I used to be somebody. I used to be a contender. But fame is fleeting, and the public, fickle. You’ve got to have titanium skin in this business. You’ve got to have a shell. A hard shell. An impenetrable, soundproof shell. Without internet access. The kind of shell a giant, robot snail would have. Or a giant robot hermit crab. You gotta be tough. You gotta pity the fools whose Thoughts got a lot of votes because those fools are just cow-towing to the masses.
Unfortunately, I have and/or am none of these things. My skin is made only of aluminum, far softer than titanium. I have no giant metal shell. I have only the top of my old plastic turtle sandbox. It isn’t soundproof. And it has a 56k modem. I pity no fools. (This isn’t quite true. I pity some fools, but none who have written Thoughts. Except poor Harris. What a sad, sad man.) And I’ll cow-tow. Oh, I’ll cow-tow.
So, readers, what is that you want? Pop stars? MTV? How about I write a Thought called “On Carson Daly’s Wardrobe”? I can put together a montage of Carson’s most fetching outfits and the funny way they can predict his moods. No? Ok, well, what about Lord of the Rings? That seems to be very popular now. Or Harry Potter? Maybe together, like “On Gryffindor and the Bridge of Amun-Din.” Yeah, it’s an examination of Gandalf’s days at Hogwarts. It’ll be full of specific references, sure to make the geeks smile and… alienate everyone else. Ok, forget that. What about puns? A whole freakin thought based on the double meaning of a word or phrase? Screw that. It never worked before. Well, what the hell do you people want from me? Blood? Are you vampires? Or weird alien plants? Fine! Here, take this:
On My Blood!
There once was the damn guy who wrote a whole bunch of crap for people to read! These people pretended for a minute to like this brilliant crap, but in reality these “people” didn’t like the brilliant crap. They were actually evil demonic tick-people, just waiting to feast on the damn guy’s blood! Did they ever get to? You bet your damn ass they did! They sucked his damn blood. And after they were freakin’ full, they let his damn blood spill all over the freakin’ floor. And he was dead. Damn dead. The damn end!
Happy now? Huh?! Are you?!?!
Well, no, I’m sorry, I overreacted. Please, don’t go. Stay, read, enjoy. I’ll try harder. Ok, fine. Go! Piss off! I don’t need you! I don’t need your damn votes! I’ll vote for myself, like Nupe does! I didn’t mean that. It’s just that… It’s the stress talking, you know? I think I should just go. Yeah, ok. Call me?