See, I won a copy on Snarkywood by writing a photo caption. The Snarky Girls posted pictures of J. Lo, and I wrote an amazingly witty caption for the picture of J. Lo in the infamous green see-through dress.
Oh, I'm sorry. I'm bragging about myself. Again.
Right. Well, anyway, since I already own a personalized copy of the book, I've threatened to have a contest of my own to determine the fate of the signed copy I won. And now Jen has offered me a couple more copies to serve as prizes in my contest.
Now, I thought about doing a contest a la Joke, where I ask all kinds of questions, the answers to which are buried in my own archives. But frankly, I don't want to re-read my old stuff myself--so I certainly don't expect sentient beings to burrow around in my archives like pigs searching for truffles.
So I'll have a contest that requires very little effort--and doesn't involve reading shitloads of my old posts--yet helps me. (If you Google the phrase "enlightened self-interest," my picture pops up. Try it!)
See, I'm having trouble coming up with new material for one of my other blogs. The one where I make fun of those godawful recipes you find in Junior League cookbooks. You know, the recipes featuring Cool-Whip, Dream Whip, or Miracle Whip?
(I'm not really having trouble finding recipes that qualify. I have tons of the neccessary cookbooks. But when you're as lazy as I am, you prefer having material deposited directly into your email account, instead of, you know, prying your ever-widening ass out of your comfy armchair to find them.)
So here's the contest: email me your foulest recipe. It can be either your dirtiest little culinary secret or something you
The three most disgusting, unappetizing, chemical-laden recipes will win signed copies of Bitter is the New Black.
Contest ends May 1, 2006. Employees of The Opiate of the Masses are prohibited from entering. Winners will be announced in The Opiate of the Masses. For a list of winners, send an email to email@example.com. No truffles were harmed in the writing of this entry. You might as well stop reading now, because Poppy has run out of pseudo-legal contest jargon.