There, there. I know, I know, you want to be me, but you can’t. I bet that makes life a chore. But you’re a good sport about it, aren’t you? Of course you are. Unlike some who cannot handle not being me, you haven’t made any threatening phone calls. Good on you.
Bob Hammond here. I know, no introduction is necessary in that my reputation as a best selling author and rival to “The Most Interesting Man in the World” precede me, but I wanted to make sure I had your attention.
There’s been a bit of controversy as of late over my bestsellerdom. It seems that some jealous, obviously less successful, authors have contacted booksellers trying to undermine my bestseller status. They’ve been trying to dig up dirt, report sock puppet reviews, and have my unique and innovative book categories revoked. All because they can’t be like me – they feel the need to reduce me to their level. Well, I hate to tell them – but there can be only one Bob Hammond. I talk about this at length in my new book There Can Be Only One.
I keep hearing this phrase “sock puppetry.” Frankly, I find that revolting, and a good way to get athlete’s foot on one’s hands. Perhaps only poor folk use that type of entertainment. Not Bob Hammond.
And since I *am* Bob Hammond, there is nothing wrong with my books being categorized the way they are on Amazon. I don’t need to resort to any kind of trickery to be at the top of the bestsellers lists.
Just remember, while you’re sorry you can’t be me, I’m not. There can, in fact, be only one Bob Hammond, and we all know who that is.
Swoon.
Hammond, I’ve always been kind of a fan of yours. I respect big and powerful people no matter if the size and power is in the head or behind.
However, my daughter is a major fan of yours, and here is my problem with you. At Barnes and Noble last week, at your book signing, when it was my daughter’s turn to get her copy of your book, “If God Is All There Is, Then Why Not Try Me?” signed, this is what you did:
You sir, patted her on the head, looked at me, and said, “Unless it’s a service dog, it’ll have to go outside.”
Sir. There was nothing I could say to my daughter to console her! Finally, as I led her outside and tied her up to a bike rack, I told her, “You wait here. I’ll go get the book signed.”
When I offered you the book for signing, and you asked what my girl’s name was, I CLEARLY told you, “Joy. Not Joyce. Joy.”
When we got home, you had written: “Best wishes to Monkey Face.”
Um…I thought writers were supposed to be able to spell?
Kenyon wins the internets today. 🙂
Well, Grand Canyon, I hate to tell you, but you’ve been had. I don’t do signings at Barney Nobel because they can’t afford me.
Well, know what, Bob DUMNAND? When they tell you they can’t afford you, it’s not quite a money issue they’re talking about…
Damn. I was number one in that “Guys Named Bob” category until this guy came along.