I Will Not Go the F**k to Sleep: 2011

"I Will Not Go to Sleep", the new book of humor by Richard Crasta, is available at Amazon Kindle http://amzn.to/iQtcqe, on the Nook http://bit.ly/jazP3W and at Smashwords and at the Ibookstore.

Reader Responses Invited, Gifts Offered

Dear Reader: I am an author with no institutional support who is hoping that the e-book revolution along with a small group of intelligent and unconventional readers will help finance his seven books in progress.

At the moment, I am far from reaching that goal. My no-star book competes against 150 5-star review books and books sponsored by multinationals, and is already slipping in the rankings.

To help me reach my modest goal, I would like to offer a small gift to the first 15 readers who write to me at rc@richardcrasta.com with answers to the following questions:

Which were your favorite and least favorite chapters from this book?

Any suggestions on how to help this book to reach its audience?

How did you hear about this book, and what made you buy it?

How could this better appeal to you and your friends? (An e-book can be modified--though I don't do this with other books, a book of humorous essays is much easier to modify.)

Is price a consideration? Would you pay $3.99 or $3.79 for this book?

Would you be willing to write an online review or mention it to your friends?

And a few lines about yourself, if you wish.

Gifts to the first 5 customers responding: Coupons towards any free book of their choice from my Smashwords titles of their choice ( http://bit.ly/g2GRMl ) , and 50% off coupons towards any book on Smashwords.

Gifts to the next 10 customers responding: 50% off coupons towards any 2 books of their choice on Smashwords.

"I Will Not Go to Sleep", the new book of humor by Richard Crasta, is available at Amazon Kindle http://amzn.to/iQtcqe, on the Nook http://bit.ly/jazP3W and at Smashwords and at the Ibookstore.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

More Excerpts from I Will Not Go the F**k to Sleep

I Will Not Go the F**k to Sleep is the subversive title of my subversive book of humor that was just published ten days back on Amazon Kindle and Barnes and Noble Nook. (Every one of my books, no matter what their subject, has a subversive/humorous element in it.)

Here are a few excerpts

I: From "What You Don't Know about Bangaloring" (comedy on outsourcing)

Dear Brothers and Sisters of the Great Hamburger Cowboy Nation of America: There is no need to introduce myself. You know my entire family already. My eighteen brothers and sisters, bred and currently breeding like rabbits in Bangalore, have all taken your jobs (alternative pronunciation: yer jaorbs?). What’s more, you have spoken to one or more of them. Remember Sue (Sushmita) at AT&T, Kelli (Kalinadi) at Walmart Customer Service, Billy (Balwant) from AOL, Jake (Jayakrishnan) from Citibank Visa, Victor (Vikas) from Microsoft Tech Support, Bob (Babbar) from Allstate Auto Insurance Claims Department who took down your rather imaginative and completely fake accident report, and last but not least, Ruth the real all-over blonde (Rudramma) from 1-888-Talk2Me, the toll-free erotic phone fantasy hot line for heavy breathers, just put it on your Visa card, and it will be billed as a business/technical consultation? They all fooled you with their flawless American accents, didn’t they?

Well, don’t get mad at them, and don’t try to get even either. Not only because they are merely trying to put tandoori goat on their tables, low-fat milk in their G.E. Refrigerators, and to bury gold ingots in the secret holes they’ve dug under their beds as is the ancient Indian custom, but also because they have access to all of your confidential and sometimes embarrassingly personal information . . .

[As dictated to a Blackberry with Voice Recognition by Gundappa Gowda while milking his personal cow in Patagonia. Richard Crasta is his—Gundappa’s—American name. For your smooth reading pleasure, moos, bovine expletives, suspicious orgasmic moans, and milk-sploshing-in-a-bucket sounds have been erased from this transcription.]

II: From Death of a Minister (satire on Indian politics, which is among the most corrupt and cunningly cynical in the world) The Minister is a senior politician starting his election campaign for the Prime Ministership:

And now began the historic speech, the speech that would change the face of the planet and perhaps be memorized by pint-sized debaters for centuries to come.

