I’m writing you today so you can make me rich.
By endorsing my novel, Fire Always Burns Uphill, you will change my life, my dog’s life, my kids’ lives, and you’ll ease my wife’s growing trepidation over that pesky “for better or for worse” clause in our wedding vows.
You see, Oprah, I’d make a very, very good rich person. I’d pay off the mortgages of family, friends, and random people I meet in the produce section of grocery stores. I’d give money to the homeless, take care of baby seals, and plug the ozone hole. And while it’s true that I’d continue to dazzle Twitter and Facebook with my wicked humor and word salads about science fiction, I’d never forget where I came from (fifth floor, Huntsville Hospital).
All it takes is a few short words from you – on your show – on national TV. That’ll turn my novel (a romantic adventure with some great sex) from the literary equivalent of baloney-on-white into a smoked haddock entree with a Caposaldo Merlot Moscato. Now, you may not give a hoot about me, gourmet recipes I plucked off the Internet, or my musings about Doctor Who and Star Trek, but think about it: What if you were the person trying to find some tender yellow squash? What if I picked you as the person whose house I’d pay off? Wouldn’t that be the bee’s knees?
You see, I’d never flaunt my wealth. Hell, I wouldn’t even move, although I would get that broken eye on the stove fixed. All I’d do is pay off the house, sock away enough for the kids to go to college, and offer up spare cash to the hungry, needy, and produce-challenged.
Sure, I’d still blog about what a bad show Space: 1999 was, or what a good show Firefly is. And, yeah, I’d occasionally get all misty-eyed about Dungeons & Dragons, but those are incidentals. You see, I’m an INFP stuck in a career crawling with ENTJs. Do you know what INFPs do for a living? They become cloistered monks or nineteenth century poets. Do you know what happens to INFPs who shun their true nature and go into aerospace engineering like I did? They come home with black eyes and “kick me” signs taped to their back (well, not really, but it feels like it).
So, Oprah, I urge you: Endorse my book, make me rich. Let me have the free time to buy summer squash (see picture above) and have you over for some good ol’ ’Southern vittles. Help me avoid the cyber-wedgies I get every day from working with people who’d rather upgrade their Windows software than have a conversation with me. Oprah, I’m beggin’ ya.
Peace and hair grease,
Copyright © 2012 Alan Keith Parker, All Rights Reserved. Inspired by a blogging prompt from the WordPress.com’s @Freshly_Pressed Twitter feed.