Ambigiously Successful Negotiations in the Digital Age (Part I)

From a Google Chat exchange with Patty just moments ago:

It's "Write My Own Obituary" Day

Here's how I imagine it going down:

LOCAL WRITER FOUND DEAD, HAPPY IN SUBURBAN CHICAGO HOME

CHICAGO (Reuters)—Controversial and as-yet-mostly-unknown author Brian O’Mara-Croft, 44, was found dead in his suburban Chicago home yesterday morning in what some on the scene described as “offputting” conditions and at least one regarded as "unspeakably inappropriate."

Although details are as yet unclear, one EMT confirmed the deceased bore a broad grimace pasted across his countenance and a portion of his lower anatomy trapped in “alarming rigor”. Emergency workers quickly left the scene, some holding their pinkie fingers up for delighted onlookers, others in tears.

Said one: “I’m not crying for him. I’ve never even heard of him. Still, alive or deceased, nobody should have to see that.”

His wife of almost 10 years, Patty, shrugged for reporters.

“He died as he lived.” She batted away a tear. “He’d have wanted it this way.”

O’Mara-Croft, who sought international renown for his not-so-family-friendly descriptions of rabbit penises, bat penises, monkey penises, penises ensnared in vacuums and anything “genitalesque”, but whose stated ambition to be "The next Charlie Sheen, admired by millions," was never realized, appears to have suffered a fatal stroke at a time some would consider inopportune. The local coroner refused to speculate whether the film, “Treat Me Like the Pig that I Am #32”, found in the deceased’s DVD player, played any role in his death.

Tearful, his wife added, “I was tired. He was annoyingly drunk. He acted like a big man about how he’d forge on in spite of my refusals.” Looking thoughtful, she added, “I guess this was one journey Mr. Loved-by-Millions needed to take on his own.”

O’Mara-Croft, author of Lost in the Hive, is survived by five children who, although not reached for comment, have been observed smiling and cheerful in spite of the news. A friend of one observed, “You can’t even begin to imagine the weight off of my friend’s shoulders. No son should ever open his Facebook page to a photo of his father dancing in a snowbank in a purple thong. NO son.”

Another friend, who refused to be named, added, “Based on what I saw, I can understand his obsession with penile enhancement. The thong shot looked like two raisins wrestling a malformed earthworm in a frozen coin purse.” On the coroner’s report, the same lower region was described as “average for a Caucasian male.”

Funeral arrangements have yet to be disclosed, although most family members have confirmed they see no reason to attend on a "laundry day".

Reporters caught up with O’Mara-Croft’s widow as she appeared to be pricing coffins at various warehouse stores.

“I came for the jumbo bag of pretzels,” she said, before adding, "And I found them. It's all good."

O’Mara-Croft, in his writing, sought to get a rise out of all of us; ironically, it would seem the rise he got out of himself was his undoing. He will not be missed.

Lost in the Hive CONTEST!!!

My artist-wife Patty created the candy jar shown for the book launch of my book, Lost in the Hive. When this page reaches 500 followers, or when my Facebook "author" page (http://tinyurl.com/4fxxto4) hits 1,000 fans, we will draw a name at random and ship the winner a similar (not exact) "Lost in the Hive"-themed candy jar. Pass it on!!!

Cheers,
Brian

P.S. Depending on how long it takes to reach those lofty heights, the jar may contain my ashes.

Sarcastic SWM Seeks Wealthy Nymphomaniac

As I goofed off on the web this morning, pretending I was doing something that counts for anything, I happened upon this gem from the Fragrant Liar blog. In one of her latest posts, "Fragrant" (a strange first name that hints at qualities sensual and/or unsettling) riffs on her recent frustrations with online dating.

This got me thinking: If Patty finally does run off with a guy who (a) gets dressed for work, (b) isn't a bum and, therefore, (c) isn't me, and I'm cast back into the world of the love-starved (some females) and sex-starved (all males), how might I make myself stand out from the crowd?

Here's what I came up with:

MALE SEEKS FEMALE(S):
Bitter, sarcastic DWM, 44, offers simple tastes, simple thoughts, filthy habits. Has teeth, limbs, too-cute wiry hairs on eyebrows and earlobes. Orson Wellesy physique with seductively rounded torso. Inert. Has worked in past. Heavy smoker; even heavier drinker. Very efficient lovemaker. Coward. Fond of occasional showers. Crybaby. Will lick your face when you're angry to cheer you up. Favorite time of day is sex o'clock (get it? I'm full of such verbal treats). Bit of a foodie--most meals consist of (a) ground beef, (b) pasta or (c) ground beef and pasta. Slob. Will help pick lingerie painful and humiliating to you but fashionable and desirable to me. Will not mark territory with urine (bathroom floor and shower curtain excluded). Amateur photographer and videographer (see "lingerie", above). Words like "dropsy" and "ballcock" make me giggle, sometimes for hours. Charmingly flatulent. You: gainfully employed and/or wealthy, nymphomaniac, 24/7 sports watcher, ten toes, should have pulse.

What do you think? Do you sense a possible love connection?