Hi. In the hands, right now, you possess the culmination of thousands of years of individual intelligence, ingenuity, and brilliance. Right now place your goddamn telephone down and pay attention to my book.

What is in my own reserve, you ask? (I’m really glad you asked, incidentally, because now I reach tell you.)

Time travel. Gay relationship. Sportsballing. Futuristic goggles that Perform NOTHING.

Small brags from my publisher, things like: ‘This can be an uproarious, uncensored take on empathy, personal responsibility, and what on the subject of Beautifully Unique Sparkleponies: On Myths, Morons, Free of charge Speech, Football, and Assorted Absurdities this means to be human.’

Excessive brags on the subject of myself: ‘An extraordinarily smart, punishingly funny, sharp-tongued blogosphere star, NFL player, husband and father, one-time violin prodigy, voracious lifetime reader, obsessive gamer, and fearless champion of personal freedom.’

Oh, and in addition an essay for the Pope’s Tweets account. Honestly, if that doesn’t draw you in, there’s no wish left for mankind. I also provide my very own funeral eulogy, in the event you were expecting I’d go away and die right now!

Therefore please, join me in the glorious art of windmill tilting by reading this ‘collection of rousing, uncensored personal essays, words, and stories’ (I’ve simply no idea why that’s in estimates).

Join the herd of Beautifully Unique Sparkleponies.

(You know you want to.)