The crippling effects of my Existential Boo-Boo

Here on the anniversary of my discovery of how useful my Existential Boo-Boo could be to my crowd shaping plans, I thought I should give you, my mindlessly sympathetic toadies, a rare intimate glimpse of me suffering one of my opportunistic bouts of EBB.

You can plainly see from the empty prescription containers that, even with the quantities of medicine I must consume to keep the Boo-Boo primed to strike when a surge of mass sympathy might serve me best, I can still suffer terribly and unexpectedly from vertigo, disequilibrium, nausea, vomiting, and, worst of all, kathisophobia, the dreadful fear of suddenly being attacked by an aluminum folding chair.

There, but for the grace of me, go you. Have you heard about my book proposal proposing to write a book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations? Have you pre-ordered your soon to be proposed copy?

Knowing that irrevocable payment has been made toward the purchase of my soon to be proposed book would go a long way to relieving the terrible stress caused by the anxiety of not knowing, stress which the EBB virus exploits at every opportunity to have its diabolical way with me.

Please pre-order your copy today so that we all may quest into the unknown together, as brother and way younger, reverentially servile little brothers and sisters.

If anyone out there happens to have a stuffed toy replica of the the EBB virus I can hold up in an extreme closeup selfie to utilize as a branding meme in order to even more intensely focus attention on me and my status as helpless victim to be subsidized by you, my target audience, that would be cool, too.

So, what I've been up to

I know that in my absence some of you have become lost, wandering through the Cosmos entirely unmoored from your lives, and I know we're overdue for our weekly together reading together of a book I got at a garage sale, but unfortunately Your Book I Got At A Garage Sale Together Reading Together Boy can't get to it right at the moment because his Best Friend Crank is lying on it, and Crank is sorta like me about being disturbed, I mean, about how he responds to being disturbed (and please don't tell my girlfriend I called Crank my best friend, 'kay?).

So, anyway, here's what I've been thinking. Instead of trying to write regular blog posts, and instead of building a marketing campaign for my proposed book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations by together reading together a book I got at a garage sale, and instead of another idea I had, riding into a small, broken down Southern town like the Man from Bodie in "Welcome to Hard Times" and hijacking a couple of streets and their local charity to build Keithland, I though I might just totally cut to the chase and (drum roll, please)...


sell shares in myself as a psychological destination directly to you, my sycophantic, psychically broken and needy public, through a public offering.

Huh? Huh?

I'm thinking initially 500,000 shares at the low, low intital price of $99.95 (so as not to alarm people into thinking $100). Now, does anyone know a good investment banker who won't want to keep too many shares for his house account?

Here's the way it would work. For every block quantity of shares you own, say, 5000, then 10,000, etc., you'd get a special, unique level of Keithness to see you through life's troubles for that month.

Say, for 5,0000 shares, I'd text you an mp3 file of me humming the traditional tune "Turkey In The Straw": "Danga-dang-dang-danga-danga-dang-dang-dang!" Huh? Huh? That'll last a month, now, won't it.

Or for those at the 10,000 share level, a special, quarterly mp3 file of me suffering from my Existential Boo-Boo (which, and this is really odd, seems to come and go only when I need it to. Figure that one out.), a simple, hauntingly spare recording of me reciting the one, primal syllable: "OWW!!!", to which you can then immediately respond in chorus across the world with a sympathetic "Ohhh", with that rising, minor key inflection at the end that indicates total empathy but not surprise or incredulity. You might want to practice that one.

M!%(*&!! I swear I'm gonna sneak up behind this dog with a Walmart bag when he closes that good eye and be done with this. Now that's gonna need stitches (see, here's a good time to practice, "Ohhh". There ya go.).

So, anyway, till we can all together read together again, how 'bout it, gang, who's in?