A few of you weren’t convinced by the last fifty reasons to buy my book. Never fear. I came up with fifty more.
It’s written in English.
You won’t have to translate it from ancient runes or elvish script. You’re welcome.
It weighs less than a bus.
If you can’t lift a bus, you’re in luck. This book weighs a fraction of that amount.
It won’t starve if you forget to feed it.
You could skip feedings for months or even years. The book will be fine. I don’t even own book food.
It won’t bite you.
This book has never been owned or endorsed by Hagrid.
It fits in a safe deposit book.
Survival is your greatest treasure. Protect it.
It’s not a witch.
No one has ever accused my book of witchcraft. But if someone tried to drown it, it wouldn’t float.
It’s not under investigation by Robert Mueller.
It’s not even a person of interest. It’s not even a person.
It has plenty of blank space for drawing turtles.
Just ask John Green.
It can block harmful UV radiation.
Hold it above your head to stop the sun’s rays. Add sunscreen for extra protection.
It’s geometrically pleasing.
Rectangles are in. Sorry, triangle books.
People won’t talk to you.
If someone sees this book in your hands, they won’t start a conversation. They’ll just slowly back away.
It repaired the hole in the ozone layer.
My book came out, and now the ozone hole is smaller. Coincidence? I think not.
You can take it on an airplane.
It’s not currently classified as a weapon. Carry it onboard before the TSA realizes its mistake.
You can take it on a boat.
My book has sunken zero boats. That safety record speaks for itself.
You can take it onboard a nuclear submarine.
It still works at depths of up to two miles, but only if you don’t get it wet.
It hasn’t been banned by the pope.
It hasn’t been endorsed by him either. But his neutrality speaks volumes.
It’s not afraid of ghosts.
It’s not afraid of anything. It’s a book.
It’s never been struck by lightning.
If you’re holding it in the middle of a lightning storm, I like your chances.
It will never tell you the odds.
Han Solo approves.
It makes a great gift.
But it’s better to keep it for yourself. Forget other people. The first life you should save is your own.
It’s compatible with most book shelves.
And if it’s not compatible, you can still fit it in there with a special shelf adapter (sold separately).
It has barter value.
Trade copies of this book when your money fails.
It counts as a parenting book.
If you read it, you’ll be a better parent. Or at least a less undead one.
It tastes like paper.
Now you don’t have to lick it to find out.
It gives you something to be thankful for at Thanksgiving.
Being safe from zombie attacks is worth mentioning during Grace. That won’t be awkward at all.
It doubles as a musical instrument.
Tap on it rhythmically to maintain a beat. It’s basically a drum made of paper.
It’s safe to use on bean bag chairs.
I read it twice while sitting on a bean bag and survived both times. Pretty amazing.
It’s better than sliced bread.
So are most other things. I wish people would stop acting like sliced bread is so great.
You don’t have to dry clean it.
If it gets dirty, wipe it off with a wet wash cloth. It will probably be okay.
It works in zero gravity.
I’ll give a free copy to the first astronaut who asks for one. The second astronaut will have to pay full retail price.
It will impress your boss.
If you boss sees you reading it, he’ll know you mean business. Except for all the business you’re not doing while you read my book.
A copy of it is in that newly discovered secret chamber of the Great Pyramid that no one can get into yet.
Prove me wrong.
It will make you look good.
Everyone wants to be photographed with an ugly friend so they look better by comparison. My book can be that friend.
You can rest your head on it.
It’s not as soft as a pillow, but it is softer than a brick. So there’s that.
It’s immune to Daylight Savings time.
There’s no clock to reset. No matter what time it is, it just keeps being a book.
It’s not bad luck.
It hasn’t been hexed by any magical powers or dark forces. Each copy is guaranteed to be 100 percent uncursed.
It won’t get you high.
But you can still read it while high. It might be better that way.
It doesn’t attract sharks.
There have been no shark attacks at my house since I wrote this book. Your mileage may vary.
There’s no cap on how many you can buy.
Get a dozen copies before the government puts a limit on it. You can never have too much survival.
Dogs love it.
They can’t read it, but they can chew it to pieces. It shows they care.
You can read it before you’ve had your coffee.
Caffeine will run out in the apocalypse anyway. Get used to being sleep-deprived now.
It was made with love.
And narcissism. And greed. But mostly love.
It’s safe for anyone with allergies.
Unless you’re allergic to great literature.
My mom likes it.
She’s not biased. If anything, she’s rooting against me. She never forgave me for saying I didn’t like her potato soup.
It doubles as a step stool.
If there’s something exactly one inch out of your reach, you can stand on my book. Buy additional copies for added height.
It will build your arm strength.
Curling those 0.9 pounds will give you the biceps you deserve.
No assembly required.
IKEA offered to publish my book. I declined.
It’s not a choking hazard.
There are no small parts. And if you fit the whole book in your mouth, well, you have other problems.
It’s never been on the New York Times bestseller list.
You can say you supported me before I was famous. Or before my career imploded and I disappeared forever. Whichever. You do you.
My kids are cute.
Let’s be honest, they’re the real reason you follow me anyway. Buy my book so I can buy them stuff.
There you have it: Another fifty reasons to buy Only Dead on the Inside: A Parent’s Guide to Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse. If you don’t get it at this point, you must have a death wish. Or good taste. There’s nothing more dangerous than that.