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The Average American Male



Last Updated: 11/25/2009

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Gender: Male
Status: Single
Age: 33
Sign: Gemini

City: Anytown
State: CALIFORNIA
Country: US
Signup Date: 10/5/2006

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Tuesday, March 03, 2009 

THE LIE....


“Try to remember the moment when all the stupid innocent things you thought about life and love, all the things you thought mattered, all the things you though were true…try to remember when they all
turned out to be lies.”
–Kyle



 

“…love is a lie created by women to trick men
into believing they have to sacrifice their entire lives to marriage and family…” –Brett



.... 


“… I had loved him more than anything in the world,
but then it’s like I found out my love was all based on a lie, on his lie, and everything I felt for him just disappeared… I wanted to tear his fucking head off.” –Heather


GO BUY IT IN A BOOKSTORE TODAY.






.. ..
 

Thursday, March 29, 2007 

Category: Writing and Poetry

Steamy Book Gets Buzz From the Web

Viral Video Campaign
Gets Audience Quickly,
But Views Aren't Sales
By JEFFREY A. TRACHTENBERG
March 28, 2007; Page B4

When Harper Perennial published Chad Kultgen's debut novel "The Average American Male" this month, it hoped to generate buzz cheaply -- with lots of stories in the press. Instead, Mr. Kultgen's salacious tale of how men daydream about women turned out to be too steamy for most newspaper and magazine editors to touch.

[Photo]

They were nervous -- with reason -- that some readers would find the book juvenile, sexist and offensive. Even Penthouse, which ran a brief excerpt, called it "an appalling book we couldn't put down."

So Harper Perennial, a paperback imprint of News Corp.'s HarperCollins publishing unit, spent $10,000 to produce three risqué videos promoting the book. Initially placed on YouTube before spreading elsewhere on the Internet including MySpace, the videos have become a Web sensation, with more than one million verified views in the past two weeks. Since its March 13 publication date, the book has gone back to press three times, raising the total in print to 30,000 from 20,000.

Harper Perennial's experience is the latest example of how viral Web video is remaking marketing, giving companies with tiny ad budgets the ability to reach a big audience quickly and cheaply. It's particularly significant for book publishers, which prefer to rely on word-of-mouth chatter to drive sales more than conventional advertising.

Not every novel is suitable for YouTube promotion. But for titles like "The Average American Male," targeted at young men, Internet video can be a better marketing vehicle than traditional media outlets.

"We needed to go where the average American male readership would be: online, passing around funny quirky videos," says David Roth-Ey, editorial director of Harper Perennial, adding that he is talking about men under the age of 40. "If we were going to find them, it wouldn't be by advertising in the New Yorker."

Still, the limits of the strategy are clear. Only a fraction of the million views has so far turned into sales, likely because the people watching the videos aren't frequent book buyers. As Mr. Kultgen says, "Now we'll see if the views translate into book sales."

"The Average American Male" describes the fictional exploits of a narcissistic man obsessed with sex. Mr. Kultgen, a 30-year-old Los Angeles screenwriter, says the title was widely rejected by publishers who said they found the book hilarious but didn't think anyone would publish it because of its outré content. Even inside Harper Perennial, some saw it as lad-humor satire but others felt it was misogynistic.

After buying the manuscript, Harper Perennial bet that a series of short videos that reflect the over-the-top protagonist of the novel would prove irresistible to Web sites that in part cater to guys sitting in cubicles all day. "The best way to reach our audience was to go directly to them," says Mr. Kultgen.

The publisher hired New York director James Monohan, a friend of Mr. Kultgen, who created three videos from scripts that the two collaborated on. "The goal was to entertain potential readers, provide a brutally honest look at what guys think of women, and drive people to the book's Web site," says Mr. Monohan.

All three videos portray scenes between men and women, with the action suddenly stopping to reveal the guy's inner thoughts. Those aren't exactly about cuddling, or sharing feelings -- they're gross-out punch lines. Mr. Monohan says he worried that the publisher would censor the videos, but in the end Harper Perennial decided that the videos were a true reflection of the book's content and made only one cut, bleeping an offensive slang word.

Mr. Roth-Ey said that as soon as the first video was posted on YouTube.com, it began getting hits. Then they began appearing on other Web sites such as MySpace, FHM.com, Heavy.com and Maxim.com, in most cases posted by members of the public. "We didn't pay them, and they didn't pay us," he says. "If you post it on YouTube.com, you are making it available."

