As I sat in the doctors office this week listening to that Christmas song by Wham!, reading the latest issue of TIME Magazine — and by latest, I mean May–I spotted a column by Joel Stein, a writer that I hold in high regard. In “The Awesome Column,” Stein illustrated a heart-melting (hehe) story of a woman he’d met in an airport known as Adventure Girl®. The column describes how, in this world of social networking and corporate big wigs, one needs to identify their brand, just as Adventure Girl® had done.

Now, as I read the witty words of Stein, he took me on a journey…a marketing journey. A story of how a writer found himself, and his money maker. In the end, the self-appointed Sultan of Snark™ got me thinking…

If a well established and extremely talented professional columnist can establish himself as a trademarked entity, why can’t I– a semi-successful, narrow-minded high-schooler with access to publishing power on this site — do the same? Identical situations if you ask me.

So I began to ponder…

[And then, I realized, pondering can take minutes, and maybe even hours! Stein gets paid to do this every day! how unfair is that?

So I then realized that, by using this unfair advantage against me, and attacking me personally through this bit, that some sort of lawsuit must be possible. But, after much deliberation (30 seconds), I realized that if I sue his butt for everything he's worth, my chances of being his loyal sidekick are getting slimmer, like Eric Mangini after LAP-BAND®.

So I began to ponder once more...]

It finally came to me in my first block class… The Ambassador of Agony©.

There is no better word to be a my brand! Throughout the course of my day, my body is filled with a flood of torment over the state of the economy, the closing of schools, the sale of mince pies, the use of gel pens, and Elisabeth Hasselbeck (and the spelling of her name, for that matter).

Minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, I suffer through the acute pain caused by the 1996 television series Homeboys in Outerspace. I have never seen anybody flying a rocket ship around Mars, especially two brothers and their computer/pilot “Loquatia.” How do you even say that?

Erik Spoelstra clearly in agony.

LeBron James, The King as he is often called, should be referred to as the King of making the Ambassador of Agony© agonized. Erik Spoelstra, head coach of the Miami Heat, is not the problem, and the signs of a conspiracy leading to the imminent firing of the baby-faced head coach makes me sick.

But, as I have recently learned, it’s not just my own agony that I ambassadize, it’s other people’s as well.

Recently, in a column I’d written about Conan O’Brien, a comment was posted saying:

“…Thus begins the agonizing, land-slide descent of the Liverpool Lifeguard into irreverent delusion, yet again.”

At first, I was disappointed that I’ve already made readers drink the Hate-orade so early in my career, but now I’ve realized, it’s my calling! I’m shakin’ my money maker!

Agony is a tool that most of us ignore. This powerful emotion and pain can be used for good. Turn it into ambition! Oh, maybe Ambassador of Ambition is a little bit more pleasant. Oh well, I’ve already got Agony copyrighted.

Plus, I’m not losing that $100 deposit on my Agony© swimwear line.