My Genius Marketing Idea

I am planning on putting up my house for sale in the next couple of weeks and I was brainstorming of ways to make my castle more marketable compared to all the other boring shacks out there.

Here's my plan: I'd definately going the For Sale By Owner route, however, I am going to set up another blog similar to this one, loaded with pictures and other data. Where I am really going to stick out, is that I am going to go J. Peterman style expose for every room in the house.

Not only is he is a beloved character from Seinfeld, but the man can move product like none other. In order to keep me motivated on this arduous task, I'm going to post one or two stories every day in the trademark J.Peterman style. It was the Yam Yam.

The Kitchen
One balmy Sunday, late in the summer harvest, my chums and I decided to go and view the latest avant-garde at the local Cineplex.

Unbeknownst to me, I forgot to turn off the stove where I was cooking a nourishing snack of boiled eggs.

You can imagine our horror when we returned to our domicile later that evening. Plumes of smoke had insinuated every crevice of our abode. Bits of shell and egg debris fired out of the pot like the lava and crag from the volcanoes of Mauna Loa Island.

We managed to extinguish the mighty belch of Satan and the smell of petrified albumen and yolk eventually dissipated. But the boiling pot would never be the same again.

Bathroom #2
Joe was a blue collar man, exchanging sweat for currency to pay for his higher education.
Sometimes gone for weeks at a time, working in the trenches was tiring and lonesome for the young patriot.

One fateful evening in July, after an extended bout of grueling labor, Joe returned home with a burning desire to quench his thirst at our favorite brew pub. The first sip of his spirit sent him spiraling off into his adventures of traversing the bogs and marshes of upstate New York. The night was filled with intrigue and suspense as we drank rich whiskey while Joe regaled us with other tales of yester yore.

In the wee hours of that morning, Joe made for the lavatory and never returned. Not a heave was ever heard, but his fall resonated throughout the entire house. Neither prodding nor poking could awake the slumbering fool camped on the bathroom floor.

Joe would arise unperturbed the next morning. His recollection from the previous night was gone. No one would ever know if it was exhaustion or the cocktails that rendered him unconscious.