[Queue piano ditty.]
[Screen text: Missus Abernathy’s ShadyHood]
[Enter trolly car from the left, pan right following trolly.]
[Zoom to yellow house mid-screen, with quick camera transition to flashing yellow traffic light.]
[Camera pans left as I enter the room singing “A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood”–poorly and off key.]
[Stopping at the closet, I remove sweater and pants, and come down half-flight of stairs to rest on the chaise lounge.]
[I reach down to access a double high-ball whiskey glass and cigarette. Coughing ensues.]
Oh! Hi there, neighbor! What a beautiful day it is, thanks for joining me here. Today I want to talk with you about friendship and people who come in and out of your life. The wise Mr. Rogers–to whom I will cheers with my chilled whiskey drink–once said: “If you could only sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet; how important you can be to the people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person.” What wise words …
But definitely not true of a large group of folks about whom I want to bitch today. A few months ago, the number of people Following my most-incredible blog skyrocketed. You’d have thought my pants were ripped in the crotch and I had no underwear on, what with all the attention I was getting. It felt pretty good at first: I was walking around head a little higher; spending far more than I could afford to in anticipation of hitting the big-time world of little-time blogging; and shamelessly displaying an air of entitlement that I’ve always felt but haven’t completely doused people in as I pass them on the street, until now. In short, I thought I was the King Shit. Capital K; Capital SHIT.
Then, I decided to spend more than two seconds checking my WordPress notifications, and my world crashed down–along with my pants, because I truly hate wearing pants. All these new Followers, on top of whom I was planning my ascent to the heavens, were not actual humans–to the extent anyone is a real human on the internet. No, they were companies and useless android-generated pages designed for nothing more than driving me fucking insane. What a let down. I left WordPress for awhile, thinking I could trick the spammers and advertisers into thinking I was lame and uninteresting–as if. But now that I’m back, they’re back, so let me take a step back and say:
- I have no need for your search engine optimization skills. My blog is called “Cats In Your Pants” and since it doesn’t get more awesome than that, I’m already at the top. Besides, I blog about meth and crafting with cat hair–optimize those terms, dicks.
- I am not and never will be in need of health advice from you, your stupid WordPress page, or legitimate doctors who tell me to stop slipping on Jell-o and splitting my face open. It’s my body, I do what I want.
- I’m not going to submit a writing sample to you. If you want one, copy and paste the near-perfect prose populating this page, and shove that sample up your ass. Or submit it to a writing contest and honor me with an award. That would be cool too.
- I don’t believe in God and he doesn’t believe in me. It’s a nice reciprocal relationship of disbelief and I’d like to keep it that way, so save your Jesus Freak Friendly Advice for someone a bit dumber and in need of a miracle. I make miracles, they don’t make me.
- Save your money and salary advice for someone who doesn’t make earning money look as easy as drinking a pitcher of margaritas by yourself on a sunny day. I’ve got so much money, I don’t know what to do with it …
- That being said, I definitely don’t want to spend it on whatever Dollar-Store-like bullshit wares you’re peddling around the internet. Just because you’ve tied that rope in a knot doesn’t make it a bracelet–at least a bracelet you’ll ever catch me or anyone else wearing.
- I can’t hate on drugs and everyone knows I need to be on them, but the internet has never showed me that kind of love and I doubt it’s about to start. If I’m interested in becoming addicted to whatever substance you’re promoting, the magic is going to happen on the street corner, not online.
OK, I feel better. Thanks for listening, friends! I’ll end with a song but, no, I’m not going to put my pants back on.