“I am Orafoura, but you can call me Jarod Kintz. I’m fairly proud to proclaim that Dora J. Arod has me on her short list of “World’s worst writers.” The list couldn’t get any shorter, because I’m the only name on it. I should tell her to stop calling it a list, and change the title to “World’s worst writer.” If you’re wondering why I rate all my work one star, it’s because the rating system doesn’t have a zero star option, or better yet, go into negative numbers.”

“Dora J. Arod is to Jarod Ora, as yes is to yes. Yes is also the correct answer to “Will you marry me?” Other acceptable answers are Dora J. Arod and Jarod Ora.”

“Many of the books on my list are, in my opinion, amazing. Some I didn't like. But I give them all five stars, because stars make people - including me -- happy.”

“In the end, I take my shoes off and stick my feet in, letting the lukewarm water lick at my ankles. It feels good, and not just because I’m stoned. I make a mental note to add this to Dulcie’s list of things worth living for. For some reason, I keep seeing her rolling her eyes at me, that big, goofy grin stretching her face like Silly Putty. On my private list, I add her smile. She doesn’t have to know.”

“A teasing smirk flitted across his face, as he completed his thought, “I’ll try not to take it too hard if I fail miserably, because you can be the world’s greatest skeptic…”“Nah…” I coughed out a little chuckle, “not when you’re involved. I’m your number one fan…You couldn’t shake me if you tried.” I gave him a playful wink, adding musingly, “Though I might stop short of hanging out in the bushes with binoculars…”“Well, then,” he grinned, “clearly you’re not my number one fan.”

“After all the work and lies—and lotion—it took to get me into this parking lot, I’m not going home without more success to add to my list.”