The Forty Days

As you may or may not know, I recently held a contest whereby I would agree to be a personal assistant for one of my readers for one day.  In order to enter, readers had to post a comment explaining why they deserved the honor of having me subjugate myself unto them.  For the original post and comments regarding said contest, click here.

Before I announce the winner of the contest, I would like to thank everyone who participated by submitting a comment.  And for all of you who did not enter, despite my incessant pleading on Facebook and Twitter, I wish you could see the look of disappointment on my face.  It’s the same look I have every morning when I wake up and discover on Google Analytics how few people really are reading this blog.

Although this was a hard decision, and there were many good entries, this decision came down to one word and one magical substance–foam.  As in “foam party,” or “foam machine,” or “holy cow, I’m having such a great time in all this freakin’ foam.”  Angledge, Joan, Nell, and Rachel–you were all close runners-up.  And although I would absolutely love to buy, transport, and assemble your Ikea furniture, take care of your kids, or clean up your horse’s manure, none of these activities involve foam or any foam-like substances, including but not limited to actual foam.  I understand that you all may have a greater need for a personal assistant than Dr. Party (aka Greg Gordon), but you must understand–and I hope you do–that Dr. Party’s comment contained the sentence fragment, “if you intend to play in the foam.”  Are you kidding?  Abso–freakin’–lutely I intend to play in the foam.

If you lost and are sore about it, I promise you that I will write an extra-funny post for this day and take some hi-lar-ious videos.  Does that make you feel better?  There, there.  Shhhhhhhh.