So wow, huh. If you’re reading this in a reader, I suggest you come and take a look around. Come see! Come see! It’s pretty! *claps up and down like a chimp*

Anyway. I kind of need your help today. But don’t worry. It’s actually not, like, HARD.

See, ages ago, when I rode a dinosaur to school and Jesus was my classmate, I was fortunate enough to land myself a couple of agents, Michael and Kristina of Ebeling Literary Agency. I had a book proposal that was full of The Awesome, everyone said so, and it was only a matter of time before someone eagerly snatched it up.

Then the crash of Aught-Eight happened.

The publishing world, along with the rest of the world, got burned when the economy plummeted and while everyone agreed that my stuff was great! My numbers just weren’t high enough.

But Your Aunt Becky, she is many things. And she is a tenacious beast, so Round Two of Book Proposals were drafted, incidentally, as Amelia was born, and sent off to publishers. Again, the publishers were interested, but worried. They’d been burned badly. People weren’t buying books in such droves.

New vs. old media! Cats and dogs, living together, mass hysteria, Pranksters!

Publishers, it turns out, they like numbers. No one has said that I don’t have talent or appeal, because if LOL Cats can get a book, I should probably be able to score something.

It’s a numbers game. Publishers want numbers. They want to see big Twitter numbers, big Facebook Fans, huge subscriber numbers, all of that stuff, publishers want.

Along with my new site design, I have a new page up at the top left corner called, brilliantly “The Book.” If, my agents think, I can get a ton of people to fill out their names and email addresses saying that, “uh, hai, we’d order her book, publishers would be swayed over.

But if I need numbers, I need your help, my Mery Pranksters to get them. Blog it, Tweet it, beg people on the street, just please help Your Aunt Becky out.

It’s not money or a credit card I need, it’s just names and email addresses of people who might be willing to buy my book. Consider it a PRE-pre-order. Ask your coworkers, your mom, your dad, your friends, your IMAGINARY friends, whatever.

The higher the numbers (they’re looking for numbers, I emphasize, not your NAMES)(it’s not The Man looking for you, people), the better it looks. And really, this beats me coming around banging on your door and peeking creepily in your windows. WHICH I WILL DO.

I did door-to-door sales for Girl Scouts and I’ll do it again if I have to but I am not going to look cute in a costume designed for a third grader and mark my words, I WILL wear it.

In return for signing up, I will HAPPILY send you a chapter of my book (soon). Really, nothing about this sucks.

Just don’t make me hold a bake sale because seriously, that will make no one happy.

So, Internet, while you’re exploring my new site design and admiring all of the hard work that went into it, done by the disjointed efforts of The Daver, Your Aunt Becky (Sherrick Harks), Keeping You Awake and Mrs. Soup, won’t someone think of the NUMBERZ? By no means is it complete, but sometimes, you have to just get ‘er done.

Let’s get ‘er done.

Can you help me? Please?

You’ll never guess what I woke up to, The Internet! Well, okay, if you guessed that I woke up to a knocked over mail box, you’d be right, because that’s what happens during the winters here. It’s kind of not awesome because it’s NO ONE’S FAULT you see, least of all the plow’s, and I have to somehow cobble together a working mailbox in sub-zero weather.

Ah, Chicago. Two seasons: Ass Hot and Ass Cold.

Either way, this is on the list of things I’ll deal with when I get back because I don’t really give a flying poo right now.

Because what’s REALLY cool about this morning besides renewing my sorted love affair with Dunkin’ Donuts coffee is this:

I recognize that this looks like I typed it up myself and I assure you that I have more official looking documents, but this was the biggest looking thing with my businesses name on it.

Oh yes, I incorporated this morning. Which makes me feel like I should have like morphed into something else, perhaps with metal and sharks with freakin’ laser beams on their heads or something. But no, I walked out of my attorney’s office the exact same person, just laden with a bunch of papers.

So, what does this really MEAN in the grand scheme of it all? Nothing much.

My community site and Mommy Wants Vodka will run under the umbrella corp of Copy on the Rocks, Inc (certainly, har-dee-har-har at a loss)(which, trust me, is fine).

But it’s official and it means that I am PROPERLY a Business Person and I can apply for Business Things and probably buy one of those “perpetual motion” things with the gears and perhaps maybe a squeezy thing for stress relief. I should also probably get some business suits with shoulder pads to wear about the house and an ear penis (phone headset) justincase someone actually calls me to “talk shop.”

No one actually calls me except people trying to sell me carpet cleaning services.

But I am a Business Person and will be reminding The Daver of that when he asks me to take out the garbage from now on. A sample conversation:

The Daver: “Can you take out the garbage, please?”

Aunt Becky: “I am very busy.”

The Daver: “Doing what? It looks like you’re scratching your crotch with a pen.”

Aunt Becky: “I am a BUSINESS PERSON WHO IS DOING BUSINESS THINGS NOW AND I CAN FILE A BUSINESS PERSON LAWSUIT.”

The Daver: “Shut up and take out the garbage.”

Aunt Becky: “Blow me.”

Marriage is grand, people.

In order to celebrate my incorporation, I’m going to do some Giving Back because really, without you guys, I wouldn’t have done this. It never would have occurred to me that I had a knack to write if you hadn’t encouraged me, and I wouldn’t have continued to pollute the Internet if you hadn’t acted like you liked to read it (also: smooth move).

In other words: you made your monster.

Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to have a contest, and the first thing I’m going to use my Copy on the Rocks bank account for is to happily buy a gift card to Amazon.com for $50. You can win it. You can enter up to three times, three different ways to win it. Contest will end next Friday at midnight CST.

1) Go to Savvy Source and join my group, Aunt Becky’s Band of Merry Pranksters. Then, start a discussion about what you love about the blogging community. You can even use your Facebook ID to join. Couldn’t be easier. Then leave me a comment here saying that you did #1 (if you’re already in my group, go forth and participate.)

2) Leave a comment here where you talk about your favorite blogs. Hell, pimp YOURSELF out. I want to know why you love what you love. What makes a blog good?

3) It’s Interview With Aunt Becky time! Answer my questions on your own blog, grab my button, and come back, leave a comment and let me know that you did the Interview. IF you do not have a blog, feel free the interview in the comments.

1) Dave and I have a long-standing feud over cheese in a can. He thinks it’s food of The Gods while I think it’s probably Of The Devil. Your take?

2) Is there any way you can think of to make the elder Gosselins go away? I AM ALL EARS.

3) Who is your ridiculous “I can’t admit this to anyone in polite company lest I be banned from life” crush?

4) If you could fuck it all and pursue your dream (assuming, of course, you were going to be GOOD at it), what would that dream be?

5) They say “living well is the best revenge.” I think they are wrong. Do you?

6) What is the most humiliation you’ve experienced in public that you’d be willing to admit to The Internet?

7) Are you honest with The Internet? Like, if I came over to your house tonight (heh)(I’m coming over, yo)(heh) would I be surprised at who I found?

8 ) If you could have one talent that you don’t currently possess, what would it be?

9) There’s not always room for Jello. Is there?

10) What’s your guiltiest of the guilty pleasures?

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P.S. Thank you to everyone who nominated me for a Bloggie. Seriously, that’s the best thing ever and I might have cried. SHUT UP.