January 27, 2006

It's time to throw down

I knew this day would one day come. Ever since my debut novel came out two years ago, I knew that I was living on borrowed time. Especially after Oprah selected it as a Book Club selection, rocketing me to the top of the bestseller list. Sooner or later, someone would go digging into my past and find some things they didn't like. That day has finally come.

So before you, my loyal fans, hear it from someone else, I've decided to come clean. Right here, right now. My debut memoir, the book that over 3.5 million of you out there bought and fell in love with, is nothing but a complete and total pack of lies.

I'm sure you're all familiar with the cover by now. But, in case you live under a rock or something, I want to show it here one last time. Let this serve as a warning. The following novel, which I relentlessly promoted as a true account of my life, is nothing but fiction.

I know you're all going to be deeply hurt, sad, and disappointed to learn that I have never molested a single child in my entire life. Not one. I made it all up, from my having to go door to door to tell people I'm a convicted sex offender, to all of those little penises I couldn't get enough of.

I suppose the main person I need to apologize to is Oprah. I betrayed your kindness and your faith in me. You took an unknown young author and made him into a shining star. Well now that star has come crashing down. I just hope I don't take you down with me.

I pray that one day the world can forgive me for not being who I said I was. For making up all of those stories of me fondling little boys instead of actually doing the fondling. Believe me, if I could go back in time, and relive my life, I would commit all kinds of sex crimes. No child would be safe around me. But as it stands, I have lived a life totally devoid of any criminal behavior whatsoever. Oh sure, I've smoked a joint or two and gotten a bunch of speeding tickets. But I never touched a child's penis. And for that, I am sorry.

The chapter about one glorious summer when the Pope and I rent an ice cream truck and do nothing but stuff our faces with choco tacos and molest children from sun up to sun down? Never happened.

The opening of the book, when I go through airport security with two young boys hidden down my pants who I later discover are pirate midgets in disguise? Completely made up.

The section where I cut off my own penis with a hacksaw, without any painkillers, just so I could see it better while I fondled it? Total fabrication.

I could go on. But what's the point? I will only say this. From here on out I promise to only tell the brutally honest truth in my writing. So look for my new memoir this fall. It's called A Million Wasted Hours, and is all about what I was really doing during the times I lied and said I was molesting children.

Don't want to spoil it for you or anything, but it turns out I spent the bulk of those years alternating between staring at a blank page on my computer screen and masturbating like a maniac. Should make for a fascinating read.

Trackback Pings

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.chrisgenoa.com/cgi-bin/mt-tb.cgi/193