county fair and became food. I have mixed feelings about Houdini. At the time, though I understood his desire for freedom, he did manage to be really irritating with the constant escape attempts. Now, looking back, I realize Houdini was a warrior, a woolly Viking if you will. Fate put him at the bottom of the food chain, but did not quench the fire in his heart.

Damn, I need to sell this to Mel Gibson. He could call it WoolHeart (SheepHeart?) and film it completely in baas and bleats.

Cheers,
-Jason

Houdini - Part 2

Houdini was gone. Completely gone. Nowhere on the property gone. My dad ordered all us kids into the back of one of our battered pickups and we took off. There were four kids in the bed, dressed in motley assemblage of work clothes, unbathed, unshaven (in the case of my brothers), and more or less half asleep. A banjo and a shotgun would have completed the picture perfectly.

We drove around the area, occasionally stopping to search a thick patch of scrub, for the better part of an hour. We eventually came to one of the larger meadows not far from our place and were sent out to comb the area.

I wandered into the thicket and half-heartedly looked around. After a few minutes, I happened to notice a flash of white. It was Houdini. I looked around, but no one else was in sight. Houdini was moving quickly through the brush (sheep are fast when they need to be), so I did what any 10-year-old would do. I gave chase.

There have been many great hunts mythologized throughout history. There are stories of courageous hunters who dared the elements, who risked life and limb to track and ensnare their prey. Hunters who knew their quarry could turn at any moment and then they themselves would be the hunted.

Now, I may have been a small boy in rocket ship pajamas chasing a sheep, but this was one such hunt. I chased Houdini through and around bushes, up and down hills, across ravines and boiling lava, through the lairs of snarling wolves and incontinent bears, and through the very earth itself.

Well, obviously not, but it was a hell of a chase.

Hello all. Jason's internet service is down. He will blog again as soon as he can access the site.

- Leigh.

Houdini - Part 1

This is a true story. It is full of sheep, danger, and rocket ships. Well, actually, there is only one sheep and no actual danger, but there are rocket ships.

When I was 10, my sister (14) was into Future Farmers of America (FFA). She, for reasons unknown, decided to get a sheep to raise for the fair. Since we lived in the country this was not a big deal. A suitable enclosure was constructed, a sheep procured, and life went on as usual.

Except that the sheep kept escaping. It usually only wandered over to where we kept the hay and started eating, so we would just fix the pen and reinter the sheep. This is how the sheep became known as Houdini.

Personally, I had a great deal of respect for Houdini. I assumed he knew that he was eventually going to be eaten and was doing his best to flee to the promised land, where hay was flowed like water and the ewes were both hot and numerous.

However, at roughly dawn one spring morning, I was woken up by my mom who informed me and my two older brothers that Houdini had once again vanished. We had to get up, get dressed, and go out and look for the animal.

I happened to be wearing rocket ship pajamas. The top had numerous small rocket ships all over, with one large one on the chest. It was blue and had flames emitting from it, which were propelling it towards my left armpit. I did not bother to change and just shrugged into some pants and shoes and threw on a down jacket and went outside.

Tomorrow: Part 2

Save vs Rock

Gall Stone (aka: Gut Demon)
Tiny Aberration
Hit Dice: 1hp or 28d6+4 (leader)
Initiative: +10
Speed: 1
Base Attack: +0/+0
Attack: unarmed +0 melee
Full Attack: nil
Special Attack: pain/nausea
Special Qualities: only attacks at night
Environment: your gall bladder
Alignment: chaotic vicious

Description:
The Gall Stone or Gut Demon is a tiny, possibly fanged and/or spiked rock that takes up residence in your gall bladder. It generally attacks only at night after eating a large Meat Lovers pizza and a liter of Coke. It has no known weaknesses and can only be defeated by either a Cure Intestinal Pain spell or simply waiting it out.

Combat:
The Gut Demon attacks your Gall Bladder, causing just enough pain to keep you awake. One in ten Gall Stones is a leader-type, who causes severe pain and nausea. Leader-type Gall Stones have been said to cause pain equivalent to childbirth, though this is doubtful, as you do not have to later change the Stones diaper or put it through college.

