Who Wants to Make a Buttload of Cash?

No, I'm not ripping off stupid Regis's stupid game show. Nor am I going to wait for someone to answer the above question with an emphatic "Ooooh! Me! Me! I want to be filthy stinking rich!" just so I can shoot them down with a nasty retort like "Then get your fat, lazy, pasty behind off the couch, scrape the Dorito stains off your jeans with a spatula, and get a damn job!" Although such a set up would be quite fun, that is not my intent with this update. Or is it.....? I do enjoy the word "retort."

Today, noble readers, I bring to you a genuine money making opportunity the likes of which you haven't seen since the last time that guy with all the question marks on his jacket popped up on your idiot box and started sqwuaking about how you need to buy his book so you can get free maple syrup from Newt Gingrich or whatever. My idea is so much better than that. Donald Trump, Bill Gates, Tony Danza...they've got nothing on Scott Colby's entrepreneurial expertise.

Now, before I tell you exactly how Scott Colby is going to help you make buttloads of sweet sweet dinero, let me take a moment to set the mood. Turn the lights off and lean back in your chair. If you're homeless, put a newspaper over your face. Now close your eyes. "But Scott Colby, I can't read your wonderful words of wisdom if I do that!" Just shut up and do it. Now imagine you're floating. Floating...floating...you're light as a feather...floating...floating...

And wham! All of a sudden, you're a fat, balding, 40-something slob lounging on the battered futon in the rat-infested living room of your double wide. Your white tank top is covered in ketchup and mustard stains, and you've been wearing the same pair of gray sweatpants for the past four days because a family of raccoons has built a nest in your black ones. Empty cans of Natty Light litter the ground at your scuzzy feet. Your wife walked out on you two weeks ago, right after you lost your job handing out smily face stickers at Wal-Mart. The dog ran away, and he took the last roll of toilet paper with him. You survive on a crude mixture of spam and ramen noodles, except you haven't paid your water bill for three months so the company shut down your faucet and the noodles are kind of crunchy. You have no friends, and your mom called the other day to tell you to just throw yourself off a bridge already so she can collect the life insurance and blow it all on the nickel slots. As you sit amidst the filth and decay, watching scrambled porn on the television you found in the dump, you ask yourself "What am I going to do with my life?"

You're going to whip out the Visa and dial the Scott Colby Positive Reinforcement Hotline, that's what!

That's right, for just $3.99 a minute, a warm soothing voice will whisper nice, happy things in your wax-encrusted ear, no matter how much of a loser you are. After several hours of this intensely therapeutic experience, you'll feel ready to take on the world again. You'll get a job at McDonald's, buy a new dog, upgrade from ramen to rice-a-roni, and find your true love amongst a particularly feisty pack of buffalo women at Foggy Goggle.

That's right, I want to sell positive reinforcement over the telephone. Think about it. Most Americans are depressed shells of their former selves who would give their left kidney to hear that they "possess a vast well of potential just waiting to be tapped" or they're "beautiful just for being who they are." People LOVE this kind of crap. How much money do therapists make? And as we all know, Americans are lazy. If there was a bucket handy, most of you wouldn't bother getting up off the couch to walk all the way to the bathroom. With the Scott Colby Positive Reinforcement Hotline, there's no need to ever leave the house to get a good dose of happy thoughts. You don't even need pants!

Tell me there isn't a market for this. Tell me I'm not a visionary, that I don't have my thumb firmly on the pulse of the American public. That's right, you can't!

All I need is some startup capital, which is where you come in. I guarantee a 90 bazillion percent return on your initial investment. How much is a bazillion? It's a buttload, that's how much it is. It's enough to buy a 50-foot yacht, plant it in your front yard, and drink martinis on the deck all day while you wait for the landscaper to drive by on the riding mower so you can pelt him with little packages of mayonnaise. It's enough to buy the Foggy Goggle and move it to New Bedford. It's even enough that Paris Hilton might find you attractive enough to party with you for a few days so you can be on VH1.

So bust out those check books, trade your cans in at Star Market, or just climb up out of your bedroom in the basement and steal a hundred bucks from your mom's stash of drug money...this is an opportunity you can't possibly afford to miss.

Unless I am elected pope. Then you can all fend for yourselves while I send my holy army on a crusade against those whiny people who said McDonald's was making their kids fat and made it so svelt people like Scott Colby can't gorge themselves on Supersize fries without gaining a single pound. Oh, and then I will excommunicate Flava Flav and the entire state of Vermont while taking my brand spanking new pope mobile off some sweet jumps.

Top Ten Reasons All the Hot Babes Love Josh Moody

10. Boy Scouts are always prepared. When the apocalypse hits, he'll be one of the survivors. He'll probably also be one of the people responsible for it in the first place.
9. He's MacGyver without the anti-gun thing.
8. He's a cheap drunk and pushing his intoxicated ass home in a shopping cart is fun.
7. He enjoys a good contact high.
6. Some day, he'll probably kill someone famous. If we're lucky, it will be Flava Flav.
5. He could survive indefinitely with no water, no electricity, and no toilet paper. But if all of a sudden all the Internet porn disappears, he's in trouble.
4. He can lose $20 in a no-limit Texas Hold 'Em game quicker than a buffalo woman can devour a box of Twinkies.
3. There's a really stupid post about him on I Stole Your Lunch, the only such post that doesn't involve the Foggy Goggle.
2. It's common knowledge that everyone from Beverly is well hung. If you don't believe me, check out the article in last month's edition of National Geographic.
1. "He's mysterious," says Steve Rossi.