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I'll Give You a Dollar If You Consider This Art: Stories, Poems, Comics, and Other Ponderables Ripped from the Diaries of Toddy Smith and Darren Nuzzo
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About I'll Give You A Dollar If You Consider This
Review "It's like eating a bag of Flamin' Hot® Cheetos®. You keep reading and reading until suddenly it catches up with you --the heat and the truths of what it's like confronting adulthood " --Casey Neistat, Filmmaker "You guys owe me a dollar." -- David Dobrik, Social Media Supernova "If Steven Kellogg, Chris Van Allsburg, and James Gurney had a baby, but without the Caldecott Medals..." --Jon Heder, Actor, Napoleon Dynamite, Blades of Glory "Observant, hysterical, and immersive..." -- Hannah Levitan, Writer Product Description A mechanic milks a cow, a recluse walks outside for the first time in three weeks, two teenagers watch tennis on mute, a grown man drinks a juice box in his underwear ― all of these moments strike the artful balance between intellectual acuity and lighthearted absurdity, establishing Toddy Smith and Darren Nuzzo as the new literary voices to listen to, laugh with and follow. At times it will feel like you're scrolling through Twitter or two drinks in at a comedy club; other times it will feel like you're at the public library or your local art gallery. You'll find characters you want to hug and ones you hope never to meet again. From light and humorous to sad and dark, the book captures the times we're living in now while paying respect to the works that came before. Driven by the diary entries of best friends Toddy Smith and Darren Nuzzo, this book is the result of two old-souled writers creating art in the internet age, heavily rooted in literature, yet shaped by the 21st century. About the Author Toddy Smith is a performer, writer and leading digital content creator (and member of the Vlog Squad) who has amassed a following of over 4 million adoring fans. Toddy uses his eccentric storytelling to share a glimpse into his and his friends' lives through vlogs and other comedic content across his social channels. Toddy has a lifestyle clothing brand, Gothic Mochas, as well as ties to Calvin Klein and Smirnoff. He hopes to continue to use his platform to stop bullying while encouraging people not to take themselves too seriously, and to inspire fun. He lives in Southern California where he is most often found at his piano. Darren Nuzzo is a writer and performer from Southern California. His fiction has been anthologized in literary journals and his birthday cards to mom have made it to the fridge. Darren built a cult social media following through his lengthy literary captions on Instagram. As a fitness guru, sustainability advocate, self-proclaimed wizard, and hippie at heart, Darren brings a unique outlook to his writing. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Seven Hundred Miles North of Here My seven o'clock appointment with heartbreak had become a family gathering. Everyone circled the scale in the restroom like it was a roulette wheel in the MGM. I stepped on and curled my toes toward the ground as if that might make me heavier. My family held their breath. Numbers spun into uncertainty. I awaited my evening anguish. But on my eighth birthday, my number actually hit: 50. Right on the dot. Fifty pounds. My dad cheered the way he did when football came back to LA. My mom cheered the way she always had: small jumps, big claps. My brother thrusted two fists straight into the air and cursed in victory, using his third and final fuck ya! my dad allotted us every summer. My little sister's cheer was soft and shy, not for a lack of love or support, rather she just wasn't sure why any of this mattered; but she cheered anyway―like a poet trying to fit in at a Superbowl Party. And then she hugged my hip and said, “I knew you could do it,” because she could tell, for whatever reason, that it did matter. I breathed in the moment a second longer. I held on to 50. I stayed on my podium and listened to my family's feet going down the stairs. They walked together, but I could hear them individually. I could hear my mom's sandals slapping the wood, my dad's slow and heavy feet taking
