The Rabbit Hole

Hello all,

I’ve always thought that I should write a book. I’ve had many friends tell me, “Oh Noah, if you ever write a book, I would so buy it.” Like at least 7-10 people, maybe more. That’s a lot. Think about it. How many of your friends have asked you to write a book? Probably not that many.

If 7-10 people buy my book, plus the additional randoms that would buy it after they see me on Oprah, that’s totally enough people for a publishing company to publish my book. There are so many bull shit books out there that no one ever buys, just think; you’re reading this blog chances are if you’re gonna read this blog-you’re gonna buy my book. And that’s like what…..3ish more people. And total that’s like 10-13 plus or minus 500,000,000 people or however many people buy what Oprah tells them.

I should so write a book. My parents would buy 10 copies or so, sure the book would be sprinkled with fuck this and shit that, but they’d still buy it. They’re pretty supportive people. They only wouldn’t be supportive if I got into porn. I mean, I’m in the performing arts so it’s definitely on the list…..but it’s pretty far down.

Anyways, for years now I’ve been thinking of what the title of my book should be and it finally came to me. The Rabbit Hole. It’s good, right? Sure, at first glance you might think, bunny asshole, but after the first couple pages or at least the cover art you wouldn’t think of the external sphincter of the Easter Bunny. With my family’s involvement in the rabbit biz, Fuckhead’s obsession with Alice in Wonderland, and my slip away from my personal goals into what has now become my daily life; I think it makes a lot of sense. It’s catchy, right? I think so. Ooh, also The Matrix. Remember in The Matrix where Morpheus asks Neo about the red or the blue pill and asks if he wants to go further down the rabbit hole? There are references are endless. It also sounds like the name of a dive bar in some hick-town. I can see it. The Rabbit Hole.

Sure, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Noah, you don’t even like the rabbits! Aren’t you allergic to them? Don’t they smell? Aren’t they less affectionate than iguanas wearing mink stoles?” Yes of course, but it’s called irony. That’s what’s going to make my book sell like hotcakes.