Kindly Surrender Your Doubloons to Captain Steve

I have to ask: just how big IS this Pirate thing?

I thought my editor and agent were high when they told me books about pirates would sell. I could not believe there were people nerdy enough to talk like pirates and--more horrible--dress like them. But goddamn...it looks like I was WAY wrong.

Dear little SondraK, the Internet's thonged sentinel of good taste, sent me this link this morning. Some nut on the Fark forum wants advice on making his cubicle look more like a pirate ship. And the other nuts are seriously trying to give him helpful advice. And by helpful advice, I don't mean obvious things like, "Get a vasectomy immediately." I mean they're telling him to put up black flags and so on.

Am I actually going to make MONEY from this insanity? Am I going to sell THIS before my wonderful cookbooks, which I poured my heart into?

By the way, I came up with a title for the book: Ship of Tools: a Guide to Suburban Piracy. I feel a little "iffy" about it, because "tool" is slang for "penis," but it sums up the way I feel about grown men who cavort in fake beards with plastic swords in their hands.

I can't believe these people really exist. Is it a refreshing sign that Americans are searching for their lost innocence, or is it a crippling epidemic of galloping dumbass?

If you want to see a truly heartbreaking case of pirate-nerd psychosis, check out this site, Jollyroger.com. "Ahoy there, mate," it says at the top of the page. It ought to say, "Ahoy there, orderly! Thicker straps!"

Supposedly, that site promotes reading "great books." I hope some of them are about abnormal psychology.

Is this fad for real? Can adults with jobs and drivers' licenses really be getting sucked into this bizarre nationwide session of wanton grab-ass?

I sure hope so. Being rich would be nice.

Yesterday I fantasized about stuff I want to buy if I make it as a writer. I want the balls-to-the-wall ergonomic office of all time, with a giant monitor and a reclining chair that massages me. Well, I got so excited I got on Ebay, and look what I found: a killer massage recliner for $600, DELIVERED!

Now, I realize it's from China, so God only knows what kind of parts they put in it. But think about it...what kind of parts do they put in "mainstream" vibrating recliners? Damned if I know. I don't think BMW makes one.

Female readers will yammer their strange, irrelevant objections, such as, "That thing is ass-ugly." This is the great thing about being a man. As long as my car looks good, everything else can go to hell. Actually, even the car doesn't have to look good, as long as it serves some other purpose. People buy Corvettes, and they look like shiny yellow suppositories. And every man needs a crappy pickup with bald tires.

The thing women fail to understand about a chair like this is that a man will buy it to escape from things that annoy him. Such as women.

You can also get a chair that vibrates and massages in time to music. You put a CD in a slot in the chair, and the next thing you know, you're listening to Bo Diddly sing "Who do You Love" while the chair does you like a lump of dough.

Jesus. Who NEEDS women? Put a couple of attachments on one of these things, and...

Let's not go there this early in the day.

Okay, let's. I mean, think about it. You're lying there in your amazing chair, which never talks or takes your money, and it's doing its mindblowing work, and you have your giant monitor on the ceiling with the midget porn going, and beside you, you have a kegerator containing a five-gallon keg of homebrewed wheat beer...all you need are ribs, corn on the cob, and a big pistol to shoot anyone who tries to rescue you.

In other words, my future now has a coherent blueprint.

I pray the pirate nerds keep it up until I can get this book published. After that, they are free to seek counseling and medication, because they will have served their purpose. I.e., to put money in my pocket at the cost of their self-respect.

Six hundred bucks...how many copies would I have to sell, anyway?