Originally posted on teamspecialolympics.com on March 15, 2007 [achive.org backup]
Avid literature fans, I have a hot tip for you. If you buy just one book this year... well, then you’re probably not a very avid fan of literature. You are a huge phony.
But anyway, while we’re on the subject of huge phonies, Jimmy Buffet wrote this amazing book. In fact, you probably already know this because he’s such a giant rock and roll legend, and you happen to be listening to one of his mellow classics right this very second. It might even be distracting you from this article. Look, is it too much to ask for you to pause your 24th consecutive looping of Margaritaville on your iPod for a fucking second and bear down on this amazing shit I’m about to show you? Ok, thanks.
This book which you've already heard of has a cover you've probably already seen in book stores, assuming it wasn't obscured too much by all the discount stickers. Here it is. It’s really quite magnificent.
You have to admire a guy who would use an amateur painting he bought for $15 in some dive along the Florida Keys as the cover of his book.
I couldn't wait to crack into (the free online previews of) this book. Transport us, Jimmy! Much the way your music transports us to romanticized tropical getaways through slovenly featherweight instrumentals and comatose vocals. Take us there, man.
"One day, long ago in another place and another time, I was playing out my fantasy of being Roy with my childhood pals in the rolling hills above Heartache, Wyoming, where I was raised. We were racing our horses, bat-out-of-hell style, through the aspen grove that led to our little ranch. Like a true daredevil, I passed my friends in a wild sprint to the finish line, and once I had the lead, I turned around to admire my move as the leader of the pack. The next thing I remembered was waking up on the ground, my head covered with blood, my left arm pointing in the wrong direction, and pain - lots of pain - shooting through my young body. That's when I knew that life wasn't a movie."
Wow, that sure was some homespun stuff there, Jimmy! Assuming it isn't complete bullshit, which I’m not. Nobody owned horses when they were a kid. That’s a cliché invented by Hollywood producers as a device to paint heartwarming tales about growing up. For some reason, horses facilitate the process, evoking a certain carefree ruggedness about youth which symbolically comes to a halt when the inevitable debilitating horse injuries start to pile up. Nobody’s buying it, so cut the crap.
If we can manage to tear ourselves away from this grisly tome of lies you call a novel, I have a homespun tale for you. A real heartstring plucker. So put down the acoustic, and go change out of those shorts and into a proper pair of fucking pants, and listen. Listen closely, Jimmy. Or should I say, dad?? Or should I say, almost-dad???
That’s right. My mother once told me a tale about a time before she met my biological father, and before you made it big with your idiotic little jingles. It was at some seamy joint in the Keys. You hit on her, and were flatly rejected. This was the smartest thing she ever did aside from giving birth to me. But can you imagine if instead, she by some grotesque miracle wasn't repulsed by you that evening? You might have been my father. (Hey, at least there is a bright side to you not being a real dad.)
But I’m not really here to call you a douche bag or question the merit of your incredibly dumb accomplishments (doing so has just been a really gratifying bonus). No, I’m putting all that aside and making an appeal towards your near-paternal sensibilities. This is a near-reunion, of sorts. Finally, potential-father and almost-son, together at last! If you were here with me right now, I would give you an almost-hug before asking you to leave. Maybe we could shake up a mixer of margaritas some day, and almost-bond over the fact that my blood was nearly infected with your loathsome genes!
However, I am a bigger man than you might expect (this is largely due to the fact that I’m not related to you). I am willing to take this resurrected almost-relationship to a very non-almost level in a very key way! I am willing to do the honorable thing and agree to be the very actual heir to your estate. In fact, this reunion has been such a long time coming, why waste even one more second? You can simply transfer all of your funds and assets over to me right now! I think we would both be in solid agreement that I deserve it, after a lifetime of virtual-father abandonment. And we can both see, by the staggering gravity of my earlier points, that none of your accomplishments warrant that wealth. In fact, the irony is that all of your actual-accomplishments in your life in total are worth less than your one virtual-accomplishment: me. God, is that ironic.
So anyway, no hard feelings about not virtually-being in my life all these years, Jimmy. I just wanted to wish you luck with this book. I hope it sells lots of copies. The proceeds will help me buy that salty piece of land I've always wanted.
(I am just assuming "salty piece of land" is a euphemism for an exceptionally experienced prostitute.)
