Last night I had an idea for a new cable television show.
It would be sort of like SuperNanny, except instead of convincing delinquent, tamper-prone four-year-olds not to flush Sparkles, the family hamster, down the toilet; quick-thinking publicists would jet off across the country to help authors faced with dire publishing emergencies.
Or maybe they’d travel in a nitro-powered bookmobile.
The show would be called BOOK TOUR 9-1-1.
Armed with only tic-tacs, a mega-powered Blackberry, and a case of duct-tape, SuperPubbies would step in to save the tour and bravely help authors in need.
When the microphone accidentally drops off your shirt during a live television broadcast, your SP would dive across the concrete floor like she was stealing home in the World Series — sliding under the camera line to retrieve your microphone before it became necessary to shout your interview answers into the microphone stuffed in the host’s bra, so that you could still be heard by all in TV Land.
The SP would psychically know if the bookstore where you’re scheduled to do a stock signing was demolished three weeks ago, and instantly re-direct you to a building that is still standing.
The SP would be infinitely more helpful if you happened to be late for the airport and the only route your high-priced navigation system could come up with was over the bridge that collapsed last winter.
The SP could casually stick a blueberry café muffin into the mouth of an enthusiastic heckler before he has a chance to tell you and the three kind people who came to see you about his idea for a novel. Again.
And of course, the SP could build a raft out of Sharpies if you’re ever caught in a flash flood.
SuperPubbies, where are you?