Pirated by a Caribbean Douchebag  

Given the infrequency with which these pages are shown any attention as of late, it may come as a surprise to learn that my writing career is actually a giant, multi-armed beast, and that this blog is but one of its many arms. That's right; my literary prowess is practically fucking sentient at this point. Aside from being the master of multiple social media platforms, I am also a well-paid, highly respected, published author. It matters not that I've only got one (in print) published credit to my name. That's all it takes.

Although... in all fairness, as far as I can tell nobody takes me seriously. Oh, and I wasn't exactly "well-paid" for my published work so much as I was "fucked in the ass by some Caribbean douchebag".

I should probably clarify a few things about that last part. This might end up being a rather lengthy story, but if you've got the time, you'll be handsomely rewarded with multiple instances of me being hosed by Wesley Snipes' character from Futuresport. Just trust me and keep reading.

In late 2008 I responded to a craigslist ad requesting aphrodisiac recipes for a men's cookbook. I had been submitting a crap-ton of writing proposals at the time, and happen to have a kick ass grilled oyster recipe, so I fired it off and then pretty much forgot about it immediately. Imagine my surprise when, a few weeks later, I got an email notifying me that not only was my recipe accepted, but the publisher wanted several more and a couple of "how-to" articles from me as well. $ Cha-Ching $$

Before we sink any further into this tale, allow me to introduce you to the man behind the curtain. His name is Sheldon, and he runs a one-man publishing house in Trinidad and Tobago, the linchpin success of which was the magazine Caribbean Man Quarterly. Once upon a time he even had a website and everything, so I had little reason to doubt his legitimacy. Although entrusting one of the whitest guys on the planet to come up with a bunch of South American and Afro-Caribbean influenced recipes probably should have raised a red flag. That and his uber-professional headshot:


If your initial reaction to that picture is "Kinda looks like John Legend and the Predator had a lovechild," you're on the right track. Also, probably a little bit of a racist.

The project started in early 2009 and was targeted for completion at around the middle of the year. I submitted my work mid February, which included a total of 7 recipes (with pictures) and 3 how-to articles. Based on the payment scale he gave me at the beginning of the project, I was due approximately $1,100 for all of this. $ Cha-Fucking-Ching $$

Somewhere in the fall of 2009, the tide turned from a sea of hope to wave after wave of bullshit. There were contract problems, then distributor problems, then Sheldon hurt his back climbing a coconut tree or something. All the while, being his friend on Faceboook I could see the lavish book release parties he was throwing on the islands. Only 1 out of every 5 messages I sent him was responded to, each with more stupidity than the last, and always promising payment was coming "very soon".

The only bright spot during any of this was late last year, when I finally received a copy of the book. This was monumental considering I had begun to doubt whether or not it even existed at all. At first glance, the cover was kind of cheesy, but admittedly appropriate for its target audience:


Finally, I'd get to see my name in print! I hastily turned to the copyright page, scanned for my name, and there it was:


Excusemewhat? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING WITH ME! Jay "Ferries"?! As if I didn't have to put up with enough of that shit in Junior High? Why not just put me in there as Jay "Way Into Anal" Ferris Bueller? Son of a whore!

Thankfully, my recipes were unchanged for the most part, with my name spelled correctly on each of them. Here's the oyster recipe, which is sure to get you laid, although no promises it won't be by some asshat who only wants to fuck you in the wallet.


Let's take a quick look at the back cover. Adorned with Sheldon's trademark shampoo commercial headshot, we find another reason why this book was destined to be a complete and resounding failure:


Sweet dreadlocked Jesus, mon! $50?? Did they ink this bitch with the tears of a thousand island virgins? Were there some steep voodoo bribes so zombie Julia Child could make a contribution that I overlooked? Oh wait... upon further review, it becomes obvious that the exorbitant sticker price was required to offset the tens of thousands of dollars in high-end stock photography:

She either has crotch blindness, or is about to
bludgeon him with that stick she's grabbing.

This photo might have been sexy, but unfortunately, it was taken
a full month after Labor Day. What were they thinking?!

Be nice to this guy... he suffered a stroke while serving in the gay
military, and now has a hard time getting things into his mouth.

Let us all observe a moment of silence for Yipes, the Fruit Stripe
gum zebra, who gave his life to make this dress.

This will probably be one of the most unintentionally
racist things you see in your entire life.

Part of me wishes I could end this post with a "where to buy" link, giving you all the opportunity to support my writing endeavors. Too bad such a link doesn't exist, or that I would even see any of that money. Besides, as far as I know, none of my readers are limp-dicked millionaires capable of affording this literary abortion anyway. So in lieu of any monetary support, all I ask is that if you ever run into this guy, you kick him square in the conch:

Make sure your foot tells his nuts that "Jay Ferries says hi".

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