The action in this story takes place shortly after the author was catapulted from his bicycle face-first into the road. He fractured both his cheekbones, broke his nose, knocked out several teeth and sustained a concussion. This explains some, but sadly not all, of the decision-making herein.

I HAVE A genius for not making money and no shortage of ideas for how to do it. One Christmas I suggested a Secret Santa where we all put our wallets and purses into a stocking and whoever’s you pulled out, that’s whose income you’d live on for a year. People were reluctant: my negligee company, Freudian Slips, had never taken off; the people on eBay wouldn’t buy the shirts from my back; and I’d recently had to close my mobile mechanic business after my car broke down, rendering me not just immobile but also, upon closer inspection, not even a mechanic.