Billy and the eBay Caper: Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

With the new pictures put up on the auction page, there have finally been more people looking at it. But we're now only three days away from the closing date, with only a single bid. An anonymous comedian has bid ninety-nine cents for Billy's life. It’s a price I reckon to be reasonable, but nothing close to what I'm hoping for.

If the life of a bear cub is worth thousands to liberal, bleeding-heart eBay buyers, so must be the life of a lonely, ugly man. Shouldn’t it?

Ninety-nine cents. We have a long way to go.

The amended pictures aren’t good enough. We’ve come too far now to have the plan fail.

The Plan

To reap unprecedented riches through a fraudulent eBay auction. The world will believe Billy will commit suicide unless he is paid enough money:

1.) Pictures will be taken, and posted onto eBay.
2.) Bidding will ensue, with total success as a result.
3.) Billy will never learn of the true outcome of the auction, i.e., he gets twenty dollars.
4.) Billy will be fired as a roommate, and I will buy a lifetime supply of alcohol.

But I realize now, with only one measly bid and a paltry hundred or some-odd page views, that the problem is exposure. I need more of it, much more than I started with. My original group email distribution list is thus a shriveled embarrassment. I curse my arrogance at not spreading the information farther. Cripes, almighty! Why didn't I make more contacts? Christ in a sidecar! I suppose I thought an idea this grand would take on a life of its own, without my influence. I batter myself mercilessly all day for my failure, and set about to rectify the error. It can be fixed.

There is always enough time.

In a frenzy, I re-send group emails to my evidently useless network of friends and acquaintances, including all contacts I find written on the backs of forgotten business cards and restaurant receipts. I email dozens of newspapers and television stations. Blisters bloom across my fingertips. I rant to disc jockeys. I post the auction link on internet bulletin boards, every last one I can imagine. Chat rooms. Blogs. My elbows sweat. Who knew how difficult it would be to earn easy money.

Manfully, I refute the need for food.

But the whiskey is always standing nearby, filled with warm, easy calories. It cannot be ignored. Alcohol, the fuel of F-1 racing cars, also contains many carbohydrates, the fuel of our own bodies. I'm drinking racing fuel. We share many similarities, I and the car. I’m hard as steel. We're engineered for a purpose. I shift myself up another gear. I'm a machine, expelling methane from my high-performance engine as I speed toward the winner's circle.

This tactic going to work this time. I know it in my bones.

The next morning, I get an email message from an acquaintance named Steve. All stupid guys I know are named Steve:

HEy Dude, your eBay auction is posted on fark.com! Your a fucking crackpot man take her easy or anyway you can

Steve-o

God, the moron. But Fark, the internet mecca of bizarre newspaper headlines! If a story is posted there, it's guaranteed to have millions of readers. The Big Time. Hollywood! I’ve made it - the story has broken worldwide now, and the Fox network will be banging down my door any moment. I put on my best t-shirt, just in case. Does my robe smell bad? I decide it doesn’t. Finally, the bids will pour in like turds rolling downhill from an outhouse. And they do. By the end of the work day, Billy's life is priced at five hundred dollars.

By the end of Fear Factor that night, he breaks a thousand.

Conclusion