My mother's pseudo-kind-of-not-really-in-fact-disregard-any-kind-of-official-title-boyfriend (whome I loathe beyond any measure) wrote a book judging, imaginatively, other get-rich-quick books. I know what you're thinking - this already sounds like an idea of complete, overwhelming genius.

However, it pains me to inform you that it is, in fact, not.

The book, what little I was able to read without throwing up in my mouth, includes gratuitous phonetic recordings of 'The Twilight Zone' theme ('dunununununun'), a blow-by-blow account of Luke Skywalker's attempts to destroy - and I quote - 'The evil Deathstar', and musings about the possibilities of gender confusion among fellow financial profiteers.

I know it sounds Einsteinian, but the work itself isn't half as intelligent. In fact, I'd extend myself in offering that it isn't 1/200015th intelligent. It sounds, more accurately, like an essay loosely based on monetary matters sloppily assembled by a blonde cheerleader attending a community college who had suffered a major brain trauma.

Even worse, my mother gave it her seal of approval after barely glancing at the thing, assuming that any creation of her lover's must eclipse Aristotle in its bold intellectualism and historic importance.

I nearly had a coronary when I realized that this, this, was a product of endless time, effort, and pride. This unholy creation of the devil masquerading as financial advice.

There has to be some kind of psalm in the Bible forbidding this somewhere, somehow. And I'm going to find it.