Saturday, March 1, 2003

That look in your eyes, gentle reader, suggests that you woke up both pregnant and hammered today. Nuts to you for refusing to heed my closing advice from yesterday, though I will give you my condolences and something EVEN BETTER. You see, I’m in a sparkly mood today, a mood no doubt helped by the positively exuberant soundtrack I’m listening to while I work weekend hours to bring you vital information.

“What a loser!” you say. “What are you doing in the office on a Saturday night?”

“Why, the same thing I try to accomplish every night, stupid reader,” I reply imperiously. “To avoid any human contact with YOU.”

Now that we’ve got the nightly pleasantries out of the way, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?

“But I want chocolate tacks!” you wail petulantly.

“How about chocolate-covered brass tacks?” I ask, comproMALICE growing out of my heart.

“No,” you quietly, yet firmly insist, “I want chocolate tacks.”

Very well, gentle reader, very well. One of you–that’s half of the readership, by the way–expressed an interest in the Adventures of Fraulein A.D.D. Rather than overworking my lazy Content Development Department, however, I will outsource the work to you, gentle readers. That’s right–you have a chance to leave your indelible mark on Secondhand Rants history.

Here’s how it works: If you want to refresh your memory on what happened to our intrepid heroine, check here.

Even if you don’t refresh your memory, worry not; I shan’t cry myself to sleep tonight. The important thing is that you send me three–and only three–words describing where you want the sordid tale to end up next. Three words only, mind you, via the e-mail link I’ve graciously provided in the upper-right corner.

For example: “French are funny.” That’s a poor example, especially since you’ve already wasted two words, but you get the idea.

If Secondhand Rants publishes your idea (a watershed in e-journalism for you, I must say), I will personally mail you a piece of still-fresh and un-chewed chocolate complete with a signed letter of thanks from the CEO himself.

So scheme, gentle readers, scheme! It does a body–especially one wracked with a hangover and an impending childbirth–good.