TREACHERY UPON TREACHERY, I WAS ICE'D BY MY OWN FRIENDS. In a state of inebriation at Encore Karaoke Lounge, the premise of a frat-prank turned NYT-approved social phenomenon was foisted upon me by three dudes. Greg and Tony, I cursed your names, but Anthony-- you were the evil mastermind behind my shame. Like Coolio and hundreds of beefy fratboys before me, I took a knee and was ice'd. Alice saved me by finishing the bottle off, but the damage was already done.

THE IDEA CAME TO ME IN THE SHOWER, AND IT SEEMED TOO PERFECT TO DELAY. I skipped lunch and combed the shelves of Book Buyers, ignoring all the usual signifiers of a worthwhile literary purchase; my own goals = appropriate height and width to successfully fool (and destroy) you. Twelve dollars lighter, six pounds heavier, Webster's Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language was designated at the delivery system.

Two hours and crippling hand cramps later, the trap was set. Alice and I went through two Exacto blades and a carving knife to get it just right. I placed the bottle of Ice in a huge pot of piping hot water for an hour before placing it in the dictionary, because asymmetrical warfare sometimes is required of us:

IN THE KARAOKE BOX, DISGUISED AS A PRESENT... A LITERARY CURIOSITY.