Soiled white dhotis of the Revolution, and those dhotis beyond the seas being washed by Chow's Dry Cleaners in Kew Gardens: lend me your sisters—I mean, your ears!

Four score and seven minutes from now, free drinks and gourmet aperitifs will be served unto you. [Pandemonium.]

Until then, I shall a tale unfold—of my 75-point Plan for fighting crime, waste, and hunger and for promoting Beauty, Employment, and National Integration—that will make spears start from your eyes . . . I mean, that will make your eyes start from their spheres.

Generations to come will remember what was said here; but few will care to enquire what was done here: specifically, the vintage of the eggs thrown here.

And so, my fellow Gandapurians: Ask not what your Minister can do for you, but ask instead whether there is any point in asking questions for which the answers are further questions.

III: In the first essay, the child responds to his/her father's emphatic order that he/she goes to sleep with this::

Hey Dad—Grand Patriarch, Pater Sanctus, Daddykins, King-Emperor of this Household, Lord and Master of all you survey, my dearest, darling Pop—I, your humble child and the product of a glorious night between you and Mom, bow before your Awesome, Almighty power, and offer virtual incense before it. But I refuse to, and I Will Not Go the F**k to Sleep. Consider that on this one issue, I have drawn line in the sand, like George H.W. Bush did with Iraq, get it? And my reasons are as follows:

1. The dog ate my sleep.

2. The last I heard, we were living in a democracy. Has this become a fascist dictatorship now, and is your name Adolf, or am I just dreaming?

3. Too late, Daddy, I just injected myself with amphetamines.

The book is available on many e-book platforms including: http://amzn.to/iQtcqe and http://bit.ly/jazP3W

Excerpt from I Will Not go the F**K to Sleep: The Joy of Pure Laughter

Preface: The Joy of Pure Laughter

Consider these two limericks:

There was a young man of Calcutta

Who had a terrible sttttt-tutter

He is reported to have said

Please pass me some bbbbbb-bread

And also some bbbbbb-butter!

There was a young man of Ghent

Who had a penis so long it bent.

It was so much trouble.

That he kept it double.

And instead of coming, he went.

Almost no one these days will narrate these limericks in mixed company (and by mixed company, I don’t necessarily mean the two major sexes). Because both of these unfortunate young men are Persons with Disabilities—one has a speech impediment, and the second has a medical condition (Peyronies’ Disease?) that might result in—please pass the tissues—his not having babies or being able to lead a normal love life, the poor thing. He needs advanced and expensive plastic surgery, baby, so let’s not laugh at his expense, but pass the hat and take up a collection for the unfortunate soul.

And it’s also true that for the man with a bent penis, or for the poor bloke whose parents gave him the name Randy, the limerick about bent penises or Randy-themed jokes are not going to sound funny, especially after the fiftieth time that he has heard them.

The rest of us must admit that what makes us laugh makes us laugh, and laughter is not really an impulse that is under our control.

. . . . .

Finally, humor is by its nature subversive (which is why an effective Department of Homeland Security would have sent Bill Maher and Jon Stewart to Guantanamo long back). Adam Mansbach’s book is a subversive parenting book—giving you the kind of thoughts or feelings you least expected from a father. In turn, this is a subversive title for a subversive book of humor by a subversive writer who had to survive a series of fascist adults when he was a child—and it is perfectly appropriate for a book which in its first essay presents an imaginary child’s response to Adam’s fictional Dad in equally surprising language. The Imaginary Child, of course, is me—the child within me has never stopped being a rebel, and the rebellion is obvious in the rest of the book, even when it touches on a variety of subjects. Every one of its dozens of targets will have fair reason to complain, but please, hold off and simply enjoy the book, if you can. Because once a person is in the mood to laugh, all authority and authoritative pronouncements become suspect. And if the targets in here do not always match with your targets (and how could they? I was born in a different country and have had a completely different history from almost anyone I know), I hope I have your understanding as well as your support for the Spirit of Humor and of skepticism.