Thursday, April 02, 2009

No Joke

By Pauly
Hollyweird, CA

Who's more gullible? Someone who falls for an April Fool's Joke? Or someone who is convinced something is an April Fool's Joke, when in fact, it is the truth?

* * * * *

I'm excited that Benjo agreed to translate Lost Vegas into French. I'm hoping to sell more books in the UK, France, and Canada than in America. Why? Americans can't read....
According to Jerold Jenkins from

1/3 of high school graduates never read another book for the rest of their lives.
42 percent of college graduates never read another book after college.
80 percent of U.S. families did not buy or read a book last year.
70 percent of U.S. adults have not been in a bookstore in the last five years.
57 percent of new books are not read to completion.
70 percent of books published do not earn back their advance.
70 percent of the books published do not make a profit.
Seriously, thank God for Canuck, Brits, and the French.

Benjo wrote a very flattering piece on his blog today about Lost Vegas. Too bad that my French is awful. Here's the Babelfish version...
Then, for both of the sitted bottom close to the radiator which reads my blog in diagonal, not other than famous Dr. Pauly, founder of the TAO off Poker, best the blog devoted to our universe (without counting a foultitude of projects devoted to his passions: the writing and music of hippies, inter alia) a friend, a mentor, a fellow traveler, an invaluable moral support since two years. And this luminous panel which s' insert in a sand desert, it is the cover of its first book, “Lost Vegas”. The good doctor comes d' in making the first public advertisement on its blog today - this n' is not a fish d' April, I know it because that made d' more; one year qu' it bump above in secrecy, between New York, Las Vegas, IT and l' Europe. I do not know when his fate, but fichtre, like j' am in a hurry to be able to put the hand on the manuscript. With the menu: degenerated whores, drug addicts, strippers, players, and still well d' others acros of any kind, in a city entirely founded on l' addiction. With judging some by the subtitle, I deduce from it that the contents will be strongly autobiographical. Having lived tens and tens of adventures heteroclite in Vegas in company of Pauly, the WSOP, in the casinos, the tables of black-jack, in restaurants seedy character and strip-clubs equivocal, in the desert, I wonder whether I will appear in the account? I am enough conceited to think that yes. At all events, I have already tankard the rights of the French translation.
In the immortal words of Woody Allen... "Here, I'm a bum. There, I'm a genius. Thank God the French exist."

And what the fuck is a heteroclite?

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