A lot of people on the internet seem to be doubting my ability to write fifty books. I’m not sure why. I think people keep forgetting that we live in the digital age. 

It seems people think my mother was unwed when I was born and that I should be thrown down a flight of stairs.

Six years ago I was the twelve-year-old ping pong champion for all of north america, but after three hours of heavy drug abuse on my thirteenth birthday I was forced to retire from doing anything athletic ever again. 

Sometimes my body is tired of its head and wishes it could sell the head for $50,000.

Anthony Luebbert posted an excerpt from one of the fifty books on his blog. If you want to post an excerpt on your blog you can email me at: thepresidentofmcdonalds@gmail.com or everydayyeah[at]g m a i l [dot]com

monkfishjowls:

In 2010 Mark Baumer walked across the entire United States (from Georgia to California) which he documented on his tumblr, The Baumer. This year he’s writing 50 novels. On Sunday he asked Tom Hanks for $50,000 dollars to cover costs for that project. Tom Hanks declined. So now he’s asking…

I haven’t talked to you in maybe fifteen years. I think the last time I saw you I waved and said, “Hey,” and you said, “Oh hi Mark.” Anyway, I want to share a financial tip with you. I need $50,000.

We played tennis once and then another time we were supposed to play tennis, but I cancelled late which was not appropriate tennis conduct. We never played tennis with each other again.

I don’t know if you remember, but we both live on planet earth. If I don’t raise $50,000 then a bad man is going to hurt all my childhood memories.

We never went to the same high school, but I think I remember seeing you yawn once. Can I have $50,000?

I think I saw you lying in a park near a pigeon. Maybe that wasn’t you.

I am stranded on the moon and I need $50,000 to get home for my dad’s birthday.

Its been probably twenty-five years since we played grand theft auto in your room when we were in high school.

I don’t know if you remember, but we once worked at the same pizza hut or something. Anyway, I was eating a piece of ricotta cheese today and thought you might be willing to give me $50,000?

You taught me how to slice bread. I need your help again.

Last night I went to a fundraiser for organic white table cloths. Tom Hanks was there. I asked him if he wanted to give me $50,000. He laughed and said, “I’m writing fifty books this year too. They’re all going to be titled gilbert.”

I started a kickstarter. I am now emotionally incapable of feeling good about myself. When you start a kickstarter and ask for large sums of money, a small piece of some of your redeeming qualities begin to wilt and die.

I am asking for $50,000 because I want to write fifty books in one year, but if I raise $50,000 then I will probably take all the money and eat it. I am very interested in the idea of putting fifty thousand one-dollar bills in my mouth. After I have $50,000 in my mouth I will probably write fifty books about what it feels like to have large sums of money wedged into your face.

If you have 50,000 friends then you should teach them all how to put a dollar in my mouth. If you have only 10,000 friends then we can arrange a time for your friends to each put five dollars in my mouth.

Sometimes people don’t like to put money in other people. I should clarify. I tend to only speak in metaphors. For those who don’t understand the language of metaphors, let me explain. When I say, “I want people to put $50,000 in my mouth,” I actually mean that I want my bank account to feel less lonely. For those who are not familiar with my life, a few seconds ago I renamed my mouth. It is now called, “my bank account.”

I also made a website called fiftynovels.com. If I don’t raise $50,000 then I will sell the fifty books I write this year at fiftynovels.com. Okay, I’m going to go stand in the street and yell until people fill my mouth with money.

Once I met a guy in the middle of the road on his birthday and he said, “I think you should either be the president of the CIA or you should move to a planet that is still flat.”

At my first office holiday cocktail party I played karate with the photographer’s camera. I ate spicy chocolate and then chased the younger children under the copying machine. When we played hide and seek I hid in a nondenominational paper rosette and clogged the water jar with lemon slices. The guests thanked me so I clicked their lick of pastrami then clogged a toilet with limes. A baby asked me if was Freddie Mercury’s girlfriend.  

On Black Thursday the local high school was giving out A’s to the first 32 teenagers through the doors at 3am.  They told me it was too late for me to participate, and too early to start collecting A’s for my kids.  I asked them if I could have a $5 fleece instead and they suggested I to go to Old Navy.  Old Navy was closed, so I went back to school and asked if they had any 2% milk, but they said school lunch room wasn’t open.   I asked the teenagers why they decided to get the A’s at 3am and they said it was because they were bored after they missed getting the big screen TV’s at Best Buy.

Mosquitoes have evolved to live in drains of bathrooms and stay there until it gets cold out and you forget they even exist. I discovered a mosquito bite on my pinky yesterday and was confused until I recognized the culprit resting in my toothbrush. These bathroom mosquitoes have evolved to catch humans at inopportune moments standing still brushing our teeth when we are still groggy or tired before bed or sitting constrained at the loo. I think bathroom mosquitoes are to regular mosquitoes what humans are to neanderthals. When I told my mother about my november bathroom mosquito bite, she didn’t believe me, so I decided to mail her proof.  I tried to catch a specimen with a cup so I could and mail it to her whole, but this smarter mosquito knew to sit on edges of things so I couldn’t cup it without providing an escape. I made a malleable cup out of dough that could conform to the edge of bathroom surfaces.  The first day the mosquito didn’t show himself for long enough to catch, but the dough worked out okay as my dinner roll.  My mother told me mosquitoes were the only species other than humans in which the women were the blood suckers but the males just ate steak.  I never confirmed this fact, but I did notice the little guy I was trying to cup never flew near enough to me to have lunch.  How he would survive in that drain all winter I didn’t know.  During these hunting sessions, I would put the cover down on the toilet and use it as a seat so I could stay still enough that they would think I was constrained and come out.  One day I fell asleep sitting there and woke up to a buzzing in my ear.  My instincts got the better of me and I smacked it and got a smear of red on my sleeve.  Fortunately, like all newly evolved species, there was another bathroom mosquito in the drain which I caught it the next morning.  I froze it in the freezer and mailed it to my mom. 

Occupy my neighbors yard melted today.  I didn’t have a tent so I convinced the seven eleven guy to sell me his excess ice cream insulation.  I packed the insulation tight with LLBean brick molds to built my alternative tent.  My message to OWS—for some extra comfort, build igloos this winter.  Then all the people who can’t afford tents won’t be left out.  I can be your contractor and builder.  Call me at the first snow fall, and I will come with my LLBrick mold and we will build a snow city.  

 I went to a stomach party at a country club wedding.  The anatomy of the wedding was the thing itself; an event structured of human anatomy. We entered in the mouth room, small with white chairs in a semicircle, around a tall pink trellis in the center.  We left through a narrow tent hallway with confetti silk ribbons hanging from the roof that shook when wind hit.  I first thought I was in a human carwash, but I realized I was inside the bride’s digestion tract.  Everyone felt uncomfortable because only a groom should be inside the bride.  She was nowhere to be seen after the tongue vows.  We ate pickled onions while we waited for the dining tent to be ready. When they let us in, the pink lit tent shook and made us wonder what the bride was doing.  A woman in white came but I knew she was a decoy.   We went into another hallway to the band room where we could make movements.  I ate chocolate cake.  They offered us a bag we could fill from a table of chocolate filled vases.  Many people took these chocolates and left though the front or back exit.  I refused to be treated like shit at this wedding.  I found an open window and crawled out.  I would rather crawl out of the bride’s ear than complete her digestion.