I look at blog traffic, and…WTF, people. Where were you people when I solved the Middle East conflicts in one post? I got ONE page view for that post and had to delete it in shame! But you all show up when I confess to stupid shit like being willing to toss a dog a plastic bone with someone who may, or may not look like Martin Mull. But enough about Amy Winehouse!
(Though, Megan, if you see this post…call me. You know, I really do live in Milan, and it’s quite a romantic city. I could give you a tour, if you like. We’ll do lunch by the Duomo. It will be fabulous. Think about it.)
I have deep thoughts, people. I’m deep, like scraping-the-bottom-of-the-Marianas-Trench-for-shark-shit deep. But no one appreciates the depth of my deeptitude. You all just show up for my wet dreams about Lucy Liu, a Slip ‘N Slide, five gallons of lube and a vat of silicone strap-on dildos. Like that’s so comelling as a mental image…Or, actually, did it just get warmer in here?
But never mind alla that!
I mean honestly, I have more depth and dimension than just being some flake with kinky thoughts. You can’t see that, because you only want to think of me as some freaky pervert who has dirty thoughts about 85% of the human population…did I say 85%? I meant 75%…okay, it’s really 86%…of all animal life on the planet.
But there’s more to me than just being pervy, and nobody cares about that. You all just want more mentions of well-oiled Hollywood starlets running naked through my mind with rubber chickens and spicy mustard. I give you depth, but you only scrape the mungy crust off the top.
You know what you are? Uncultured swine. There, you made me say it. I hope you’re happy now.