- My blurb is the top blurb. I’m aware that you’ll have to include others’ opinions and plaudits on the cover, but mine will be the best, or at least have the fussiest punctuation: I get to be on top.
- I would also like my blurb to go on the front cover, in full. This may require removal of the band picture, or possibly the title of the book, but demands are demands.
- My picture must replace yours in the softcover release of So Many Roads, wherever it is. (The author picture wanders all over the place on softcovers). This is not personal: you are a handsome man with rugged features that project power; you also have what looks to be a butt-chin, and everyone knows my feelings on butt-chins. Still: let’s change the picture.
- The fact that my blurb will only be printed in English is Angliconormative and therefore offensive. I demand that my blurb be translated into Spanish, French, Urdu, all the Chineses, and Canadian. (I will rewrite my blurb to make it appear as though your book is about Rush.) Furthermore, the blurb is to be translated in Russian, but deliberately badly. Russia’s getting on my tits lately.
- One chapter in the text of the book. Let’s call it 25 pages. My words may not be edited, nor may any attorney for the publishing house be allowed to read said words before publication. I may or may not include directions for summoning the Abandoned Gods, but leave out the containment spells because I think it’s funny.
- In addition to the back cover of your book, you must get my blurb tattooed onto your back. This is non-negotiable, and I would hate to revoke my consent to be blurbinated.
- As I’ve mentioned: when I die, I’d like a Tibetan Sky Burial, so I demand you do it. Bring my corpse to Tibet and find some vultures. (The vultures will probably find you; finding the vultures will be the easiest part of all this.) If you’re thinking that this is a bit onerous, well: I didn’t ask you for a blurb, did I? No. You asked me, so now you have to cart my corpse halfway around the world and up the side of a mountain, and then feed me to birds. That’s the way the media world works: favors.
- (It’s only fair to mention that you’ll also have to steal my body from my family, but if you pretend you’re Gram Parsons’ road manager, then you can Rock Nerd cosplay the whole trip.)
- I like blueberries, but sometimes have none. I demand you make that stop happening, David Browne.
All of these demands must be met. Any hesitation or deviation from the plan will result in dead hostages.
Dude, don’t kill the hostages.
There are hostages?