As the temperature outside dipped to 15 below zero, my thoughts this evening turned to grabbing a blanket and curling up with a good book.
But I never made it to the couch: The words “good book” made me wonder about all the terrible tomes that have been penned and published over the years, and that is how I stumbled across the Weird Book Room.
Let me first admit that I actually do own Fart Proudly. (It’s not what you think.)
But I can’t imagine who would buy The Deer-smellers of Haunted Mountain, What to do When the Russians Come, The English: Are they Human?, Why do I Vomit?, The Amateur Taxidermist, Tattooed Mountain Women and Spoonboxes of Daghestan, Soldier Bear, or The Who’s Who of British Beheadings.
I would have paid good money to hear some of the authors’ pitches for these titles. (“No, really! I’m telling you—there are thousands of people who want to knit dog-hair sweaters!”)
But then, as I neared the bottom of the page, one misplaced title caught my eye. Bombproof your Horse. What’s so weird about that? A few years ago I would have given anything to help my horse, Keepers, get over his fear of discarded t-shirts along the side of the road.
I guess it goes to show that there really is an audience for just about everything.