Mr. Roth-Ey notes that the majority of comments from women who have viewed the videos on MySpace.com indicate that they find the videos funny. Based on that reaction, Harper Perennial is looking for a woman to write a female counterpoint to "The Average American Male."

The publisher will likely launch other viral video campaigns in the future, Mr. Roth-Ey says, but it will pick the books carefully. "It's an audience issue," he says. "If the audience isn't right, it doesn't make sense to do video." There are so many videos being uploaded onto the Web every day, he adds, that only the right video for the right book aimed at the right viewers will break through.

"Even then you are competing with tens of thousands of other videos, so there is an element of luck as well," he adds.

One irony: Harper Perennial says it invested $2,500 in Web advertising intended to drive viewers to the book's Web site. But Mr. Roth-Ey estimates that only 1% of those who have seen the videos came from links for which the publisher paid.

Write to Jeffrey A. Trachtenberg at jeffrey.trachtenberg@wsj.com

.. article end -->
Monday, February 26, 2007 

Some Chapter

Communication Is the Foundation of Any Good Relationship

In Casey's car on the way to the beach I'm staring out the window wondering if Alyna knows how to suck cock when Casey starts the following conversation with me:

Casey says, "Yesterday I get this e-mail from Lem. He asks me if I was invited to Eliza's party. And, of course, I was, but he wasn't. So I e-mail him back that I was. Then he e-mails me back and asks if I can forward him the invitation just so he can see who was invited. I mean, what is he thinking? So I e-mail back that I'd forward it to him, but I told him if he doesn't get invited he can't go. You know, like don't use this e-mail that I'm about to forward you as an invitation if you don't get one yourself. Then he e-mails me back that he's all pissed off at me because how dare I think that he would try to come to a party that he wasn't invited to and blah, blah, blah—and I'm trying to IM with Nancy at the same time to see what she's wearing to the party, but his e-mails keep popping up. I was so afraid I was accidentally going to send him an e-mail about what he's wearing to the party after I pretty much already told him not to come. I couldn't believe he got so mad when I told him not to show up unless he got his own invitation. Who does that? Who comes to a party without an invitation? I mean, he shouldn't be surprised that he doesn't get invited to things. He just doesn't know what it's all about, you know? I mean, can you believe that?"

I say, "Huh-uh."

She says, "Then he sends me another e-mail where he's mad because Joan got invited and he didn't. I mean, of course Joan's going to get invited. That doesn't mean he is. You know, it's like he thinks Greg still owes him something or something. If he wasn't so socially retarded he might get invited to more parties. And plenty of people think that, but it's like, who's going to be the one to tell him? So anyway, the last e-mail he sends me is all like crazy and pissed off about the fact that he hasn't been invited to the last two parties and he asked me to e-mail Eliza and ask her to e-mail him an invitation. Can you believe that?"

I say, "Huh-uh."

She says, "I didn't even write him one back. If he's that desperate to go to her party, then he can ask her himself. Can you imagine me e-mailing her to ask if she'll invite Lem to her party? Oh, yeah, and he asks me if I have Shawna's phone number. Hello, Shawna moved to New York like four months ago. If you don't have her number, it's because she doesn't want you to have it. I mean, seriously, learn to take a hint. And he sends me this thing that he sent to like thirty other people about his stupid jazz trio playing somewhere in North Hollywood. North Hollywood, can you believe that?"

I say, "Huh-uh."

She says, "Who plays in North Hollywood? Nobody good. I'm sure nobody'll go. I kind of feel sorry for him. But it's like it's his own fault, you know. He just doesn't get the whole thing. So then I send Eliza an e-mail saying basically watch out for an e-mail from Lem inviting himself to her party. He's been asking around about why he wasn't invited. Then she e-mails me back saying that Lem already called her at work and wanted to know what the deal was—if Eliza had lost his e-mail address or something. She told him that she was sorry and she must have lost his e-mail otherwise he would have been invited, but the party was only open to the first fifty people who RSVPed because her place is kind of small. Then she told him that she'd definitely make sure he was on the list for her next party, but there's no way. Now he'll never get invited to anything again because everybody knows that he tried to invite himself to this party. I just—I mean, can you imagine being like that?"

I say, "Huh-uh."

An old No Doubt song comes on the radio. She doesn't say anything while it plays. I think about Alyna's ass and what she's like after sex. When the song's over Casey says, "Oh, yeah, my sister had her baby yesterday and my parents bought me a ticket to go home and see her. So I'll be gone for a few days next week."

