We, of course, have our own candidates in mind for this honor. But, in a gesture of remarkable yet characteristic
Therefore, take pen, pencil, or keyboard in hand, and write to me posthaste at epicureandealmaker [at] hushmail [dot] com with your suggestions. The person who provides the most interesting list (i.e., the one closest to my own) will win a prize of staggering generosity of a yet-to-be-determined nature. Runners-up will receive a handsomely framed specimen of bupkus.
All entries, bribes, and other monetary "gifts" submitted will become the sole property of The Epicurean Dealmaker, to do with as I see fit. Particularly egregious examples of mendacity, stupidity, or cupidity will be forwarded to Equity Private at Going Private, who has been strictly charged to shame and excoriate you in public in the most humiliating and sardonic way possible. (You have been warned.)
Every effort will be made by this establishment to return the electrons, photons, and neutrinos comprising contest entries to their natural habitat after the competition. No assurances can be given, however, as to the treatment of any Higgs Bosons we might or might not find in our inbox.
The entry deadline is Monday, May 21, 2007 at 1700 hours, New York time, unless all six of you are out of town, in which case we will close the contest when we damn well see fit.
1 Clever readers will note that fifty posts have not yet been published here. (I have been holding some particularly devastating ones in reserve.) Extra credit and a personally autographed centerpiece from Steve Schwarzman's sixtieth birthday celebration to the first reader who writes in with the correct number that have appeared on this site.
2 "But wait!," you exclaim, "Surely all of your precious pieces are worthy of elevation to the literary and philosophical Pantheon, are they not?" Yes, yes, child, of course. But we needs must make some distinction amongst our beautiful children, no?
3 [Edit as of 1950 hours, 9 May 2007:] Sorry. While my Noblesse is certainly frequently obliged among you little people, I knew there was a better word for what I was aiming at when I wrote this piece. Who knew it was a solid, five syllable word of impeccable Anglo-Saxon pedigree? I think Hemingway called these "ten centers."
© 2007 The Epicurean Dealmaker. All rights reserved.