A Forsley Feuilleton: I was Facebook ‘friends’ with Patrick Wensink before Jack Daniels sent him the nicest cease and desist letter ever

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If your desire for attention is anything like mine, you have a Facebook account. If your Facebook account is anything like mine, it includes a ‘news feed.’ If your ‘news feed’ is anything like mine, it’s filled with pictures of each and every meal each and every one of your Facebook ‘friends’-  which aren’t friends at all, just stalkers from high school, has-been celebrities, and family members you avoid in real life- shove into their puckered-lip framed mouths.A few of my ‘friends’- the most evolved, trend-setting social networkers among them- have even started infiltrating my ‘news feed’ with pictures of the food they eat. . . after they eat it.

At this moment, ‘shit-sharing’- which is what I call this growing craze in social networking- isn’t a mainstream practice. Papa Forsley, the vein-pulsating body-builder that helped create me, hasn’t yet shared pictures of his other creations: the vitamin-glowing, steroid-enlarged ones that he produces every morning after his coffee. And it’s a good thing he hasn’t because I have important news to read on my ‘news-feed.’

The news concerning Patrick Wensink’s latest novel, Broken Piano For President, is important, and I wanted to read about it before all the shit on the internet distracted me. I wanted to read how a lawyer from the Jack Daniel’s Properties sent Wensink a cease and desist letter because his novel’s cover violated the company’s trademark- you know, the curvy black and white western style design that everyone in the world associates with over-priced, flavorless bourbon that isn’t actually bourbon. And I wanted to read how Jack Daniels knocked Wensink, one of my literary competitors, out of relevance with a letter so insulting that he quit writing and a lawsuit so damaging that he became a hobo. I wanted to read how he now wanders the South, butt-naked, ranting about Jack Daniels- and how “it’s not even bourbon!”

But, when I finally got through all the shit on my ‘news feed’, this is what I read: Jack Daniels sent Wensink the nicest cease and desist letter ever- they called him their “Louisville neighbor,” offered to pay for new cover art, and then wished him “continued success” in his writing- and he then posted it on his blog. From there, the letter went viral: every major news source from the New Yorker to Business Insider covered the story, he got interviews on NPR and Yahoo News, his website went from getting 20 hits a day to over 100,000, and his novel, Broken Piano For President, became a best-seller. “Next,” said Wensink, the new face of literature, “we’ll be releasing a collection of my nonfiction essays this fall and a novel in early 2013.”

Why do I consider such news important? I’ll tell you why: I have a lot in common with both Deshler Dean, the protagonist of Broken Piano For President, and Patrick Wensink, the author of Broken Piano For President. Like Dean, I am far more brilliant and productive when blackout drunk. And, like Wensink, I write ridiculous farces that you shouldn’t read.

You don’t believe that you shouldn’t read Wensink’s writing, including his now famous novel? Well, because I was Facebook ‘friends’ with Patrick Wensink before Jack Daniels sent him the nicest cease and desist letter ever, I have proof: Referring to one of my Forsley Feuilletons, Wensink wrote- on Facebook of course- “This was great!” I responded: “I guess I now have to move Broken Piano For President a few notches up my to-read list.” Then Wensink, proving that you shouldn’t read his novel, ended the conversation with this: “There are way better ways to spend your time, I assure you.”

So what does it all mean? It means you shouldn’t read the ridiculous farces I write- including this one you’re reading right now. But it also means I can get every major publication from the New Yorker to Business Insider to write about me and the ridiculous farces I write. All I need is a shot. . . a shot like Wensink got. . . a shot of Wensink, which is one-part talent, two-parts Jack Daniels, and three-parts luck.

My red Irish hair hasn’t completely fallen out yet, so I got the luck. I’ve been drinking a lot of over-priced, flavorless bourbon that isn’t actually bourbon, so I got the Jack Daniels. Now all I need to get a shot like Wensink got is some talent. And maybe, just maybe, if I get as blackout drunk as Deshler Dean gets in Broken Piano For President. . .