Gall Stones as Characters:
The Gall Stone has no application as a playable race unless the adventure is inside a gall bladder. If it is, you are weird.

So, if you have not guessed, I get gall stones. I had a minor occurrence the other night, which was not bad, it just kept me from sleeping. It occurred to me that it might be funny to write up the gall stone as a D and D type monster. Frankly, it was 5 am and seemed like a good idea at the time.

The only cure for gall stones is to have your gall bladder removed. I happen to like my gall bladder (I call it Little Green Jason) and have elected to keep it. For me, a sleepless night once or twice a year is preferable to surgery. I have insomnia anyway, so I am used to it.

I also have Toenail Fungus. Count yourself lucky I did not elect to blog about that.

Cheers,
-Jason

Note: The image was copied from Wikipedia. The entire article is here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gall_stones

Things That Scare Me: Part 3

The last thing that well and truly scares me is the Big C. No, not cancer, but Crash, as in Computer.

My whole life is on my computer. Pretty much every project I have worked on over the past 15 years is floating around in there. I have something like 140 pages of D&D notes alone, which I hope someday to pass down to my son.

Some kids get cars or college tuitions. Mine will get a fully fleshed out universe, complete with multiple pantheons, a cosmology, and some mind-numbingly detailed histories of people that only exist in my head.

I also have numerous short stories, a completed novel, half-finished fiction of all types and a book for children called The Littlest Musketeer: How Syphilis Saved Aramis.

Not only that, but the computer is my primary source of amusement. I download games, play WoW and City of Heroes, read the news, and search for random things on YouTube.

Mine is a full life.

So if you ever hear a great scream from roughly Washington State, you will know that my hard drive has gone to the great formatter in the sky.

Cheers,
-Jason

Schedule Update

Please bear with us while we work out our relationship with our new colorist. No real problems so far, but it will take a bit to get some minor wrinkles worked out. In the mean time the relaxed schedule continues with new pages on Thursdays. We plan on resuming our regular update schedule in late August.

- Leigh

Jason's Birthday!

Everybody join me in wishing a very hapy birthday to Jason! It was actually yesterday, but we'll be celebrating with him tonight, so I got the dates mixed up like a stupid-head.
Happy Birthday Jason!

-Leigh

New colorist!

The coloring on page 31 was provided by the good folks at Lamplighter Studios. To check out their site got to http://www.lamplighterstudios.com/. In our never ending attempt to bring you the comic on time, these guys will be coloring our pages for a while. This isn’t their normal kind of gig – they normally handle art for games - but this is something that we are both giving a shot to see how it works out. Tell Jason and me what you think!

-Leigh

Things That Scare Me: Part 2

Insurance
Insurance is another one of those things involving numbers (the bane of all who major in English) that I do not understand. Do I have enough insurance? Do I have too much? Do I have the right kind? Am I insured in case giant monsters attack? That would really stink. Not only did a giant, 9-armed robot-gorilla-iguana smash my favorite gaming store, he flattened my truck as well. It would stink even worse if I was only insured against 8-armed robot-gorilla-iguanas.

Note to self: Check insurance policy to see if there is a Number of Arm clause for my giant monster coverage.

Second Note to Self: Find insurance policy.

Buying a Home
Yet another scary proposition, but not because of the whole numbers are evil thing. Rather, I need to insure that the house is haunted.

Yes, that is correct. I want to buy a haunted house. And not just any haunted house, I want blood running down the walls, phantom noises, malevolent toasters, the whole nine yards.

I find this desirable for several reasons:

1 Haunted houses go pretty cheap. It may be a 12-bedroom mansion, but if enough people have died in it, I might actually be able to afford it.

2 If the house is sufficiently haunted, I can write a book about it.

3 If said book does well enough, I can get a movie made and possibly go on Oprah.

4 All of this will enable me to make enough money to buy my true dream home: one haunted by Playboy Playmates and/or lingerie models.

Tomorrow: The Conclusion! Or Maybe Not! Mwahahahahaha!