(Hello Development People!)

If you've arrived here looking for the sort of bawdy, raunchy fare CollegeHumor.com has become famous for, you've come to the right place. If you've come looking for the next multi-million dollar film franchise, I got the good stuff for ya, too.

As you might be aware, the publishing industry has recently seen an explosion in what is commonly referred to as "chick lit." These are books written by female authors about females (usually skewing younger — think quarter-life crisis) ostensibly for females, presupposing that this estrogen caravan of literary good works will eventually find its way back to the fairer species. I find this concept offensive, as should any reasonable minded lady from the female gender. Are you really supposed to be happy that some publishing giant thinks all you want to read about is clothing, bitching, boys, gossip, back-stabbing and how to get ahead in society? Of course not! I posit that this notion is as misguided as the idea that guys just sit around and consult "Iron John," flip through our dog-eared Hemingway collections and read books about WWE Superstars. I don't even know anyone with a Hemingway collection!

My theory is that this publishing trend is causing a division down gender lines. In order to reverse the harm already being done, I propose that women begin writing books about women FOR men ("chick lit revised"), and vice versa ("new dick lit"). This should eventually draw both genders together in a harmonious utopian society of shared ideals and common goals. Let's take a look at some examples:


"It was the summer of my fifteenth year, my fifth summer in the shimmery decadence that was Nantucket. I had become accustomed to springing off the ferry just days after school let out and immediately making a beeline for my favorite ice cream shoppe. Sam would be there behind the counter with a double-scoop of Rocky Road and a ready smile. There was an easy innocence to this lifestyle, and I had never known different. That summer, however, would become my season of change. I was not thrust into womanhood so much as it had exploded upon me. My breasts, once an afterthought in my dressing regimen, were now ponderous appendages – an F cup at least – that demanded my constant sartorial attention and considerable respect. I responded defiantly with a series of tank tops, often damp, and a devil-may-care attitude that would later carry me to the highest reaches of the industry. Then there were my nipples —- half-dollar, erect, caramel-kissed. They would not suck themselves! Finally, and inscrutably, I had developed an insatiable appetite for vodka.

I also bought a webcam.


"That new assistant smiled at me again today when I picked up my mail. She's definitely cute, in that really soulful way. I think she said she went to Brown. My folks would love that. This girl definitely has it together. Smart look, great hair, and the biggest, most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. I just noticed her shoes, too. Are those Manolos? Great taste. But how can she afford those on her salary? I like it. She definitely knows how to save up. I'm saving up. I think I might ask her out on a date. After a few mutually agreed upon sessions of pre-coital intimacy, I sure would love to show her my new oral technique. I think I'll call it "the back-bender." Perhaps she'll consider reciprocating, or not; it really doesn't matter to me either way.

I wonder if she's a vegetarian. I just found this great recipe for shiitake quesadillas that I'd love to try out.

I think this is one literary trend we can all get behind.