Help Yourself to Some of Our Self-Help

If there’s anything that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are, it’s helpful lads and lasses. In fact, the reason we began “weblogging” in the first place was to aid our fellow man. Well, that and to prove that blood-for-oil was actually a very reasonable transaction, depending on the owner of the blood in question.

Perhaps, dear reader, our innumerable rants have somewhat sullied our original goals on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. Instead of helping all and sundry, perhaps we’ve become more of a bunch of complacent whiners. Yeah, maybe.

Until, that is to say, today. For, in this humble installment of our humble “weblog,” we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” aim to give something back to the community. Forget our quotidian bitching; today we’re dedicated to offering aid and relief in this, your potential time of need.

It is in this spirit, dear reader, that we proudly announce our first idea for a self-help book. And, unlike the umpteen self-help tomes that sit upon the dusty shelves of the local Barnes & Ignoble, our magnum opus will actually present honest-to-goodness succor.

You’re intrigued, aren’t you? We knew that you probably wouldn’t be. Even so, we’ll continue.

The working title for the monograph is Don’t Forget to Sweat the Small Stuff: Your Guide to Making Life More Interesting by Becoming Pettier. Admittedly, it’s a bit wordy, but at least it ain’t The Devil Wears Prada.

Further, the title clues you in to the essence of the work itself. In short, we realize that darn near every human being has a dreadfully dull life. Sure, Kate Moss doesn’t, but you’re far heavier than Kate Moss, and we can tell that without even looking at you. Also, you undoubtedly survive on more than rice cakes and cocaine.

Accordingly, dear reader, you’re bored. Our dreary middle-class culture has taken all the excitement out of life: No longer will you impress your tribe by taking part in a time-honored hunt for wooly mammoths. Unless, of course, you’re Ted Nugent.

Our book, then, aims to make life more interesting, by compelling you to become a far pettier individual than you were in the first place. Pretty soon, you’re life will be chock-a-block with all sorts of exquisite diversions.

Did the lady in the next cubicle fail to return your stapler? That bitch! Where does that mono-browed wench get the nerve? You ought to put Ex-Lax in her coffee.

Did some dipstick cut in front of you with his Ford Mustang? That no good punk. Let’s see how “cool” he feels when you start shooting at his car. How do you like ‘dem apples, you slack-jawed townie?

Admittedly, dear reader, our book does not exactly offer the most magnanimous path to leading an interesting life. But let’s face it: You weren’t likely to go that route anyway.

With our tome in hand, you’re only a few steps away to beating the mailman senseless, playing nasty pranks on your boss, and recounting stories from your deliciously fun life to your current cell-mates.