Here’s how it works.
Instead of slowly pushing a little rectangle of wood, in a relatively sexual manner, through an opening with my index finger, I am breaking down boxes. (I hope.) And here is how you can make that happen. You buy a book. I send one to you. (Isn’t that clever?) For every forty-eight books sent out, a box is removed. (Again with the pure genius of it all.) And here is the incentive for you, the eager and overzealous contestant. Remember how I said it’s like Jenga, and you’ve probably been sitting and thinking, “Okay, so I am totally ten sentences in (with parentheticals) to this game’s rules and I’m totally missing the Jenga association here.” For you, the impatient ones I shall call you, I associate now --
Whoever purchases the book that finally topples the mattress to the floor will be declared the winner and will receive… well, nothing really, except for the satisfaction that you’ve bested 1919 other people. And my undying devotion. I would also be willing to put your picture on the site for the world to see, declaring you both victorious and unnaturally sexy.
Need a little extra enticement? How about this for incentive? I will put the names of anyone who purchases a book in the extra bathtub. I will hold weekly drawings and award the winner something. What this award will be is, as of yet, undecided, but we have tons of random junk lying around. Now, I know that this may seem very raffle-like and some of you are probably living in states in which raffle is illegal, so should you happen to win some of my surplus rubbish and you doubt the legality of it all within your state, here is a disclaimer on your behalf. This is not a raffle. It is not a prize. Whoever should happen to topple the mattress must be a shrewd player and a deft individual. I like you already and you are my new friend, and when you win, as a personal gift to you from me, I am going to give you something.
So that poor people like me can play, I am going to set the price at $10 per book with free shipping. However, suggested retail is $14.95, so if you have the money, knowing that I don’t, why would you be a stingy bastard about it? Also, since there is so much red to climb out of before any plus side numbers are within sight, you can also consider me a non-profit and feel wildly philanthropic with your purchase.
I realize that this gimmick may in fact reduce me from a clever, eccentric creative type to a virtual panhandler, but if the Salvation Army can ring a shrill bell at me and Girl Scouts can accost me outside the grocery store with their long eyelashes and honey sweet southern accents, then I can ask you for a tiny bit of charity in helping to put my mattress down.
In this computer age, where nymphettes can get out of debt just by saying “I’m in too much debt, send me money,” and where a young man can make a million dollars just by selling pixels (basically the internet equivalent of selling air), what the hell do I have to lose? Why not attempt to sell an actual product in a gimmicky, over-the-top way that will make the people cry, “My God, she’s a marketing genius! Pathetic! But brilliant!”
As I know there is nothing that sells quite like sex, I thought about posing atop the makeshift bed as if I were on the hood of a car in an eighties hair band video, wearing a cleavage shirt and holding a book in my teeth. But then I realized no one wants to see that, least of all me.
So, inhibited sexuality aside, please purchase my book.
Don’t make me send a Girl Scout after you.