Buzzy the Buffoon

In my inspiring quest to pry wads of cash out of the cramped, desiccated fingerbones of my father, I have hit upon a beautiful new idea. I will write a children's book! Hell, if Star Jones and Dustin Diamond can peddle their children's books, then why can't I?

"Because you have no talent," said my father.

"But you haven't even let me tell you my idea yet!" I whined with extraordinary power.

Dad sat at his mile-long boardroom table. He was getting ready for a convocation of barons and tycoons to discuss a plan to utilize the skulls of inner city children as buttons on their silk waistcoats, or something to that effect. I stood under the vast oil portrait of our patriarch, C W Bixler, his veiny apoplectic face staring out in disgust. Whether it was at his grandson, or his great-grandson, it was hard to tell--but fun to speculate!

"Aren't they supposed to pay you to write a book?"

"That's not how the market works these days, Dad. To get a book published you must spend thousands and thousands of dollars and dole out sexual favors. Now, I'm going to have it published at VanityWannabe.com. But to promote it on their site I'll need some start-up capital. Say, two large."

"Ridiculous."

"It's not when you hear my idea! It's about an oscillating fan named Ozzy..." I frame my hands, panning the Spielberg-drenched scene. "Not only is he cool, but he keeps others cool. See?"

"Did you draw this?"

"Yes! Isn't it good?"

"No. Are we done yet? I need to buckle my knee-high calfskin boots before the marquis gets here."

"Just a minute. Just a minute. Anyway, the story is set in a land where all the animals are actually gadgets, like iPads and cellphones and computers, stuff like that. But Ozzy doesn't fit in. He's lonely and doesn't have a date because his dad, an industrial furnace compressor, won't pay for eAppliance. So, when a great flood comes and Noah gathers all the devices two by two onto his boat, Ozzy is left behind."

 

See? Ozzy is sad. People love sad shit. See those tears? That's real emotion, Dad!"

"What is..." Dad moved his lips around the unfamiliar word. "Emotion?"

"It's what comes out of people's face areas. And it sells books, just like the Bible! Anyway, Ozzy has various adventures with a toaster and a vibrator... Actually, I haven't worked out all those parts yet. But he finally finds his true love--no thanks to his dick of a dad."

 

Dad tossed the sheet aside. "Okay," he said. "We're done here."

"Wait, wait, there's also a song!

I... am... iron fan....
Nobody loves him
He thinks of his revenge.... 
Blah blah blah blah
Yeah! Whoo---hey!!"

I was thrusting my fist in the air as the security guards converged.