My first McSweeney's fling!

Here it is, people: 

Addressing The Followers The Day After My End-Of-The-World Prophecy Failed To Come True

Flush with confidence from my first go 'round with the most prestigious of literary humor websites, inspiration struck one weekday night when I was whittling away the hours in front of my television. I can't recall whether I was lingering on the History Channel or MSNBC, but given my propensity to watch hour after hour of "Lockup," the smart money says it was the latter.

Before I knew it, I was engrossed in a show about a never-heard-of cult in an off-the-beaten-path place. I was treated to a behind the scenes look at the daily happenings, and I couldn't have been more intrigued at this alternate reality lifestyle.

I'm always amazed at the chutzpah of cult leaders. I know it's a prerequisite for the gig, and that no one's going to think you're their savior if you aren't a salesman par excellence, but I'm such a no-obligation guy that even if I did have the opportunity for someone to sign his life over to me, there's no way I could do it. This guy, though, was just basking in what he had going on, and what he had going on didn't look half bad.

Case in point:  the leader talking about his decision awhile back to start bedding some of the female goup members. He didn't even restrict himself to the single ones, but instead, went straight for two married compound hotties. And how did he field the protests of their husbands? By making it yet another test of their faith, of course. Nice.

If you put yourself in one of the husband's shoes, you have to figure that you're pot committed at this  point. What're you going to do--walk into town with just the clothes on your back and start to rebuild your life from diddley squat? Not likely. Probaby easier to let the wife out of the barracks one night and week and tell yourself she's just going for a long walk.

But the real kicker was the fact that the leader had actually slapped a date on the end of the world. And it was coming up quick like. As in, just a few months from the time of taping. Figuring that MSNBC probably had this program in the can for awhile, I surmised that the date this cat had given had probably come and gone.

That was the inspiration for the piece, and I wrote it quickly. I sent it off and waited for the response, which was succinct:

I like this one. We'll use it. Look for it to run in a few weeks.

Now that's what I wanted to hear. And just like my rejection, it came right on the heels of my submission. These McSweeney's guys are good.

Making a pass at McSweeney's

So I was pretty late to the McSweeney's party. Not sure how such a great site escaped my attention for so long, but it did. Once I found it, though, I was determined to join the ranks of writers deemed worthy of their nod of approval.

I plowed ahead with an idea that I thought was right up their alley--introspective musings on my first two years of fatherhood. I hit on topics such as the evaporation of my disposable income, the endless viewings of inane children's animated movies, accumulated sleep debt, etc.

I delivered the entire thing with a bit of surly attitude which, evidently, proved to be a little much. To quote my rejection email:

Dad comes off as too much of a jerk...

Whoops! I'm sorry to say I just didn't see any way to soften it. Pulling back on the rancor wouldn't properly convey my mindset, and softening the whole thing would turn it into an Erma Bombeck column. (Nothing against Bombeck; just not my style.)

There were some bright spots, however:

This one makes me chuckle, but not quite enough to win me completely I’m afraid.

Hey, I extracted a chuckle or two out of the man. Upgrade that to a guffaw, and I might be in business. The rejection ended with this:

Hope you'll try again.

I didn't need much more encouragement than that. To top it off, the turnaround on my submission was incredibly fast.

Errors are made in the beginning of all courtships, and this was no different. But I felt there was a future for McSweeney's and me, so I decided that my best course of action was to regroup before knocking on McSweeney's door soon again, hoping that this time she would answer it in the editorial equivalent of a sexy nightie.