I say, "That's great."

Wednesday, February 21, 2007 

Category: Food and Restaurants

Chapter Eight

Casey's New Diet

We're at Johnnies New York Pizzeria on Sunset because it's one of Casey's favorite places to eat. To be fair, the rolls are fucking amazing, and we did see Lara Flynn Boyle there once. So I'm content.

Casey's retelling me a joke she says she got forwarded to her by her Groundlings teacher. The same joke was sent to me by Casey herself a few days ago in an e-mail that explained she had come up with the joke herself, which I knew to be untrue even then because it had already been forwarded to me by my mom.

Nonetheless, Casey is butchering the joke, and even though I already know what's coming, I let her continue, and when she retells me the punch line, slightly botched, I laugh convincingly enough to assure a decent prefuck blow job tonight.

After what seems like a fucking eternity of her telling a drawn-out story about losing her dad's credit card in the Beverly Center Gap, Casey finally gets up to go to the bathroom. Just as she leaves, the waiter puts our plates down, giving me the perfect opportunity to make my move.

About a month and a half ago I was watching some late-night TV after having jerked off twice in a row to a videotape I found in my closet of me fucking my high school girlfriend, Katy. Flipping through the channels, I was blessed with an infomercial for a product called Bloussant.

Bloussant is a pill taken daily that is guaranteed to enlarge tits by at least one cup size. Seventy-four dollars and fourteen business days later my own two-month supply of Bloussant arrived in the mail. I crushed up all the pills into a powder that I've been mixing into as many of Casey's meals as I can. I've been doing this for about a month and so far the results could be better.

I decide to increase her dosage and spoon out two heaping mounds of the stuff from the Ziploc Baggie I have in my right back pocket. An old guy sitting next to me notices but doesn't give any reaction. I mix it in the best I can and decide it would be a good move to put a third spoonful in her Diet Coke.

I'm concentrating too hard on making sure the Bloussant is completely dissolved to notice that Casey's come back from the bathroom and is standing at the table watching me stir her drink.

She says, "What're you doing?"

Something quick, nonchalant, believable: "I thought I saw a fly or something in your drink."

"Then I'll just get the waiter to bring me a new one when he comes back."

"No, no. You don't need to do that. There wasn't really a fly. I just thought there was. It must have been the ice. C'mon, sit down, let's dig in."

She looks at me like I'm semi-insane and for a split second I wish I was so I could be honest enough with her to tell her that I've been slipping an unproven breast-enhancing drug into her food and drink because I think her tits are too small and I was stirring her Diet Coke to make sure it had completely dissolved. But her look fades as she sits down, spreads her napkin across her lap, and takes a huge bite of fettuccine Alfredo–Bloussant. Her reaction to a strange taste is nonexistent.

I grab her tits much more than I normally would that night as we fuck in an attempt to feel any kind of progress at all. She says, "Hey, calm down, they'll last longer if you don't rip them off." I'm surprised at how genuinely funny I think this is while my dick's buried in her pussy. But the distraction's not enough to keep me from thinking that at her current increased dosage, I only have enough Bloussant left for about a week and a half. If I don't see better results by then, I'll have to buy two more shipments and further increase her intake. This may mean I'll be forced to take up cooking to learn how to mask the taste.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007 

Category: Writing and Poetry

Casey at the Gym

 

Casey has a fat ass. She's a pretty cute brunette with a completely

normal upper body, just with a big fat ass attached. She knows it's fat

and got a membership to my gym so she could go with me and "get

cute tight buns." She even toyed with the idea of getting a personal

trainer and she bought an exercise book called The Daily Butt Regimen.

 

So I'm sitting on the calf machine ready to put my head through

the fucking mirror. Casey's across the gym, smiling at me, doing

curls. For the past six months, since she started her ass-slimming

campaign, all she's done is fucking curls and bench presses—and

her ass shows it.

 

I've tried to get her to do squats with me, leg presses, quad extensions,

hamstring machine, any fucking thing having even the most

remote influence on the movement of muscles in her lower body, and

she always says, "I think I'll just do some curls."

 

I finish my set and move to another part of the gym so I can't see

her.

 

That night, after suffering through a TiVoed three-episode Real

World marathon, I'm rewarded by her letting me fuck her doggie style.

As I look down at her fat ass, I wonder if fucking her hard enough will

have any kind of slimming or toning effect. Couldn't hurt.