A bloke at work dared me to write this column.

He said I wasn’t game.

He was wrong.

He said I’d get into trouble.

He was right.

But a bloke’s gotta have a laugh.

It all started when we stumbled across the story about a lovelorn Perth fella who put his life up for sale on the internet.

He’s been split from his wife for a couple of years and reckoned he needed a fresh start.

When I split from my first wife I drank my weight in beer to celebrate … but each to their own.

Anyway, this bloke launched the unusual auction after announcing on his blog: "I have had enough of my life! I don’t want it any more! You can have it if you like!"

So up for sale went the lot - his three-bedroom home, 19-year-old Mazda 929 sedan, a 1986 motorbike and a jet ski.

He also promised the winner will be introduced to his friends and lifestyle and will secure his former job as a rug store assistant for two weeks, which his boss may choose to extend.

So let me get this right.

This bloke’s a rug salesman who drives a clapped-out car and is so delusional that he reckons people will want to swap places with him – and pay him for the privilege.

I can just picture the rug-selling, bomb-driving friends he’s offered to introduce to the winner.

And then came the big shock - bidding on his miserable existence hit $2 million and kept going.

"Fair crack of the whip!" said my mate. "It’s got to be a gee-up."

If you had $2 million bucks lying around wouldn’t you want to do a lot better than a crappy job, clapped-out car, dodgy friends and a house that’s probably got bodies buried under the floorboards?

Unless you were some mad sultan or king who spends $2 million on little bits and pieces that take your fancy ... like entire countries just for the fun of it.

But some bloke’s dodgy life?

"I had emails from people asking ‘Can I buy a pair of socks or something small from your house, I can’t afford the whole thing?’,” he told the world’s media, which was waiting with baited breath because Paris Hilton hadn’t done anything exciting that day and Britney Spears was supervising the birth of her sister’s baby.

(Whatever happended to Paris? I haven’t heard much about her recently. Has she gone straight or something? Has she thrown a tantrum because Mercedes Corby’s getting all the attention?)

Now, where was I?

That’s right. People wanting to buy this bloke’s old socks!

Fair dinkum people. Big W’s got packs of three for $10.

If you like, I could patch a few of my old pairs and flog them to you cheap.

I’ve even got some old undies I’ll throw into the deal.

“What a great yarn,” said my mate at work. “I reckon there’s a column in that.

“You could advertise everything you own online - even throw your job at the Daily in for nothing and they could get a two-week trial with your wife.

“It could be one of those ‘good news/bad’ moments in your relationship.

“You could arrive home and say ‘Honey, I’m off to Bali for a holiday with this $2 million that mysteriously arrived in our bank’. By the way, have you met Bruce? You’ll be staying with him for a couple of weeks’.

“Ï reckon that would be hilarious!”

But then the bubble burst.

The bloke began to ask serious questions about why anyone would want to pay $2 million for his miserable life.

I thought it was too good to be true. Jobs as rug salesmen are all very exciting, but they can’t be that great.

It turns out some funsters had been yanking his chain.

When he actually looked closely, the best he was being offered by a serious bidder was a couple of cartons of beer and a broken down Datsun 120Y.

Which is probably a fair trade, when you think about it.

So there you go Clarkie. It might have made a good idea for a column, but it’s not really worth the trouble now, is it?

And you didn’t really want me sleeping on your couch, did you?